Rabble-Rouser
I am the king of rave and rant,
the champion of irrelevant.
I raid the nest and throw the eggs.
I raise the lid. Stir up the dregs.
I abhor a quiet ride.
I want the chaos that’s inside.
I’m not a fan of calm reflection.
I stir up trouble, prompt dejection.
What arises is bound to fall,
and I contribute to it all!!!
Prompts for today are eggs, irrelevant, arise, abhor and reflection. I want to thank my compliant “poser” for being willing to mimic the worst in us.
Pied Beauty II
Thanks be to Sara Lee for appled things—
For pies, for apple fritters and for thin-rolled strudel crust;
For pastries of the fruit of Eve and sauce it swims within;
Fresh-cooked in ovens, how their sweet juice sings;
The sugar clotted and pierced— place it on plate we must;
And all taste, for how can tackling it be such a sin?
All things made of flour and Crisco and of apples sweet;
(How can they by nutritionists be so sorely cussed
With words professing they won’t make us thin?)
With their tart flavor are sure our lips to meet;
And meet again.
—Judy Dykstra-Brown
And now, the original:
Pied Beauty
Glory be to God for dappled things –
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.
–Gerard Manley Hopkins
For Day 16 of NaPoWriMo, they challenge us to write a Curtal Sonnet based on Gerald Manley Hopkin’s “Pied Beauty.” Been there, done that!
I didn’t think to ask this young woman’s name, but I very much enjoyed her performance at the Jardin Restaurant in the Ajijic (Mexico) Plaza. I pronounce her to be the Mexican Janis Joplin. See what you think. Click on the link below:
Nativity Diary
I’m curled inside, so soft and warm,
protected in my creator’s corm.
Within, without, the pulse and throb
of leg on stomach, thrusting knob
of head against that source of light
down a channel smothering tight.
I will I must continue toward
that severance of birthing cord.
A final push, a hearty cry,
one eye open, a glimpse of sky.
Helping hands receiving me,
head and shoulder, thigh and knee.
The miracle of freedom from
such tight compression. My questing thumb.
Curled into that outer nest
that has been my nine-month quest.
Swathed in warmth, bright lights above,
I take great drafts of mother love.
She wills and I agree I will
drink until I’ve had my fill.
Pursing lips and searching tongue,
and then a healthy burst of lung.
I declare my presence here
to the whole world’s atmosphere.
The prompt for day 14 of NaPoWriMo was to write the opening scene of the movie of our life.
Image by Christine Bowen on Unsplash.
Moon Pie
When the moon is full
and everything ripe on the vine
I must have pie
juicy running from the crisp crust
vanilla ice cream clouding its surface like clouds over the moon.
I bite into the piece like a slice of the moon..
like swiss cheese on apple pie.
slice of the moon.
moon pie.
The prompt for NaPoWriMo today is to write a poem that, like the example poem here, joyfully states that “Everything is Going to Be Amazing.” Sometimes, good fortune can seem impossibly distant, but even if you can’t drum up the enthusiasm to write yourself a riotous pep-talk, perhaps you can muse on the possibility of good things coming down the track. As they say, “the sun will come up tomorrow,” and if nothing else, this world offers us the persistent possibility of surprise. What cheers one up like a slice of moon pie?
Image by Deborah Rainford on Unsplash.
This art print of Antonio Lopez Vega inspired the piece above. She is feeding the birds and in turn they bring her a message in the beak of the bird to the left. Wheat from my father’s last harvest spills from the hand formed copper bowl from Santa Clara del Cobre. A copper plate holds a loaf of bread and a halved avocado. Copper leaf in the background surrounds the woman and completes the theme.
This is one of a number of my retablos still on view at the studio of Jesus Lopez Vega, at the junction of Rio Zula/Rio Brava and Ocampo, a half block south of Casa Linda Restaurant in Ajijic. Open M-F until April 30.
Please click on photos to enlarge.
I was sleeping so well when Mom woke me up at 3 a.m. to put me outside so she could go pick her cousin Kirk up at the airport in Guad. She put me outside in my “safe” zone and finally got home around 5 or 6 a.m. She introduced us and of course he became “mine” immediately. He tastes pretty good! She fed him (but not me.) She and Kirk were still pretty peppy even after 24 hours with no sleep, but not as peppy as I was. The first ten minutes Kirk was here, I made off with one of his heavy sneakers and made it to Mom’s room with it in record time. Here I am resting easily with Ollie at 11 this morning. I’m still sleeping at 1:30. I think Mom got two hours sleep if she was lucky. She’s lying in bed writing this post, but chances are she’ll be having a catnap in the hammock later today.
Misnomer
Why so taciturn, my friend? Are there things that displease you?
If you’re amenable to chat, perhaps I could appease you.
When they named you Deirdre, what could have been the reason?
To give a child a moniker like this is surely treason.
They put it on the record the day that you were born
that you were predetermined with propensity to mourn.
What sort of security is this to give a child
otherwise unblemished—beautiful and mild?
Such a tragic future and so many doleful morrows
must greet a child named after Deirdre of the Sorrows.
Prompts today are security, amenable, taciturn, moniker and record.
Mirror Image
She’s a dingy sort of doppelganger, lackluster and fretful,
and when I’ve caught a glimpse of her, she seems to be forgetful.
She looks surprised to see me and although it should be magic,
when she catches sight of me, it seems she finds it tragic.
It’s a shame she never catches me when I am at my peak,
and so I seem to be an image that she’d like to tweak.
We both look in the mirror and we don’t like what we see,
the irony of that being that both of us are me!!
Prompt words today are doppelganger, tragic, forgetful, dingy and peak.
About the assemblage:
“After Picasso: Self-examination”
The watch part that serves as the womb to the woman beats with the pulse beat of the child within, whereas the mirror reflection contains no moving parts. An antique “Tabu” powder tin is imprisoned in an old pocket watch case. A tiny portrait of a woman is framed by one of the watch parts that make up the rest of this collage.
Panegyric for Pachyderm
Which one among us says I can’t
eulogize an elephant?
Oh thou of ears floppily gray,
of thee I have so much to say.
Words invented will not do.
I have to coin new words for you.
Your skin, in fact, is so abundant
that I must call you epibundant.
And other words unbunkable?
Tuskidopherous and trunkable.
Unchallenged monarch of the zoo,
parades aren’t complete without you.
Your trumpet fills the savanna air
to tell the world that you are there.
Rip Van Wrinkle might better name
thee, monarch of the great untame!
And though by any other term,
loxodonta or pachyderm,
we do not know thee quite as well.
in size and fame, you still excel.
For NaPoWriMo Day 11, we are to write a poem about a very large thing. And yes, that is me on the back of that elephant!
