light verse and musings from the lawnchair
Laws of attraction.
Eye of the Beholder
They said that she was beautiful,
In a certain light.
So by day, she hoarded candles,
And lit a few each night,
Or stood beneath a street lamp,
Half in, half out of sight.
She knew it was unlikely,
Yet still, she hoped he might
Be among the passers-by
when the moment was just right.
Then by shadow play, or molten wax
She'd feast on him that night.
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One thing the residents of Barcelona will tell you is that the city is constantly “en obras.” Which means that wherever you are, turn a corner and there will be some kind of construction work going on. Things age, materials decay, and sometimes, property simply changes hands and new owners have a different idea.
Demolition
They're tearing down the castle
that stood across the street.
Each morning when I leave the house,
such rubble at my feet!
A gargoyle's head, a family crest,...
the rotten stone must fall.
It seems that what we really need
is another shopping mall.
Someone sold the title
and a heritage was lost.
The change will bring a profit,
but it can't outweigh the cost.
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Barcelona has an active and abundant bird population. Birds are important in an urban environment. They add to the soundtrack of the city. And as often happens, a moment on my walk to work brought me to a standstill. Magpies are so loud!
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Breakfast The birds dispute their breakfast The magpie is a foulmouthed sort, Poor Mr. Worm, in politics, |
On a trip this summer, I had the chance to admire a collection of quilts. The technique of quilting actually requires a lot of pre-planning, design and calculation – very rational stuff. But the visual result can be wild and dizzying, as the colors play off each other and invariably the whole is somehow greater than its parts, something that the quilter must see before the quilt exists. Back home, I began a series of quilt designs on my iPad, and walking to work one morning, the first two lines of this poem came to me.
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Starry, starry night We love the works of madmen How brave! The man who looked outside |
You could call this one “the mom rap”. On the way to work this morning I saw a woman pushing a baby carriage while walking her little dog on a leash. Efficient, I thought. A happy image. The little dog was certainly happy anyway. The mom? You don’t really know. Her pace looked a little mechanical. One person’s happy excursion is another person’s nullifying obligation. Maybe she’d rather be running. Maybe she’d rather be designing spacecraft, or coding software, or doing whatever it was she used to do that required more than 20 minutes of uninterrupted concentration. Don’t let the books with pink and blue covers and curly writing and gauzy madonna photos in the background fool you. Motherhood is not the same for everyone.
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Walk the Baby Walk the baby Have a baby He doesn’t care. He’s never there. He says his money (and so would I, and so would I, at something else.) But all my time No flow of words No time to write, no end in sight. You tell the doctor Why should you lie? Walk the baby It may be best. |
Another morning. I’m on the bus, and through the window I see a couple gesticulating on the sidewalk. His back is turned to me and I can’t see his face, but she is beautiful and exotic, a long mane of wavy black hair. And although I can’t hear her, I can see the anger and pain in her words.
Same old story
Her hair is wild, her brow is furled,
she wields her words like knives.
He stands immobile and remote,
the strategy of guys
who could care less.
She’s just another bitch, he thinks,
I was only having fun.
And I will win this argument
because I’ve got the gun.
The PSL has been silent for quite a while. Circumstances regarding the day job eliminated the necessary contact with the sidewalk. If I wanted to walk, my choices were to make circles around a parking lot, or pace back and forth along a stretch of industrial park road which dead ends in a vacant lot scattered with construction debris. Then one day, as the end of my sojourn there was drawing to a close, a line came to me in the middle of my pacing: What if i kept on walking? The thing about a void is that it eventually sucks you in.
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What if I kept on walking?
What if I kept on walking,
and never turned around?
What if I kept on walking,
and I was never found?
"What if I kept on walking?"
I kind of like the sound.
No need for an objective,
no dream, no special cause.
My journey simple evidence
of one of Nature's laws:
an object once in motion;
no obstacle, no pause.
This post draws from two inspirations: one, the Poolside Laureate is between jobs and looking for work; and two, the Barcelona street sweepers are a peculiar feature of our cityscape. They always seem to work in pairs (in case one of them is attacked?), and they use charming brooms that could be farm implements straight out of the middle ages. Ah! there is a third inspiration… public sector jobs here require level of language proficiency in Catalan.
O, Sister! Can you spare a broom?O, Sister! Can you spare a broom? I'll help you sweep the street. I just need a little money so the kids and I can eat. Every job I ask for, they say I’m overqualified! I sure don’t understand it. I’m frankly mystified. I’m not too good to push a broom; I’d like to work outdoors. There's no shame in honest work, and all of us do chores. Slim chance they’ll hire me I guess, I can't conjugate the verbs required on the language test that lets you sweep the curbs.
A moment of joy captured through a bus window.
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To the boys! Tie me to your torso Let the sun sculpt every muscle, But life is meant for living. |
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This one was inspired by the constant battery of perfume advertisements that seems to accompany the winter holiday season. The images of women who look like they have been lobotomized or seriously drugged as they float through wispy clouds and satin drapery. Ooo, la la.
Living with hunger
She’s learned to live with hunger
and shoes that cause her pain.
“She’s every man’s desire.”
Oh, not that crap again!
You can see her on the TV
and in posters on the street,
but she doesn’t look like
any living woman you might meet.
Now she whispers to the camera.
She’s only wearing gauze.
Your eyes are glazing over, darling.
Here’s a cloth to wipe your jaw.
It’s just an advertisement.
She’s a phantom, my dear man!
Come serve the goddess in your household.
That is… if you still can.
Rhyme - With Good Reason
light verse and musings from the lawnchair
light verse and musings from the lawnchair
Flowers to feed the soul
light verse and musings from the lawnchair
Poolside Laureate 