Friday, November 27, 2009
I had some toast with cinnamon girl,
with a butt tatooed on her rose,
a back tatooed on her owl,
and a gem on the side of her nose.
We had a chat in pumpkin spice
and I met with Bill, her brother,
an artist of the ink himself,
putting "bicep" on his mother.
Who herself was high and dry,
and kept money in her sock;
she lived within an old age home
she called this "dern dry dock"!
Her granny was grafitti
of cul-de-sacking lips;
she carried rum within her purse
and had a monkey on her hips.
We did not toast for pleasure,
we did not toast for joy;
she had a butt upon her rose,
and I was butter boy.
I dunno. where does one begin with this?
I guess everything is pretty straight forward...a lot about "butts".
cul-de-sac, the French for "a dead end" road or whatever, literally means "the butt of a sack", only "cul" can be a bit more vulgar if one wishes referring to the human anatomy.
monkey on her hips monkey on her back
toast it's what you think it is....maybe french toast, too.
butter boy originally, just "but her boy", but it makes an image that can go wild.
...grafitti of cul-de-sacking lips...
If you know French, you have some idea how appropriate and inappropriate this is!
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
The Straw Hat
The wind blew your gramma's hat
and it landed where you are;
you put it on and smiled.
It will rain your mother's ring
which will fall in grass nearby;
admire it unbroken.
It will flood your father's boots
and sweep them in the general flood;
dork-like boats of leather!
It will dawn your childrens' smiles
when you garden, and they see
that funny straw hat,
that unbroken ring,
and hear you laugh at waterfalls
and rivers of your artifice!
a little early this week.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Going To Imrikeeya
The sun comes up;
it shines like the teeth
behind your eager and hungry smile,
no longer hidden behind your aromatic lips.
I hear the muttering
of my kinswomen sleeping
through the warfare of the long nights,
counting dowries, wond'ring how we shall live.
Men of honor,
just a handful, we are few;
but our camels were strong and brave,
now they wonder where we go without their admiralty.
A new land!
Far beyond Alexandretta:
we shall wear leather shoes, and we shall wear pants,
but shall keep the coarse shirt of Honor hid beneath!
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
The Mandevilla vines do cost
a lot at Bordine's Nursery store;
wait a bit, just bide;
until the month of June
inventories are cleared out,
and you may pick it up for a song!
We took it to the barn-raising
planting it along a trellis,
where it will grow in time
to come, and shade provide
and sweetly cense the winds that
pounce the script of poems unfinished.
Newlyweds' life!, not burdened in debt;
we raise it today, and will it present
a gift to them both
and then to ourselves:
for the orchards of their lives will be
fruit of our determined husbandry!
pounce a material for drying the ink on written documents back in the old days.
cense to spread incense.
A view of life as simple and free; instead of debt and mortgages, the community invests time, material, and labor in the lives of the young, knowing that their futures will be the payback with interest.
The view seems totally mythological to us, but recall that we are a generation degraded from a golden age.
pix: lower: house: Cindy Seigle http://www.flickr.com/people/cindy47452/