Terse verse: not a word wasted; at least that’s the goal for the following new verses.
I’ve been reading my own books, and I’m always amazed at how delightful and even insightful they sometimes are. Sometimes they even inspire me to get the stylus out and compose, rather than just continue to doze, or decompose!. Thus we have a few new ones.
As I was reading the titles of the small verses, I was reminded that the garden and the animals that frequent were favorite subjects. Since there is a new garden tour about to descend upon us, I created the following ode, so to speak. Humor is supposed to lurk in the verse, as the creatures lurk in the garden. Supposed to….
Anyway it takes a couple of readings of the “Ode” to get the various rhythms right. It’s more fun when the various rhythms are right. I think. The “Ode,” so to speak, still calls for tinkering, I can’t help myself there; the changes usually make the verses work better, more smoothly. Nothing is ever quite finished, except maybe the Pilate verse at the bottom.
Ode to Mary’s Creatures
In our yard you’ll find them,
A vast menagerie;
They come to play, participate,
Become, to eat, to be!
Squirrels by the tons and possums,
Bugs and beetles, bees,
Birds of various features,
Feathering out our trees.
Mockingbirds and blue jays,
Cardinals by the score,
Sparrows, wrens and blackbirds,
Hummingbirds and more.
There used to be two turtles
Living in our pond;
One day they up and vanished;
Alas, we’d grown so fond.
Next, a skunk came waddling by,
A super smelly fellow.
Thank God he kept on going,
Though, for a skunk he seemed quite mellow.
Raccoons about the house bewail
The lack of just desserts;
They seem to think they’re owed a check
Because they’re shameless flirts.
Now a fox has made her nest
Under a neighbor’s shed;
She acts as though she’s not a pest,
By adding two kits to her bed.
And how about those rabbits
Making busy bunny trails,
Nibbling the best and brightest shoots;
Bobbing their off-white tails.
Speaking of those rabbits,
The world’s in quite a fix:
Yesterday I counted two,
Today it’s twenty-six.
Prolific are the denizens
Of Mary’s backyard garden;
I hear there’s even a snake or two
Looking for a backyard pardon.
I have been wearing a catheter for over a year now. What fun. I have an interior bladder and an exterior plastic bladder, and hardly any shame left. Long ago the urologist prescribed pills: flow max, finesteride, plus another one whose name I have forgotten. Obviously they didn’t really work. So to make the best of the situation, I wear the bag, that the evil nature of my hands, among other things, makes it impossible for me to empty. Thus emptying it requires the participation of another member of our household, and it’s not the dogs. The verses are entitled “Physics”:
Physics #1
The catheter tube is long and stout;
It functions well, without a doubt.
But what I most delight to see
Is the pillar of air climb from bag to me!
Ah, rhymes are my delight, so you might notice what I have resisted there. So far. Perhaps there should be three verses here, the third one caving into the—er—pressure. The catheter bags have to be completely changed once a month. The old date always feels like yesterday. The need for this medical device occurs when you have a prostate the size of a bowling ball, or so I have been told. Strike!
The exchange process is absolutely delightful. First they have to catch me. Ha! That done they (usually he) has to empty the balloon that is inside the bladder with 30 cc sterile water. The balloon ensures that the tube stays in place. There’s a small tube for the syringe to withdraw the water. The water out, the nurse says, “Take a deep breath.” Do I ever! Then the tube is fairly swiftly pulled out.
The old tube removed, the relevant area is cleaned and sterilized and the new tube inserted, with another, “Take a deep breath!” After the new clean tube is in the bladder, the new 30 cc’s of sterile water is or are inserted. And so the process goes. Just one of the on-going joys of old age.
Physics #2
I love to watch the pillar of air
Glide up the catheter tube,
Then see the yellow liquid
Flow, down like Jiffy Lube.
Okay. So I have never seen what happens at Jiffy Lube, but physics works the same wherever you are, as Newton discovered, supposedly sitting under an apple tree. Liquids flow downhill. Rain falls. Creeks flow down to rivers and we all know where many rivers go. As in a novel I was reading, the Allegheny and the Monongahela flow down to form the Ohio which eventually empties into the mighty Mississippi that flows down to New Orleans and the ocean beyond. Ah geography. And spelling is so easy with “Hey Siri” living on board.
Now here’s my favorite verse. My advice to young writers everywhere is always to keep writing, for sooner or later you are likely to knock out a good one, sort of like the 100 monkeys with typewriters and time finally producing “Hamlet.” (Actually I find that illustration impossible to believe, but everyone seems to think it’s true.) I think my final verse is a good one. It delights me no end. It feels perfect.
“Truth”
“What is truth?” quipped jesting Pilate;
All the Roman boys looked grim.
The Jewish boys glanced all around;
One pointed and said, “Him!“
Notice the way the two “alls” work; where I put them makes a significant difference from line to line. I tried various verbs for the first line too, like “yawned,” “smiled,” etc. until “quipped” fell into place. When it’s perfect it is also no longer the author’s or writer’s.
Image: another creature from a different kind of menagerie in Mary’s garden. And yes, that is a tin goat.
