This sonnet has been something of a challenge – in that it is the first poem I’ve written in over three months. Some things been going on in life that just take the stuffing out of you sometimes.
A poet friend of mine, Larry Jaffe, once wrote a poem that all poets connect with. It had no lines, just a title: “I lost another f****** poem in the shower.”
I lost a poem in the shower today –
as water flowed, it ran right from my mind.
It formed and then the liquid washed away
the verse, leaving no residue behind.
I lost a poem driving down the street –
blanking my mind, the idea began to sprout.
I listened to it, it really was quite neat
but by the time I’d parked it’d fluttered out.
And in the doctor’s waiting room one time
I couldn’t find some paper fast enough
to get it down a pen and catch the rhyme,
my turn was called, it vanished with a puff.
And I’m sure there’s many a poet that has said
They’ve lost a masterpiece, snuggled in bed.
We are having a cold winter, that’s for sure. At least, that’s how it feels. A couple weeks ago at the Art on Main in La Quinta, there’s was no getting warm at all. There is a coffee shop in the center of Old Town which is very good, but the line is always long there. I didn’t want to leave my booth for such a length of time. That’s when you need someone who is a real fan of your work and understands the problems of a freezing artist.
A fan will tell you they love your work. A REAL fan will go stand in line for 15 minutes to fetch you a hot cocoa!
I haven’t posted any sonnets for a while. I also write non-sonnets! Here’s a fun one to make a Monday morning a bit lighter.
I’d rather be with someone.
I’d rather be with someone who’s a laugh a minute than a dollar a second.
I’d rather be with someone who’s good in bed than god at the bank.
I’d rather be with someone who’d prefer to watch the sun go down than the dollar rise.
I’d rather be with someone who tries to make me happy than who’d try to buy me happiness.
I’d rather be with someone who’s a good kisser than a good spender.
I’d rather be with someone who’d prefer to keep me warm at night than buy me a mansion in the sun.
I’d rather be with someone who’ll dance with me than bring me diamonds.
I’d rather be with someone who’s good company than who’d buy me a company.
I’d rather be with someone who’s got a good heart than a good portfolio.
I’d rather be with someone who’s my honey pie than my sugar daddy.
I’d rather be with someone who’s an equal than an equals.
I’d rather be with someone who’s well read than wealthy.
I’d rather be with someone who’s likable than loaded.
I’d rather be with someone who’s intelligent than in clover.
I’d rather be with someone who’ll say I need a face-lift because he wants to make me smile.
I’d rather be with someone who’ll take me to the ball game than buy the team.
I’d rather be with someone who’ll rent us a row boat than buy a yacht.
I’d rather be with someone who’s still values our relationship when we’re broke.
I’d rather be with someone who’s real than rich.
I don’t want to be with someone who’s valued in millions, I want to be with someone who’s priceless.
#1220 Theme and Variations. Mixed media on wood. 17″. $230
I just posted “Theme and Variations” on Society6.com this morning. You can now get this on quite a variety of items. I personally like it on the tote bag, though its shape is perfect for the clock and stools that they do.
Last month I put up variations on the “One Side” artwork in different languages. This Link should hopefully take you there, otherwise go to society6.com and search for ‘One Side’. It comes up among other unrelated images. If you like it but want it in your language, let me know. If you’re a fluent speaker on some of the non-English versions and I haven’t done a good job of the translation – let me know, I can fix it!
Let me know if you’re thinking about ordering anything from my Society6.com store – I frequently get discounts sent to me and would be happy to pass them along to you.
This little tale isn’t really about art fairs or galleries – but it was kind of in a field, and tickled my silly sense of humor to the extent that I wanted to share. Last weekend D and I spent some time at Lake Cuyamaca. One of my favorite activities is to walk across the top end of the lake, next to the meadow, over towards the forest. From there, there are a lot of options for wandering and discovering nature.
Talking of nature, there’s a last-chance for the call of nature before you set off.
I just love the half moon over the door.
But let’s take a closer look at that sign. It isn’t a man, or a woman or even a disabled sign (not that this particular potty could accommodate a wheelchair, but the path leading to it wouldn’t be easy for a wheelchair anyway). It’s a white label that’s peeled off into the shape of someone taking a seat!
Just in case you were unsure what this room was for.
I realized that I had not posted this sonnet, despite the fact that it was inspired by the experience of a fellow blogger. Rhi had gone for a very important interview and had asked for some accommodations to help with the difficulties with environment unfamiliarity due to autism. They guessed at how they needed to overcome her difficulties and did not succeed too much. Perhaps as a consequence, neither did she at securing the job. I recommend you read her blog entry before you read the sonnet.
A day in your moccasins
We able-bodied try to understand
the difficulties of the body bent
into a chair, or missing foot or hand
by hobbling ourselves, with the intent
of walking in your shoes – or wheels – or world
of silence. We can don masks, hold a cane,
experience the perspective of hands curled
to uselessnes by age’s creeping pain.
This path we walked can help us build a bridge
across the chasms that hold back those not whole;
and yet one group we still leave on the edge
unable to feel how you’re untypical.
We can’t take steps inside a spectrum mind.
Only see footprints in the sand you left behind.
Sometimes I think poets go through all the circumstances themselves so they can write about things from a personal perspective.
Outside of prejudice, a place that’s learned
like old wives’ tales, absorbed at parent’s knee
to recognize the ones that should be spurned,
no why, just that’s the way that it should be.
Inside of prejudice, that face is turned,
for reasons I can’t fathom, away from me,
til whispers, giggles stop when I get near
and conversation turns to other things.
I know I am the joke I cannot hear
and my imagination then takes wings
and rises on the heat of latent fear,
the wind that is despair, and all it brings.
Outside of prejudice can see no wrong.
Inside of prejudice I don’t belong.