Ah, Morning, Good

As the planet pirouettes eastward

the sun facing, morning calls:

All the frosted were windows,

All the cups were hicked,

All the flys were butter,

and,

and the jelly was toast,

the coffee mocha

 her smile warm.

If Not One Why Not Another

When the lights are down when the lights are out,

when you’re in that place where you scream and shout,

where no one hears you; no one cares,

it’s in your mind, it’s in your mind.

Face-to-face, eye-to-eye flesh-to-flesh

the beauty lies

beneath beside, on top below; it’s all a disguise.

The deeper part of yours and hers:

the thoughts the cares the moans the sighs

the midnight chuckle the silent cry,

it’s in your mind, it’s in your mind.

In the beginning some spark between you, both it jumps,

and in its grasp controlling hold

magnetic appeal, it’s in your mind, it’s in your mind.

And if it’s true all above

we can touch and we can love,

give some time to consider, pause:

Mind to mind what does that mean what it’s cause?

In the fullest concept, the worlds between

you and me and me and you 

if only for a universe’s second or two.

What am I trying to say

That love is at basic an electrical play,

A dance of electrons spinning round let’s say:

electron flow, how hot it glows.

Is that realities bottom line?

And if so consider that

it matters little flesh or bot. 

TODAY's DON JUAN or THE FACEBOOK LOVER

In the heat of passion

The bold behold

Hot and sweaty

Come distractions abruptus?

Ignored?

if by the hand

close enough, he answers.

Phone call us?

Coitus interruptus .

MY SISTER IS A ROBOT Or < CONTROL- ALT -DELETE >

I

My granpa is a scientist so I think he knows the best.

My mother says that granpa, can really be a pest.

I know that granpa knows a lot.

He says my sister is a bot.

My sister crashes into walls, wobbles all about,

then she falters; then she falls, curled up in a heap.

Granpa says as he looks to me,

“software glitch, set default, its there to plainly see”.

So in school and on the street

I tell all the people that I meet.

At me they look so kindly.

They smile light and smile sweet.

So on this affirmed! On this I know…his science can’t be beat.

(Just between me and you,

Granpa says she’ll soon reboot

when she cries at night.

Daddy shouts to both, “be quiet!”

“Or

both, he’s going to boot.”)

II

My sister Kendall, that’s her name.

I know of others with the name the same.

And I saw that on the screen today,

Barbie with HER Kendall played.

So maybe, just maybe she IS a beta,

just like granpa said.

And mom will return her to the store

when an upgrade’s made.

In the mean time

I have yet to find,

the proper button, push <off line>.

And believe me,     yes.                     And how I’ve tried.

But every time I go to push,

she falls down and cries!

III

Mommy says, “don’t listen to

that crazy gray haired coot.

Kendall’s not a robot, sweetie.

She’s your sister,

and your sister,

you can’t reboot.”

Batteries not included.

No children were damaged writing this poem.

Side Projects

Well it looks as if they scraped the bottom of the barrel at Quantum Muse an established  science fiction WebZine, and offered me the post of Art Director. Now I have to find artists who would like their art, as it may relate to our subjects: Science Fiction, Fantasy, Alternative Realities and Horror, all with a wide latitude in selection, displayed to our world wide audience.

On top of that as king of the computer spazes, I have had to quickly learn some new photo imaging editing techniques. I spent the weekend looking up photo editing software and all that; then screwing things up royally with my own art work. A good scientist experiments on himself or some fool who is willing to volunteer. Looking in the mirror, I’m the only one around. And as my old auto Shop teacher Dr. White would say, looking around at the current batch of miscreants in his care,  “I need three volunteers: you, you and you.”

So here goes a new adventure in my life. And I am stoked to use the term.

BTW my web/blog diva should soon be posting a few of my poems and illustrations that I will be including in a book of poems for children titled  DUST BUNNIES & PANTRY GOBLINS © , as in whenever she gets to her new location. She’s moving from the Mile HighCity, so aptly named, to the country’s Web of Disfunctionality and Chaos . Good luck to her there.

More poems and illustrations and stores to follow.

Monthly Musings

After chasing birds out of dryer ducts, a nice soak all after 5 hours in the studio today, these thought jelled:

Art, being an artist, (music, visual arts, writing and the like) is a lonely occupation. The real work is done in the head and then as Mozart was claimed to have said the rest is scribbling. But it's that scribbling, that interpretation of the minds eye or the eye mind and converting it to more than just something deep within.
Interaction with others happens  unless one locks themselves in some cave, but the real work is done in the studio, in front of the keyboard, or the piano.

Then comes survival, basic things like food and shelter. A patron ? That has implications regarding freedom of creation.  A spouse? That works, that might work for a while; success ( an open definition) has to be there eventually to keep that going. And then there is a job.

Other considerations that be font me are the reality of the older artist. Can he or she maintain that necessary view on life that promotes creativity, that aids the inspiration? I'm lucky. I have grandchildren that are a wealth of ideas, a full life from which to draw, crazy ass family situations, (see stories in other venues like Kalkion and Aphelion archives).