Monet
won’t say.
Van Gogh
would know,
avec Lautrec.
Winslow
thinks so.
Pal Klee?
Juan Gris
and he
agree.
Grandma
Moses
s’poses.
Georges
Seurat
knows not.
Couture?
Not sure.
Dali
dallies.
Eakins
weakens.
Vinci?
Degas?
Cosi
cosa.
The rest
protest.
Fin est.

If April is the cruelest month,
Then, what be January?
If March comes in like a lion,
How comes in February?

In the swelt’ring heat of August,
Who would not rush September?
What is so rare as June days fair,
Shivering in November?

And, pray, what could be so welcome
As flowers in the month of May….
Till we behold leaves red and gold
Fill a fall October day?

Which month brings “forth,” more than July,
A day born to remember….
Save that birth date we celebrate
On twenty-five December?

MANCHILD

When you’re a kid,
you come to realize
there is no Santa Claus.

When you’re post-adolescent,
you come to realize
there is no Cupid.

When you’re middle-aged,
you come to realize
there is no Superman.

When you’re older than your dreams,
you come to realize
there is no moral god.

I’m sorry, Virginia, but you were
misled….forget the fat guy
in red with white beard
and sack full of goodies.

But at least there is a you,
Virginia, to remind old men
like me that once-upon-a-time
may be as good as it gets.

IT’S ALL YULE HERE

“Merry Christmas! Happy New Year!”
Come the holidays, that’s all you do hear!
Enjoy such greetings while ye may….
Then it’s back to, “Have a nice day.”

Old movie buffs will recognize the word Vitaphone in the above blog as the name used by Warner Bros. for their new sound process which synchronized actors’ voices with the film projector, starting in 1927 with the release of the first talking picture, The Jazz Singer, starring Al Jolson. This, of course, wasn’t really an all-talking picture – much of it was silent – but that’s another story.

Perhaps we will take a look at the further adventures of Vitaphone another time – for now, there is more than enough material posted on the above blog to keep you reading and listening until you get bleary-eyed & weary-eared.

Enjoy!

Holy is the mountain
To spirits dwelling there;
Wild are the birds and beasts
Which ride and breathe its air.

Endless are the glories
Of rock and spire and space;
Soulless is the man who
Would desecrate this place.

COST OF LIVING

The believer is happy; the doubter is wise.
–Hungarian proverb

Once I was happy;
Now I am wise.
Once I believed
Both truth and lies.
Now I doubt both….
And wisdom cries.

Tell me, friend, and
tell me true -
Haven’t I been
good to you?

Haven’t I been
there in need?
Friendship is not
guaranteed.

Now you want to
trade me in?
First, let’s take a
little spin….

One last drive to
show you cared;
Think of all the
times we shared.

Even so, you
say we’re through -
That you’ll find true
love anew?

I suppose some
would agree -
But what is to
become of me?

As you climb the
steps of life -
Will you need a
newer wife?

Your once-proud house,
now no good?
There goes the old
neighborhood?

Full speed ahead is your
position?
Better watch your driving
ambition.

Sing a song of spit whence
Saliva juices flow
From the mouths of babes and gents
Who run and slide and bat and throw.

I’m sure those jocks mean no offense
And may even help the grass to grow,
But some diamonds are too rough to sense
Just what it is their gross showers s(h)ow.

Want to write wry verse?
There’s nothing to it:
Nail down the truth….
And then unscrew it.

A VERY SHORT, PASSIONATE POEM

Would I lie to you?

WIT MAN, POOR MAN

“You can pretend to be serious, but
you cannot pretend to be witty.”
–Sacha Guitry

Although wit may have its place,
It’s scant worth a whit (in money).
As the mirror said to my face,
Look – ’tis folly to be funny.

WHY THEY CALL IT THE COMMON COLD

No one nose
(I suppose).

WHAT HAPPENED ON THE SOAPS

Affairs.
Who cares?

UNDER ACHIEVER

Everything’s been done before, m’ luv -
It’s hard to be that original….
Unless a bloke’s the first-born of
An Australian aboriginal.

TO BE FAIR

This is not
a good poem.

LOVE’S LABOR