Little more than life and death

"The Original Adventure"
Remember the spiral that brought you to light
Pulling you down in a moment of fright
              By casting all doubt
              You clawed your way out
Venturing forth from the black womb of night

"Resurrection"
Three and a half years without any rain
No crops in the field and the livestock in pain
              At last thunder struck
              A change in our luck
And finally the orchards are blooming again

"Butter of Immortality"
There's a legend of yore, from when gods were maternal
When Vishnu and Shiva fought forces infernal
              From the Milky Way fountain
              With a snake 'round the mountain
They churned out a batch of the Butter Eternal

The Grover Beach Grunge

This one goes out to the legions of Granola groupies who have been begging for more locally-inspired Limericks. In response to the relentless and overwhelming demand, it is my pleasure to present you all with "The Grover Beach Grunge" . . .

Rednecks rush out to the sand dunes of Grover
Breaking their limbs when their buggies roll over
              An egregious offense
              With no common sense
They might as well bulldoze the White Cliffs of Dover

Original Goddess & Earth Mother

Close your eyes for a moment and pause
Removing yourself from the natural laws
              Imagine your tomb
              Like a watery womb
And embrace Artemis, the original cause

another metaphysical dilemma

Limerick #366
Stand by the river, examine her course
Moving with steady unstoppable force
              As the cycle goes round
              The first drop can't be found
And still we expect to uncover the source

Our Father

Our Father, you’re consubstantial,
However we call your name.
Yahweh, or Allah,
We choose to follow
The forces that circle within.
Give us the patience to trust ourselves
And relinquish our egos
As we receive those who punish themselves.
And breeding more toleration,
We decrease the illusion.
For I am thee, and he is she, and you are me,
And we are all together.
          -Amen.

September 11th

We've come a long way since I wrote this in the lobby of a youth hostel in Lubeck, Germany, on Sept 16, 2001.
Thanks, George, for proving me wrong.

I hear a time bomb ticking down
I see a dark and heavy cloud
Stars and stripes speak words of war
Nothing like nothing before
Caught with our defenses down
An enemy that can’t be found
Fire the engines – aim the guns
At anything that walks or runs
Koran thumpers and the Bible belt
Terror like we’ve never felt
If it’s Allah versus Jesus
Then it’s Satan who increases
Heaven help us through this hour
Stop this little show of power
Stop the war while you still can
Save this sorry race called Man

Pipe Dreams

Suffering in the caboose on the bullshit train to emerald city

I should have been a plumber
Instead of trying to use my head
I’ve tried to be creative
Should have studied cars instead

No more time to read these days
Reality shows run back to back
Libraries closed like minds
Education is under attack

Books are out of fashion
Unless they teach of home repair
I should have been a plumber
They make money everywhere

Books are now unwanted
They require us to think
But a plumber’s always needed
Every household has a sink

I should have been a plumber
Charging hundreds every hour
I could feed my family better
If I learned to fix a shower

Instead my time is wasted
Studying Henry, James and Joyce
When I could’ve studied welding
A more productive choice

So now I check my bank account
And wonder in despair
Where I’ll find the money
When our rooftop needs repair

I should have been a plumber
Eating sushi every week
I should have been a plumber
Instead of just a geek

September 8th is finally here

Tomorrow is Grandparents' Day all across America. I may not have time to visit my Grandma this weekend. Perhaps I'll stay home and balance her checkbook instead. It's important to make sure that her balance never exceeds $2000 so that her care facility can continue to bill the state of California about $4000/month for her room (50 square feet with a hospital bed) and board (mostly food that doesn't fit the criteria of her very restricted diet since her 1953 colostomy operation). It's an arrangement that keeps Grandma off the street and maintains a comfortable standard of living for the managing staff of the Care Facility.

Some day we will all escape the tormenting illusion of this physical world, the hapless realm of fear and desire, the wasteland of spiritual bankruptcy and material greed, the either/or area of good vs. bad, right vs. wrong, eternity vs. time, and god vs. man. The day will come when we each returns the paradise of Eden that existes within everyone of us, when we discard the fruit of the tree of knowledge of opposites, and eat instead from the tree of life. When we discover that paradise is not a faraway place but an oasis that lies deep within, only then will we unlock the potential of eternal life and experience the rapture of infinity and divinity in the here and now.

All of which brings me, somewhat anti-climactically, to this week's Limerick:

Avalon
There’s a place somewhere north of Gonzales
With forests expansive and flawless
       And people who know
       What makes the trees grow
Up there they will offer me solace

May you all reach the island of angels and fairies, of peaches and pomegranates, of sweet nectars and invigorating elixirs, of unity and presence, wherever it may be. Open your hearts, now and forever, and see that your bowl of galactic granola never runs dry.

Labor Day Weekend

This one goes out to all the White Trash... welcome to Grover Beach!

The holiday's here not a moment too soon
I look out my window and what do I see?
Two thousand Hummers head straight for the dune
To leak motor oil right into the sea

Monster truck madness invades Grover Beach
They rinse their dune-buggies at evening high tide
With tow-trucks and 6 packs all within reach
Last week a toddler got run down and died

(In memory of the 4-year old child who was run over and killed by an off-road vehicle on the Oceano Dunes last weekend.)


Now here's something in a more cheerful, literary spirit — also for Labor Day:

Limerick #332 – H.P. Lovecraft (1890-1937)
Where the land of Cthulu existed
The creatures were horribly twisted
            And as mythos grew bigger
            Around this cult figure
The labor of Lovecraft persisted

Found Art Tuesday: Favorite

Lately the Granola Poet has been about as elusive as a two-tone green leprechaun hat in a box of Lucky Charms. I apologize, but there is a perfectly good explanation for my absence. Unfortunately, it's not a particularly poetic explanation, so let's move on...

I now and then crave a well-aged gorgonzola
Hand fed to me in my private gondola
            While a hand-cranked Victrola
            Plays a piece for viola
It's nearly as nice as a bowl o' granola

Tagged

It finally happened... I've been tagged. So eight random things about myself? Jeez, I didn't think anything about me was random. I thought it all had purpose. Ah, well.

1) I was born right smack in the middle of the sign of Cancer, so I'm a crab in every way. Moody, sensitive, emotional, domestic, motherly and unconventional. So I release my emotions in the form of Limericks - they're like my 350 little babies (and counting).

2) When I was a kid we raised California Desert Tortoises. Turtles are something like cancers — always carrying their homes on the backs — but not as crabby. And turtles hate to be flipped over, whereas I love being upside-down. It's a different perspective that's often more satisfying to my unconventional disposition. I like to walk around on my hands. I also enjoy headstands and powerful hallucinogens.

3) I grew up in Orange County in the 1980s, a time and place where Ronald Reagan was revered as a living god. No one can deny that he accomplished great things for the wealthy. Nothing could be a greater violation of the poetic principles. Except possibly his proliferation of WMD.

4) The 2 months I worked at Le Bastide Haute in Theizac, France was probably the greatest time of my life. I tended vegetables, shoveled horse manure, watched over chickens and rabbits, hunted mice, and made friends with an ass named Jocko (he had great ears for listening). I formed a close bond to the earth, drank copious amounts of wine, and made communion with Dionysus.

5) During a siesta at Le Bastide, I found an old copy of James Joyce's Ulysses, in English. I pulled it off the shelf and was intrigued by the introduction by Anthony Burgess. So I read it. I was confused. I had no internet or reference books of any kind, so I was very confused, and amazed. Five years later I re-read it along with a trove of explanatory books and essays. This was a far more rewarding experience. I was less confused, and more amazed.

6) As I said before, Cancers are domestic creatures. We take pride in our homes, we like cooking and gardening and mothering. I feel a very motherly connection to my home planet. She's Mother Earth, but sometimes she needs a little nurturing herself. My heart aches when I see her being ruthlessly raped by greedy men. Sometimes I worry that she's fallen in with the wrong crowd.

7) As I said before, turtles hate to be turned upside down but I like it. After 9-11 everybody said their world had be turned inside out or upside down. Mine seemed right side up for the first time. I had just spent 6 weeks tilling the earth in southern France. I had departed France about 3 days earlier. And a week later I would meet my future wife at youth hostel in Lubeck, Germany, the birthplace of Thomas Mann.

8) Before joining the Cult of Dionysus, I was really into numerology and 8 was my lucky number. My first name has 4 letters and the name I go by also has 4 letters. My last name has 8 letters and starts with the 8th letter of the alphabet. My bother's name has four letters and together we started a business with 8 letters. It's actually a compound word, formed by combining two 4-letter words. The name of the business also started with the 8th letter of the alphabet. The address of my branch of the business was 844 Monterey St. My new business is on the corner of 8th street, and it has 9 letters. The ninth letter of the alphabet is the second letter in the word "eight." What could this mean?

Free your mind

Come now, mash down babylon
Up and down the mountain
Wash away the wickedness
And purify the fountain

They're poisoning our very souls
And brainwashing the youth
They've hidden all the answers
And re-arranged the truth

Hungry eyes observe the Dow
It's highest point in years
While the fife and drum of Ares
Is ringing in my ears

A million martyrs stand in line
While shepherds speak of profits
Portfolios resurrected
Yet the death toll still skyrockets

The gold that briefly glitters
Is worth its weight in salt
While those inclined to seek it
Close their minds up like a vault

The golden promise broken
Yet many still revere it
They pray for nothing greater
And sell away their spirit

So breathe a little every day
And don' get left behind
Please obey the noble truths
Let Buddha free your mind

Found Art Tuesday: Jump

I've been struggling with Found Art Tuesday topics for the past 2 or 3 weeks. My apologies, but I keep getting distracted by this pesky vision quest of mine. Anyway, I thought the "jump" theme would allow me the opportunity to expound poetically on the notion of a Leap of Faith. But, as luck would have it, I'll be damned if I can find anything to rhyme with faith.
So here's what I came up with instead...

Conditions are cluttered by clouds of confusion
And pinheads proceed in prolific profusion
       So follow the masses
       Who fall on their asses
Come join the convention and jump to conclusions

James Joyce's Ulysses: the complete series

James Joyce’s ULYSSES, in 36 easily digestible Limericks
By The Granola Poet

“Ulysses”
There once was an artist called Stephen
With Homer he tried to get even
       So Bloom and he walk
       Around Dublin and talk
About all the things they believe in

Telemachus (episode 1)
The story begins in a tower
Where 8 o'clock is the hour
       Young Buck and Sir Haines
       Make light of his pains
But wait till he meets Mr. Flower

Telemachus #2
It starts with a portion of prose
From "Portrait" our character rose
       A maker of mazes
       His thoughts take us places
Like the Liffey his monologue flows

Telemachus #3 (Homeric)
There once was a young Telemachus
Whose father left him in a fracas
       To the war he objected
       But his name was selected
For an odyssey certain to shock us

Nestor (episode 2)
At 10 o’clock school is in session
It starts with a history lesson
       To the past Stephen reaches
       And languidly teaches
For his own past he must make confession

Nestor #2
At school young Stephen is teaching
And into the past he is reaching
       By his’try they’re bound
       To a king and his crown
And a Pope who’s incessantly preaching

Proteus (episode 3)
Introducing the Protean mind
Streaming with thoughts of all kind
       The king changes shapes
       As our hero escapes
On a quest for a woman who’s kind





Calypso (episode 4)
Calypso is leading a life of seduction
As Leopold seldom attempts reproduction
       Their home goes to Blazes
       While Bloom simply gazes
At maidens who gaily portend his destruction

Lotus Eaters #1 (episode 5)
In the bathtub he dwells on a lotus
A billet-doux from the pocket he showed us
       Her language so flirty
       Makes Flower feel dirty
Her roses he tries not to notice

Lotus Eaters #2
Naughty Miss Martha she beckoned
For Henry was lonely she reckoned
       But when she comes calling
       He can’t help from falling
Some thirty-two Bloom feet per second

Hades #1 (episode 6)
All Dublin has come out to pay their respects
A rite to which Leopold lightly objects
       In metempsychosis
       One life cycle closes
On dad’s misadventure L. Bloom he reflects

Hades #2
The gravediggers gather in lightsome lament
Poor Dignam on Guinness his last schilling spent
       But there’s no disgrace
       To die drunk on his face
While old mister Bloom has no chance to repent

Hades #3
In Hades his thoughts grew nightmarish
On the losses of loved ones we cherish
       Of Rudy’s young face
       And father’s disgrace
Each day umpteen thousand more perish

Aeolus (episode 7)
There’s a paper where men shoot the breeze
Blowing steam over Mad Cow’s Disease
       Home Rule is one topic
       On which they’re myopic
For our heroes have both lost their key(e)s

Lestrygonians (episode 8)
There was an old Hebrew in search of a bite
In the lunchroom he witnessed a sickening sight
       With the animals feeding
       He felt like excreting
But a sandwich he managed to eat with delight

Scylla & Charybdis (episode 9)
Somehow Stephen’s reasons seem so circumstantial
Prince Hamlet distracts him from problems financial
       In a sharp dialectic
       And a voice apoplectic
He maintains that the actors are all consubstantial

Scylla & Charybdis #2
There once was a passage so dangerously narrow
‘Tween white rocks of dogma and whirlwinds of Tarot
       The balance required
       Left Mulligan tired
But Stephen flew on with the grace of a sparrow

Wandering Rocks (episode 10)
Inverts and adverts and throwaway sheets
The minions meander through mazes and streets
       A priest on parade
       A state cavalcade
The double-edged spoon from which Ireland eats

Sirens (episode 11)
On a sea of sweet voices our mongrel is cast
To resist their temptation he’s tied to the mast
       By bronze and by gold
       Some stout pints are pulled
And later, like gas, a loose trollop is passed

Sirens #2
A hero hears voices out over the oceans
While sirens fill glasses with succulent potions
       His eardrum it pounds
       With sonorous sounds
And somewhere a street girl seductively motions

Cyclops (episode 12)
I once knew a man who was prone to eruption
Lashing about at the eye of destruction
       Exalting his land
       Libation in hand
Then blinded by no-man with no introduction

Nausicaa (episode 13)
O’er the sea sinks the sun with contrition
To be watching alone is the human condition
       Just a rock on the sand
       Honeymoon in the hand
Sewing seeds with no chance of fruition

Oxen of the Sun #1 (episode 14)
There once was an infant alone in the womb
As herds of debauchers all crowded the room
       By fluids enveloped
       Their bodies developed
And alone once again they head straight for the tomb

Oxen of the Sun #2
There was a commotion in yon House of Horne
By three days of labor a mother was torn
       While gentlemen waiting
       Delivered words so degrading
The god-possibled soul of a new boy was born

Circe #1 (episode 15)
A vision at midnight by magic affected
But Bloom’s black potato is bound to correct it
       Like a morsel of moly
       To reverse the unholy
The remedy found where you least would expect it

Circe #3
Our pig-headed heroes wind up at Miss Bello’s
One of the district’s most fetching bordellos
       Where spirits might render
       Delusions of splendor
Finally conjoining these two wayward fellows

Circe #4
Stubbornly Stephen’s extending his nerve
“Non Serviam” he will duly observe
       While Bloom takes a bow
       Like a suckling sow
The artist announces that he will not serve

Circe #5 (in iambic meter)
From darkness mother steps in sight
Doomed for term to walk the night
       Behold her head
       All beastly dead
Will Stephen make what’s rotten right?

Eumaeus #1 (episode 16)
In the wee early hours their congress occurs
Perfectly sober Bloom sorely infers
       That Stephen’s been euchered
       Forsaken and suckered
And therefore he (Bloom) at this treason demurs

Eumaeus #2
A wayfaring vessel returns to drop anchor
Pretenders and thieves are regarded with rancor
       At home there’s a rift
       After ages adrift
A respectable sailor would rightfully spank her

Eumaeus #3
A salesman returns where he one-time resided
Where upon he discovers his house is divided
       An adventure through town
       Brought him all the way round
Till father and son are at long last united

Ithaca #1 (episode 17)
How shall this hero extinguish his passion?
With questions all posed in fastidious fashion.
       Then where does he head?
       But straight for the bed
Right back to the womb and the voice of compassion.

Ithaca #2
What is the point of this painful narration?
To slaughter the suitors in examination.
       And what about miss Marion?
       Bloom answers her clarion
Bracing himself for a keen remonstration.

Penelope #1 (episode 18)
By 2 in the morning room seven’s a mess
Molly has just seen poor Poldy undress
       By bawdy suggestion
       She answers the question
Announcing resoundingly certainly Yes

Penelope #2
They’re fleshing it out at their Eccles address
Erupting with feelings she needs to express
       She wonders half sleeping
       Is Poldy worth keeping?
And answers in estrous emphatically Yes


“Finnegans Wake”
James Joyce was an exile in France
Where the Earwicks held him in a trance
       Lost in his thoughts
       With a stream of bon mots
But none of it makes any sense

A reaction to current events

"Scooter Libby (and the Power of Clemency)"
There's a tacit political precedent
Under oath you had better be reticent
       For to perjure's a crime
       Which means doing time
Unless you're protecting the President

Reflections on the middle way

"Namaste"
Take in thy hand your sceptre and rod
Each of us here is perfectly flawed
       Respect the divine
       In your soul and mine
For none but a god can worship a god

"Ariadne's Thread"
The virtuous path may be shrouded in haze
The ego misleads you in so many ways
       But the simplest thing
       Like a bundle of string
Is all the you need to escape from the maze

"Eden"
Back in the garden, before man took a bite
Before any knowledge of wrong or of right
       All branching from one
       We basked in the sun
But now we're condemned to the darkness of night

"Good and Evil"
All things on earth must receive affirmation
Evil and good are beyond separation
       Let them all run their course
       For we share the same source
Who died and said you could question Creation?

Found Art Tuesday: Present

The past and the future are one and the same
To believe otherwise is a short-sighted game
       Outside of uncertainty
       Right now is eternity
The light of a pure and perpetual flame

The case of Joseph Frederick

You've probably heard all about this case by now. Of course, anything having to do with "bong hits" that makes it all the way to the Supreme Court is bound to make some headlines. And so that the breath of history does not exhale too quickly, I've written this limerick to help us retain it in our collective short-term memory banks.
(Also, stay tuned for my series on the Seven Deadly Sins, coming soon.)

Joe Frederick's a student who does as he pleases
He one time put forth an unorthodox thesis
       The principal frowned
       But Joe held his ground
His 14-foot banner read "Bong Hits 4 Jesus"

Transcendence

or, How God grew tired of me and my flippancy

"Also Sprach the Lord"
Last night I saw God and He spoke to me thus:
"Why must you people all make such a fuss?
       You pray for your nation,
       But I am Creation!"
So therefore we're equal, and He's just like us

"In the Belly of the Whale"
A metaphor helps with the truth to unveil
See for yourself what's inside of a whale
       A dark hollow place
       With some hard facts to face
Without inner wisdom you're certain to fail

"Look and See"
It's no easy order obtaining the truth
Dredging through Daniel, Elijah and Ruth
       If you see it inside
       They'll charge you with pride
Or question their creed and they call you uncouth

Found Art Tuesday

Happy Father's Day
Actually, everyday is father's day in this house. But alas, I'm not the father, only the son, on a perpetual quest for his spiritual father. My biological father lives here, where we're able to provide for his basic needs.

Under the general heading of administative malarky, please allow to mention that my computer has been encountering severe technical hurdles this month. You should, therefore, a) forgive me for not updating the blog and the links as much or as often as I would like, and b) express your sincere gratitude for my even updating it at all. Thank you, and please pardon the interruption. We now return to our regular programming.

"Father"
I once had a teacher, role model and guide
The world I'd ask, and he'd duly provide
       Taking my hand
       So I might understand
That now is my chance to be there at his side

Survival of the wettest

Thanks for all your support everyone, but after withdrawing into my shell in typical Cancerian fashion, I've now returned to the land of the living. And truth be told, I probably wasn't quite as bad as I made it out to sound. And, in fact, it wasn't even really a migraine, just a tedious headache that lasted about a week and was accompanied by several sticky nights of profuse perspiration. Whatever it was, I have no idea, but I'm over it now, so let's all crack open a box of hemp granola and drench it with calcium fortified rice non-dairy beverage. Woo-hoo!

While I was in my cave, I did have a chance to consider our place in the universe. And wouldn't you know it, I made no major breakthroughs, just some Limericks. If Noah ever collected any literary specimens, I hope this pair of Limericks would be invited to board his ark, hand-in-hand.

"The Jurassic Age"
This orb was long ruled by reptillian giants
Who preyed on the weak with audacious defiance
       And nearly forever
       Though not very clever
A lesson therein from the pages of science

"The Human Scourge"
Mankind is in need of a better direction
Consuming and killing with savage perfection
       Where lies the answer
       To this bipedal cancer?
What can be done to contain the infection?

Found Art Tuesday

This week's theme is light. I spent the day searching for a glimmer of hope at the bottom of a dark pit. Hopefully your day has been a whole lot better than mine.

"Light"
The sky knows no bounds to the ashy-crowned lark
The grass never browns when you walk through the park
       But their joy has no place
       Until sorrow they taste
You can't see the light till you stand in the dark

"Migraine Melancholia"
The morsels of time drag out longer and longer
With my corpulent head throbbing stronger and stronger
       My mind in a flurry
       My vision all blurry
What used to be right's looking wronger and wronger

Wake up and live some more

"Free Will"
There once was a question of fate
Do we choose it, or simply just wait?
            It's more than a ride
            No, you must decide
Fetch your fortune before it's too late

"Existential Bliss"
We live in a world so absurd
There's no meaning — or hadn't you heard?
            But it's cause to rejoice
            For your life is your choice
There's no reason to follow the herd

Wake Up and Live

This is a call to action for the townfolk of Slo County. But it's more than just a call to action, it's a Limerick.
Actually it's less than a call to action, it's a Limerick. Just a Limerick. Just a friendly, harmless, not-particularly-philosophical Limerick, never intending to do anyone any harm.
Wouldn't want to cause any trouble in Paradise, after all.

"Rebel!"
There once was a town so complacent
With sewers and strip malls adjacent
       All shallow and smiling
       So rarely reviling
Their souls remained sheltered and nascent

Praise the Lard!

"The Bored Player"
Oh bother, these hands uneven,
how many seem the same?
My Sunday duds, my king of clubs,
inert as a pair of sevens.
Give it away and pay me bread.
And forget about bets, as we forget our senses.
Feed us hot wings and libation,
when the liver is in peril,
four steins of Kings Cobra, in an hour,
in a story, for empty endeavors.
      --Amen

For New Zealand

This one goes out to Shauna at Found Art New Zealand. I felt her piece this week was particularly inspired. . . and inspiring!
(Go ahead and take a look so you'll know what I'm talking about: http://foundartnz.blogspot.com/)

There was once an hommage to Magritte
But please don't you dare take a hit
       The illusion is broken
       This art ain't for smokin'
Voila, ceci n'est pas bullshit

Found Art Tuesday: Close

Sometimes it all seems so close...
... and sometimes its feels like light years away.

"Close to the Void"
Screaming into the void
Awaiting the echo's return
Reaching for meaningful teachings
A morsel of truth I could learn

A master I look forward to meeting
To wake me from dreams and ghosts
Life is too short, opportunity fleeting
Open wide, for the answer is close

Muddled thoughts for a holiday weekend

"Virtue"
It's not at all easy to act out of principle
They laugh in your face and they call you an imbicile
            Label you crazy
            Habitually lazy
They know not the ways of a heart that's invincible

"Reconciliation"
There once was a cause for confession
The holiest form of expression
            Despite your intention
            You'll find no redemption
Until the first act of transgression

Found Art Tuesday: Moon

"Smiling Phases"
Vernal Moon shining bright
Casting shadows in the night
Goddess mother's evening glow
See your children; watch them grow
Newborn crescent's day is done
Setting just behind the Sun
In seven days the orb has grown
Stays out half the night alone
The former phantom fills its whole
Soon good fortune smiles in full
From dusk to dawn she rules the sky
And keeps our restless spirits high
Rising nightly slightly later
Reeling back to her creator
When the slender slice descends
At last the sidereal cycle ends
And in the distant final breath
A new moon born from last month's death

For Lady LaRocco

This goes out to Kathy LaRocco, whose work we all admire and whose support we all appreciate. (http://artful-musings-of-kathyl.blogspot.com/)

"The Artful Musings of Kathy L."
There's an amusing midwestern marauder
Collecting collages of water
       Worked out in layers
       To send them like prayers
Her masterpiece must be her daughter

Creative Everyday

This one's for Leah a.k.a. Creative Everyday — a Cancerian like myself, whose beautiful works of collage and encaustic are inspired by Rob Brezsny and Tom Robbins, among others.

"Creative Everyday"
There's a Cancer in deep meditation
Her stars are the cause of creation
       Balancing spaces
       In dark waxy places
Awash with a moon-lit sensation

Found Art Tuesday

"Lost"
There's a peacenik whose poetry shined
But was lost in a world so unkind
       Confused by the fighting
       He kept right on writing
Till one day he just lost his mind

I hope whoever buys the next box of GrapeNuts has a streak of compassion and a sense of humor!

Finders keepers

This is for one of my favorite *Found Art* artists of all times...

"Pacha's Found Art"
There's a German who comes from the East
Feeding shoppers a visual feast
      She left it behind
      For someone to find
So their happiness may have increased

A Fanciful Twist

Here's another tribute to another wonderful online artist.

"A Fanciful Twist"
There's a queen with a fanciful twist
And a cool cache of coins on her wrist
      Enamoured by sweets
      And colorful treats
Her swap meets are not to be missed

Keep up the great work everybody... and keep your spirits high. You are making the world more beautiful each day.

Make Art Not War

I hope that yesterday's drawing, pictured below, put a smile on someone's face. (Now you know why I'm a poet and not a graphic artist, thank you very much.) It was inspired by footage from an anti-Vietnam protest I recently saw in a John Lennon movie. Art is beauty. Beauty is peace. Make art, give beauty, create peace. Stop the carnage.

"Random Acts"
Those random acts of kindness
Have never been known to cause blindness
      So make someone smile
      Just once in a while
For life is too short to be mindless

Get Freedom

This one goes out to the one I love

I've written plenty of Limericks this year about other people, real and fictitious, living and dead. I suppose it's one way of trying to make sense out of other people - sifting the stream of life for the uncommon kernel of universal truth. But I spent all morning pulling curly ones and black sludge out of the shower drain (not mine own), and so now I think I've earned this moment of self-indulgence. (Don't worry, I'll keep it brief.)

"The Granola Poet"
There's a poet inspired by Elling
A writer with adequate spelling
      He leaves lyrical notes
      In boxes of oats
And where he'll strike next there's no telling

Paigerella

Today I have to acknowledge the rambunctious Paigerella: literary enthusiast of the week! I just discovered that she's been reading and podcasting James Joyce's "Ulysses" in its entirety at paigerella.libsyn.com.* It's a lively rendition of the modern masterpiece, capturing all of its perplexing poetry and vitality. And it's proabably going to keep Paigerella busy for the rest of the year.
(*Sorry for the clumsy cut-and-paste links — I'm going to learn html as soon as I finish deciphering "Finnegans Wake")

"Paigerella"
There's a scholar who lives by the bay
With a passion for drama I'd say
      But the 16th of June
      May drive her to ruin
For she's madly obsessed by that day

For all the mothers

Happy Found Art Tuesday everyone. This one goes out to my mother, who is not only this week's Found Art theme, but she also happens to be in Ireland, the land where Limericks were born!

"Mother"
A bringer of life like no other
She gave birth to me and my brother
      And loves like a savior
      Despite our behavior
So give thanks and praise to your mother


I'll be secretly depositing this Tuesday Limerick into an unsuspecting granola box later this evening.

What's cute?

So the rusty corner of my brain that cranks out Limericks from time to time — well I greased it up real nice with a half-carton of soy non-dairy beverage, and now the Limericks are rolling out faster than I can catch them. Apparently there was an old half-written Limerick about Cyrus the Great that was clogging the works and backing up my whole apparatus. Hopefully things will be running smoothly again now.



The following goes out to Robayre (www.robayre.com/news/?cat=4) and anyone else out there who enjoys amusing him- or herself.

"What's cute?"
There's an artist with senses astute
On a quest to determine what's cute
      It needn't be tall
      But better if small
And best to weigh less than a newt

An Odd Duck

Happy monday morning. What better way to clear the cobwebs of a much-too-short short weekend than by stretching the noodle with a semi-aquatic Limerick? (No, I can't think of one either... a better way that is.) This one goes out to an odd duck (http://anoddduck.blogspot.com/), whose light-hearted reverence for thrift shops, raindrops and public radio should serve as an inspiriation to all of us.

"An Odd Duck"
There's an anatine artist out yonder
Each morning she takes time to ponder
      Special teas of all sorts
      And the words of Will Shortz
Take a gander, for what could be fonder?

Be Mindful

My latest Limerick was inspired by a piece I saw at Penelope Illustration entitled "Be Mindful." It shows a finger with a yellow ribbon tied around it, which reads "Be Mindful." (http://penelopeillustration.com/blog/)
She's got plenty of other nice pieces as well. Anyway, here's my thoughts on the subject...

“Be Mindful”
Respect the source and you surely will hear it
Only the wicked have reason to fear it
      To obtain inner peace
      Just learn to release
And never forget to be mindful in spirit

water on the brain

Water — wow. Now there's a heavily charged element for a poet to wrap his mind around. Steeped in symbolism, drenched in double meaning... birth, death, mother, seas of change, streams of consciousness... Where would I begin? I went with my gut instinct, which was to follow the Tao. The softness thing overcomes the hardest thing, and all that jazz. I struggled with the topic for about half a day and ended with a pair of limericks.

Last night I made a clandestine trip to the grocery store and tried not to spend an inordinate amount of time in the cereal aisle. All went smoothly, and I successfully innoculated a box of Organics bran flakes and a box of Quaker Natural. May some lucky granola lover wake up tomorrow (or today?) with a pearl of wisdom to contemplate for the rest of the day.

Water 1 & 2

"THE RIVER OF LIFE"
The current of life always flowing
The river remains, the water keeps going
     Escapes from your hand
     Turning rock into sand
Its secret is something worth knowing

"WATER UNDER THE BRIDGE"
From the fountain of time we all dip
For each moment a succulent sip
     Holding water in hand
     Like an hour of sand
It will never succumb to your grip

Toy

There once was a playful young boy
Who came from abroad to enjoy
      The land of the free
      Where he saw on T.V.
That a gun makes one hell of a toy

(This was written just a few days after the Virginai Tech incident)