#37
The Modern Academic’s Prayer
Lord, grant me knowledge,
But let it be neat;
Let it be packaged
Like socks on my feet.
Let it be something
I can carry around
And use for my pleasure
When others abound.
Let it be something
That fits in my pocket
Or something to wear
Like a gem in a locket.
Lord, let me know,
But not too much,
Lest Truth come a calling
And I lose my crutch.
#36
Frollie, the Licker
I lick his leather briefcase,
I lick the hardwood floor;
I lick the hand that feeds me,
It’s licking I adore!
I lick the Sunday paper,
I lick the bathroom door;
I always lick my furry feet,
It’s licking I adore!
I lick until the flavor’s gone,
And then I lick some more;
My eyes roll back into my head—
It’s licking I adore!
#35
Trailer
When you can’t fly any farther
You’ll know you’re halfway there!
The owls of Ga’Hoole
Give me the creeps
With their fuzzy round faces
And sharp little beaks!
When they can’t fly any farther,
I find I just don’t care,
And I call upon those Guardians
To knock them from the air!
When you can’t fly any farther
You’ll know you’re halfway there!
Bummer!
#34
I Could Die…
I could die tomorrow
If it wasn’t for three things
That fill my heart with quiet hope
And sharp eternal longings:
The tiny blue plant
That grows by the drive;
The joy in my little dog
When he sees me arrive;
The love in the Other
Who’s glad I’m alive.
I could die tomorrow
If it wasn’t for these things
That fill my heart with quiet hope
And sharp eternal longings.
#33
Blue Intensity
I have never seen blue on a flower
As intense as the blues in our yard
That grow by the side of the driveway—
Plumbago, they're called on their card.
I was going to ask my wife what they were called since they were truly an arresting color, when I noticed a nursery card planted in the ground near them. Plumbago—It sounds like a physical ailment and so the computer wanted to change it. I, however, prevailed. They have a Latin name too: Ceratostigma Plumbaginoides, if I copied it correctly—tiny, intensely blue flowers that make an excellent border flower. And so they do.
I looked them up on the Internet, of course, and found a delightful picture of them that captured some of their full blue intensity.
#32
Unmended
The Voices all were silent now,
Eve's plaint a small soft whisper;
Each touch of wind upon their skin
Brought to mind their deadly sin
As the evening breeze grew crisper.
#31
Exile
With Paradise behind them
And the Angels all ascended,
Adam walked ahead of Eve,
Their brokenness unmended.
#30
Made in His Image?
Suppose that God is not like us;
His Good is really our ill.
One blinding glimpse of His being
Could more than a lifetime fulfill.
The meaning of the two preceding poems depends on "dance" and "waiting": one, a metaphor of order and two, an action verb of purpose attributed to an inanimate object. In this case the two words reveal, I think, the narrator's cosmological perspective regarding the action of the bird eating a crabapple in mid winter.
#29
Snatch & Grab
Rory, the red-breasted Robin,
Danced down the thin icy limb,
Seeking to snack in mid-winter
On the crabapple waiting for him.
#28
Supper
Rory the robin
Danced down the limb
To the ripe crabapple
Waiting for him.
#27
Closed
Thank God there are no Sookies
To plague our nights and days.
Our thoughts are ours and ours alone
To guide our lonely ways.
We seem to have inspired the poet. Given his last effort I was beginning to think he was sleep walking down the highway of life. Apparently he is awake after all. In #25 the critic can see where the poet is standing without much effort. In #26 the same can't be said, and I think the poem is one of the writer's better efforts.
Given this poem one might wish he would tackle asclepias tuberosa, the butterflyweed, also an I-75 plant.
#26
The Blooming Weed
Growing by the Interstate,
Ironweed tumbles to its fate:
The Mower sees a roadside pest,
Though purple blooms light up the west.
Given the distinction in the last bit of verse, anything praised in the vegetable kingdom (presumably) is a flower, while any growing thing not praised (admired) is a weed. Thus ironweed (so named for its hard stem, according to my sources) is a weed if it's not admired and a flower if those lovely purple blooms earn praise for the plant. One must conclude here that the distinction is neither a good one, nor true. Yet, the verse seems to work. It has rhythm and rhyme and it teases us with an interesting distinction, eventhough the distinction does not hold up under serious examination--well, under examination. There is however, an underlying concern here as well: what is the relationship between art and truth?
If we approach this tiny bit of verse from the perspective that we have a person thinking here in the verse, then the poem allows us a glimpse into the narrator's mind. In that case the poem's level of truth doesn't reside in its assertions about weeds and flowers but about its representation of the narrator's vision. This narrator sees the world in this somewhat simplistic fashion: any plant praised is a flower; any plant not admired is a weed. The real truth of this poem, so called, is then the failure of the narrator's vision. He or she has not looked closely at the natural world of vegetation to see what it really means, which, I would argue, is what art is really about finally.
There is no ironweed in the verse. The narrator really isn't interested apparently.
#25
Viva la Difference
A weed is never much admired,
Regardless where it’s growing;
A flower, on the other hand,
Wins praise at every showing.
Michael here!
This is an illustration I drew for one of the poems below. The poem makes me want to get a pet rock. Again!
Forgot to mention: click the image for a larger view!
#24
Moonshine
26 August 2010
The waning gibbous moon strode high
Through the midnight moon-washed sky,
While Jupiter, staid beneath her glory,
Let his regal Consort reveal her regal story.
#23
Not a Dachshund
My pet rock knows three complex things:
Like how to sit and stay;
Why quartz is never taken
For granted or for clay;
Why feldspar is so igneous
That one suspects foul play!
My pet rock knows three complex things,
So I gave her a sobriquet.
