No one ever answers when I call

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

I enjoyed 'The Tea Plantation of Katakura in Suruga Province' which had much more of a domestic presence than any of the previous installments.

The most enjoyable parts of the poem, for me, were from stanzas 5-7, particularly for the sounds that got across that domestic aspects. Some suitably nimble writing to describe the nimbe gossip and craft of these women.

Fine work, Brian. God knows how you do it, but full credit.

Thanks also for the link to the Cotopaxi painting.

Thanks, Steven. You've been a faithful reader.

This print has been criticized for being "too busy", but I find the very busyness of the picture to be a virtue, and the source of the domestic aspects that you point out in your comment.

BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

I Wonder If My Brains Are Still Safe

Strolling down Jackson Street, Media Pa,
on a warm and sunny springtime evening,
I see a little girl and her father
walking a little ahead of me,
just by the Koffee Korner.
The father has a Very Serious Gait,
while his daughter skips to the beat
of music that only she can hear.

But I sense her music a little, and I start skipping myself
as I pass by. "It sure is a good day for skipping," I say
and the little girl starts to laugh—
her father smiles, “The joy of youth!”—
but he keeps up his serious gait.

"You're the funniest man I ever saw,"
she laughs as I skip past, and her father smiles again.
I give them both a wave as the firehouse goes by,
and I skip across the street to the library
(first looking for traffic, of course)
and wave a last goodbye. "Keep skipping," I say,
"and get your Dad to skip with you."

I open the door to the library,
and, crossing the threshold, I adopt a more regular stride—
a stride that is just a whisper, or a monotone,
compared to the loud laughter of my skipping.

Lydia, the librarian with the purple hair
and glasses—who had dressed as a zombie
some weeks before, and promised to eat my brains—
takes my returned book, and says, “On time!”

“Yeah, I was afraid I’d lost it,” I say,
“It was buried underneath all kinds
of papers on my desk from when I did my taxes.”
I make my serious face, and Lydia laughs.
I wonder if my brains are still safe.

I walk back to the entrance with a Very Serious Gait,
and I exit the library back into the street.
Here, once again warmed by the air of a sunny springtime evening,
I start to skip again.

In the distance, I hear a little girl laugh,
and it sounds a lot like music.

----------------------

BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

Dreams and Hopes of the Twilight Years

My mother dreams of trains and apple pie,
of high school plays and dances long gone by—
of things that have a strange romantic pull.
She wakes to find her urgent bladder full,
and hopes that she can reach the bathroom door
before she ends up peeing on the floor.

She doesn't ask for pity, I must say—
just do not be the one to block her way.

--------------

BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

We Do Not Fear the Bomb



In the fifties, it was duck and cover—
fallout shelters from the bomb.
Today, these relics linger on,
and fallout signs still show some places—
subway stations, high school gyms,
even private homes
where the industrious or fearful
were sure to be prepared.

Today, we have an app for that—
our Twitter feed will tell us when
a storm has come, a plane is down,
or when the latest accident
has snarled the highway home.
We do not fear the bomb, and know
that when it comes—if it comes—
by terrorist or Putin’s thumb—

there's little we can do—
except to send an Instagram,
or "like" the post and pass it on.
We’ll add a pithy picture of a cat,
whose broken English
spreads its feline wisdom
as the world comes to its end.

-----------------------

BrianIs AtYou

[5th column]

Hi Brian, just a little praise for Brains. I like the lightness of the tone (unlike so much so many of us write), and especially this:

"I walk back to the entrance with a Very Serious Gate'

I also like Dreams - the last line is a nice surprise.

Fear the Bomb - we're too busy at social media on our smart phones to worry about the end of the world. Another nice concept.

Almost done. Nice thread that's been a pleasure to visit each time.

[Arlene]

Ah, Brian, yay, thank you for We Do Not Fear the Bomb, putting that in words, perfect, and the sad beautiful rhyme of...Twilight Years, and the happy skipping with chilld, and zombie librarian. You have made this month a real pleasure.

[GreaterMandalaofUselessness]

Hi Brian,I'm restricting myself to catching up on this page only, given how many attempts it took me get onto in the first place!

I wonder if my brains are still safe is a great title for a poem. I liked the sentiment here; I like the gentle humour here, and the contrasting serious (father, library) with the playful little girl, and N leaving the library, and the parallels between the little girl and the librarian. So we get to see child and adult, and adults who seem to have the ability to mix child and adult as and when appropriate (librarian and N) and those who apparently haven't (the father). Nicely constructed and gently enjoyable.

Dreams and Hopes of the Twilight Years: killer ending!

We do not fear the bomb I do like the idea here, the contrast of past and present, and the fact that the poem doesn't fall into the trap of simply condemning the present. The shelters of the past were optimistic, we are not remiss, simply better informed. At the same time it does show the rather vacuous nature of FB etc; love the talking cat.

A great trio of poems: enjoyed.

-Matt

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

Hi Brian, just a little praise for Brains. I like the lightness of the tone (unlike so much so many of us write), and especially this:

"I walk back to the entrance with a Very Serious Gate'

I also like Dreams - the last line is a nice surprise.

Fear the Bomb - we're too busy at social media on our smart phones to worry about the end of the world. Another nice concept.

Almost done. Nice thread that's been a pleasure to visit each time.

Thanks, 5th. With "Brains", I wanted to go for a very light-hearted tone. This has some similarities in tone with an old 7/7 piece from some years ago (2009) "Miriam and the Very Big Ball", with the exception that Miriam was pure fiction, while the current piece is "based on a true story". (Lydia was quite pleased when she saw that I put her in a poem).

With "Dreams", the final couplet was added on, as it felt incomplete. It seems like the last line is working as I had hoped.

With "Bomb", as with the earlier "Another Notch", I had downloaded a number of historical public domain pictures and let them sit until the called out to me.

Ah, Brian, yay, thank you for We Do Not Fear the Bomb, putting that in words, perfect, and the sad beautiful rhyme of...Twilight Years, and the happy skipping with chilld, and zombie librarian. You have made this month a real pleasure.

Thanks, Arlene. Glad that you liked the latest.

Hi Brian,I'm restricting myself to catching up on this page only, given how many attempts it took me get onto in the first place!

I wonder if my brains are still safe is a great title for a poem. I liked the sentiment here; I like the gentle humour here, and the contrasting serious (father, library) with the playful little girl, and N leaving the library, and the parallels between the little girl and the librarian. So we get to see child and adult, and adults who seem to have the ability to mix child and adult as and when appropriate (librarian and N) and those who apparently haven't (the father). Nicely constructed and gently enjoyable.

Dreams and Hopes of the Twilight Years: killer ending!

We do not fear the bomb I do like the idea here, the contrast of past and present, and the fact that the poem doesn't fall into the trap of simply condemning the present. The shelters of the past were optimistic, we are not remiss, simply better informed. At the same time it does show the rather vacuous nature of FB etc; love the talking cat.

A great trio of poems: enjoyed.

-Matt

Thanks Matt, for noting the various parallels in "Brains".

Glad you like the ending of "Dreams". It appears to have been a good idea to add on those extra lines at the end.

Also glad you like the "Bomb" piece. That evolved fairly naturally when I decided to not be too grim about the subject.

BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

Hi Brian, just a little praise for Brains. I like the lightness of the tone (unlike so much so many of us write), and especially this:

"I walk back to the entrance with a Very Serious Gate'

I also like Dreams - the last line is a nice surprise.

Fear the Bomb - we're too busy at social media on our smart phones to worry about the end of the world. Another nice concept.

Almost done. Nice thread that's been a pleasure to visit each time.

Thanks, 5th. With "Brains", I wanted to go for a very light-hearted tone. This has some similarities in tone with an old 7/7 piece from some years ago (2009) "Miriam and the Very Big Ball", with the exception that Miriam was pure fiction, while the current piece is "based on a true story". (Lydia was quite pleased when she saw that I put her in a poem).

With "Dreams", the final couplet was added on, as it felt incomplete. It seems like the last line is working as I had hoped.

With "Bomb", as with the earlier "Another Notch", I had downloaded a number of historical public domain pictures and let them sit until the called out to me.

Ah, Brian, yay, thank you for We Do Not Fear the Bomb, putting that in words, perfect, and the sad beautiful rhyme of...Twilight Years, and the happy skipping with chilld, and zombie librarian. You have made this month a real pleasure.

Thanks, Arlene. Glad that you liked the latest.

Hi Brian,I'm restricting myself to catching up on this page only, given how many attempts it took me get onto in the first place!

I wonder if my brains are still safe is a great title for a poem. I liked the sentiment here; I like the gentle humour here, and the contrasting serious (father, library) with the playful little girl, and N leaving the library, and the parallels between the little girl and the librarian. So we get to see child and adult, and adults who seem to have the ability to mix child and adult as and when appropriate (librarian and N) and those who apparently haven't (the father). Nicely constructed and gently enjoyable.

Dreams and Hopes of the Twilight Years: killer ending!

We do not fear the bomb I do like the idea here, the contrast of past and present, and the fact that the poem doesn't fall into the trap of simply condemning the present. The shelters of the past were optimistic, we are not remiss, simply better informed. At the same time it does show the rather vacuous nature of FB etc; love the talking cat.

A great trio of poems: enjoyed.

-Matt

Thanks Matt, for noting the various parallels in "Brains".

Glad you like the ending of "Dreams". It appears to have been a good idea to add on those extra lines at the end.

Also glad you like the "Bomb" piece. That evolved fairly naturally when I decided to not be too grim about the subject.

BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

To Write the Impossible Poem

Never sleep—
unless to sleep late.
Forget tomorrow and yesterday—
believe only in today.

When someone dies—mourn.
When someone lives—share.
When someone is born—celebrate.
When you mourn, remember to share and celebrate, too.

Let the Sun shine when it will—it has no secrets.
Welcome the Moon when it pokes through the clouds—day or night—
that is the Moon’s very secret—to let you see it only when it will.
And the stars—what can one say of the stars?

Shine, my brothers and sisters.
Suffer and laugh in equal measure.

Be human.
Be whatever you are.

----------------------------------

BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

A Plan for Every Day (Inspired by a friend's Instagram post)

On Wednesdays, we wear purple—
on Thursdays, we wear pink.
On Fridays, we wear polka dots—
we don’t care what you think.

On Saturdays, we’re lazy fools
in sandals and pajamas.
On Sunday, with our Sunday best,
we’re off to visit Mama’s.

On Monday, we’re the grumpy bums—
we don’t care what we wear.
On Tuesday, we wear glitz and gold,
so please ignore the glare!

But, then, it’s back to Wednesday—
we're purple through and through.
Without a plan for every day,
I don’t know what we’d do.

-----------------

BrianIs AtYou

[casket N orbit]

"To Write the Impossible Poem", a rock-solid humanness about it, very positive too!
"A Plan for Every Day" I like the playfulness and the rhymes are nice fits!

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

"To Write the Impossible Poem", a rock-solid humanness about it, very positive too!
"A Plan for Every Day" I like the playfulness and the rhymes are nice fits!

Thanks, casket. It's been a fun and challenging month.

BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

To Lay the Pencil Down

The day has come to lay the pencil down.
Our words come to an end, for good or ill.
We should not let this prospect make us frown.
Instead, let us give thanks—it's time to chill.

----------------------

BrianIs AtYou

[BrianIsSmilingAtYou]

OK, I had to write one more when my nephew sent me a math/science joke.

Here's the joke first:

"What do you get when you cross a mosquito and a mountain climber?

Nothing! you can't cross a vector with a scaler!"

-------------

The Mosquito and the Mountain Climber

A mad mosquito buzzed a climber high upon a ridge.
The mountain climber crossed the path to swat that silly midge.
His swat went wide; he missed the gnat,
and down he fell; his face went splat.
He rolled into the canyon, where he landed on a bridge.

The mad mosquito buzzed and buzzed; he made a mighty noise.
The mountain climber scaled the cliff with mountain climber toys.
His face was red, but soon grew pale—or
so it's said—that mighty scaler
made his way up rock and trail with cinematic poise.

The mountain climber heard the buzz; it drove him crazy mad.
He swore he'd kill that buzzer first, and then the buzzer's Dad.
The mad mosquito buzzed this sector,
flying on a polar vector—
and, as it was, his maddening buzz was much more than a fad.

The vector and the scaler met. They crossed their paths again.
The mountain climber mocked the gnat; he gave a swat, and then—
the mad mosquito buzzed aside—
"Again, my friend, your swat goes wide!"
"What's that? You speak!" The climber cried, and swore off beer and gin.

----------------

BrianIs AtYou