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This morning Carla Z and I were doing a shift at the Village Gallery when two ebullient ladies walked in, looked around, asked if the prices were negotiable, and left. Other people came and went. Then these two ladies walk BACK into the Village Gallery and I say, “You look familiar. Were you here earlier?” and they say stuff like Yes and No and Evil Twins, eventually agreeing that it was indeed they who left and came back. I came back with a statement of gratitude that they were memorable enough that I didn’t just say “Hi, how are you?  Have you ever been to the Gallery before?” and the brunette of them said she was more grateful than I was. The blonde of them began trying on tops designed by Suzen B, founder of the Gallery in its present form.  She’d put one aside and I was intrigued by the color. I asked Carla, “What would you call this color? Taupe? How about Electric Taupe?” Well, that was a hit with Judy, who was the blonde. I then averred that I was a poet and I sometimes Googled phrases I thought I’d coined, invariably finding hundreds of thousands of usages. “Look that one up!” one of them said. “Can’t–I have an ancient flip-phone.”

Anyway, before they left with their merchandise, I’d committed to doing a rhyming poem with the following words and phrases:

heartmother
birthday
electric taupe
Judy
Ilyssa
Suzen’s Tops

I told them to wait a couple of days, then Google “electric taupe” and “birthday” together and they would find the poem I told them I would write.

freak freefolk in free fall

ilyssa of the big smile breezed on in
and in her wake a blonde-contrasting heartmother
whom some called judy modeled clothing. when
a birthday’d make its mention it would start other

celebratory beaming. suzen’s tops
of autumn’s glory–one, electric taupe–
then found their way on judy. bunny hops
made modeling such fun and play and hope.

eliciting ilyssa’s sage assistance
engendered no remonstrance nor remorse;
sedona freefolk vorticize a distance
with totemistic owl and hawk and horse.

the ladies chose, and spent, and left, and we
kept glowing, full of camaraderie.

Judy and Ilyssa, if you remembered, and searched, and found this, bless you. You brightened our day immensely!

Postscript: Two days after I posted this it occurred to me that I had access to an image and text about Suzen and her Tops. Behold:

suzen b

Here’s a link to the Real Thing: http://www.sedonalocalartists.com/suzen-brackell.html

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Hiking here in the Verde Valley is usually quite civilized. Many of the trails are marked by cairns of red (and sometimes not-so-red) rock in a containment matrix of baling (or not-so-baling) wire. From any cairn but the first and last, a hiker will be able to see the cairn preceding and the cairn ahead. Life would be more navigable if there were decision-cairns and opportunity-cairns. Come to think of it, there are, if the astute observer looks and listens.

Here are the words to the acrostic:

Climbing guide is brac-a-bric
An auspicious rock piled trick–O
If we gain a mountain’s top
R I S E with summitry & pop, I
Now sing kudos chop chop choppa

Trivia: “kudos” means “praise.” It is singular. “Kudos” is also the name of the Arts supplement of the Red Rock News, a local publication.

Yesterday I worked the two-to-six shift at the Village Gallery, the artist’s cooperative where my ceramic work is displayed. (All members are required to put in two shifts per month.) It was a slow afternoon, and though I was working alone, I had a lot of time on my hands. With Willie Nelson playing on the CD I made this page:

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Sorry about that, Willie. Doesn’t look much like you unless you squint; and the words imply rocky relations. Such is the nature of acrostic, rhyme, meter restricted poetry.

Oddly, the back of this page had a previously drawn panel array with a near-Willie in it:

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I had started this the day before, intending to flesh it out with eraser and more pencil. I may well leave it as is. It’s nice and mysterious with what’s left unsaid.

Here are some more sketches I made during my shift:

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Note that one of the sketches is all words. That’s OK–Charles Dickens did some sketches that were all words, compiled in SKETCHES BY BOZ. “The Poetical Young Gentleman” is a must-read for poets who don’t want to make fools of themselves.

Most of these sketches are exemplary of the way one of my pages gets started. I just think out loud on paper (that isn’t loud at all, is it?), and sometimes the magic works, and sometimes it doesn’t. (Note the drawing problem of the fellow starting up the stairs, for instance.)

But the sketch that I feel best about was left at the gallery, in the folder of Husain Abdul-Alim, an artist who with his spouse has purchased a couple of my ceramic creations. He does carved-wood masks, mostly intended for hanging on a wall. I did a calligraphed thank-you note that included sketches of three of his masks. I hope he likes it!

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This one’s pretty straightforward. It may help to know that I now live in Sedona, Arizona, where there is a plethora of breathtaking sandstone rock formations; also, when I was a kid and in the family car and we pulled up alongside a truck, if I caught the trucker’s eye and made a horn-honking gesture, often he (or she, but there didn’t seem to be any female truckers back then) would oblige me by honking his horn.

Here are the words to the non-acrostic:

from winter sprung

to spend an equinoctial time
in maximal vernal rapture
it may behoove to grow a sparse goatee
that the plucky breeze might riffle
all seventy-three hairs of its chin portion
the while you stride through
   & converse with
   the array of petrified sand
   that is popularly misnamed ‘the red rocks’

when you tell the array it is majestic
it glows a bit more fiercely
tooting its visual horn the way
   a truck driver toots his sonic one
   if asked to via gesture

when you ask the array what awes it
your attention is directed to trees
   fluffy in soft-blossomed lavender
and you are also commanded
   to go home
   kiss your lovely girlfriend
   and feel the g r a t i t u d e
   that Spring evokes

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I now live in the land of Spooky Woo-Woo, where maps of psychic vortices are available. One such vortex is rumored to be on Bell Rock, which is walking distance–LONG walking distance, but I’ve done it several times. Maybe it’s the altitude, or the stunning red-rich rock configurations, but there does seem to be something extraordinary about this place.

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Once upon a time, a man named Lyon Sprague de Camp summed up the Propheteering game by opining, “It does not pay a prophet to be too specific.” Many years later, a charismatic charlatan named John Edward McGee Jr. truncated his name and hung his Psychic Medium shingle on the airwaves, fooling millions with “I’m seeing a J. He’s VERY important…” and similar claptrap. If you’d like to become a Psychic Medium yourself, there’s plenty of How To material on the Internet; just do a search on “Cold Reading.”

Ever since the summer of 2012 I have lived in the charming subsection of Sedona, Arizona known as the Village of Oak Creek (also known as the VOC). In this beautiful rock-formationed land there is much belief in the supernormal. Last December a fellow went up Bell Rock with the publicized claim that a “space portal” was going to open up and he was going to jump in. Alas, no such portal materialized for him. It does not pay a prophet to be too specific.

The last line in the acrostic refers to Kurt Vonnegut, who was my favorite writer in the 70’s, and continued to be so in the 80’s, the 90’s, and the Aughts. In his Slaughterhouse-Five he followed every mention of death with “So it goes.” It does not pay a prophet to be too specific.

Finally, for those unfamiliar with American alphabet soup, an ATV is an All-Terrain Vehicle. I can be specific about that, since I’m no prophet.