The Happy Caddie

It’s okay being a caddie

tagging along with the team

light as a butterfly

nothing to prove

floating along the lazy rhythms

of the afternoon,

the dappled sunlight,

the bodyguard gums,

the cheeky creek bed waiting

to gobble up golf balls;

you’re nimble on yr feet,

jovial as a parrot

keeping the banter going

handing out irons

as a waiter would drinks,

planting the flag after putting is done

like Neil and Buzz on the moon





*pic courtesy of Wikipedia

Reciprocity

I was thinking of Beth’s post*

from the previous night

about the free exchange of art objects

in Ann Arbor.

Beth’s home town

begun by glass-maker Shawn Bungo

& I thought,

hey!

we do that all the time

posting our little gifts to each other:

our poems, ruminations, stories

our apercus

freely on the web,

leaving our comments, LOLs,

emojis of approval

practicing the noble art of reciprocity

that is never lost

& enriches a community wherever

it is found






			

Burger Art

at Barry’s Burgers

at Semaphore

on the esplanade

they’ve put up art work

on the walls

to keep customers amused

while waiting:

drawings

fresh, inventive, zesty,

a little wacky

like Barry’s burgers

themselves

Forget Eric and Ernie

Forget Eric and Ernie

Disregard Bing and Bob

There’s a new comedy duo

and they’re doing a great job





They’re funnier than Stan & Ollie

and even Bud & Lou

They’re Hobbo and his dog, Dauphy

wisdom with laughter too





Hobbo’s a retired bus driver

Dauphy a French lab

together they write droll poetry

and have a good chin wag





So do yourself a favour

as Adam Ant would say

and drop by their website

to see what they’re up to today

google 'Hobbo's poems'

The Blossoms

You hear of early risers

but these apple blossoms take the cake

five weeks of winter to go.

Couldn’t they have waited?

Slept in?

Hibernated like bears?

But no, something drove them on,

something shiny and imperious.

Hope maybe? Faith that some

would get through?

They certainly brighten the street

lift the spirit in these cramped covid times.

Little blossoms of faith I photograph

to remind me, and I can’t help hearing

someone whistling in the back of my head,

with his hands in his pockets

always look on the bright side, and I start

whistling too

Denim

blue

He’d never noticed before

but since he was locked in

he looked up from his crimped

back yard

 

and saw it, the patch of blue

as a curtain of fleecy clouds parted:

cornflower blue, aqua blue

and later towards evening

a majestic midnight blue

 

& he looked up over the days

and week that followed,

noticing the interchanges:

teal blue, robin’s egg blue

& his favourite, denim blue

 

the colour of the stone-washed

jeans he wore as a young man

when he strode the byways

of the world, a king, & the sky

stayed denim all week

 

 

Red Rubber Ball

index

He came bouncing into the world like a red rubber ball. Over time he lost his redness but never his bounce. He knocked over problems as if they were pins in a bowling alley. Hurts and insults found no purchase on him for though he was hard and rangy, his soul was round and smooth. He took the global view on things and realized that the earth had lost its bounce and needed nurturing too.

The Parable of the Wine

5397144-3x2-940x627

Spent all my life looking for this, he said.

And?

It hasn’t worked out. She goes her way, does her thing. She gives me only four days a week.

Are they good days?

Yes. But I want more. Total commitment.

You like wine, don’t you?

You know I do. What’s wine got to do with it?

What’s the one wine you’ve always wanted?

Grange Hermitage, of course. It’s the best.

You ever tasted it? Bought a bottle?

No.

Ever berated a bottle of red for not being a Grange Hermitage? Ever stopped you drinking other reds?

Of course not.

Then let it go.

Let what go?

Your obsession with S. Or should I say your possession. You will never have the S you want. Enjoy the one you have. Allow yourself to be replete. From what you tell me she is a very, very good red. Stop thinking Grange Hermitage.

 

Lapsed into a Comma

golden-runner-2

 

The very long sentence in an effort to beat its predecessors ran on and on and on over fifty five and a half pages after which time it lapsed into a comma, then another, and another till semi-colonized by tedium it slowed right down; sighed; lurched to the left then came to an abrupt full stop.

 

what’s the longest sentence you’ve read or written?

do you enjoy long sentences? do you occasionally try them just for fun?

how long do you think a sentence should be? what are its natural constraints?