it’s never perfect

out of body
experienced
feet in the clouds
head below the rest
not moving forward
but losing no ground
heart and soul
right now
a keyboard duet
for an invisible piano
will be studious again
at rock bottom
where the colored paper plays
the pencils swirl
and the brushes sweep into dance
the melody heard
by intruments
not requiring perfect circumstances
they know life
is never perfect
even at its most musical
guitar man

……………………………………………….the tunnel

want it bad?
it’s deep down

you might reach it
crawling on hands and knees
’til they bleed
stumble through the deafening black
clawing and scraping at the tight walls
fingernails ripping off
the tunnel
doesn’t use up life
it just takes time
yours
a beastly eternity
if you make it all the way
shield your eyes
get back on your feet
the light is blinding
but fragrantly warm
now suck in that lucid sky
there’s not much time
the
next shadowless passage
is just over
the horizon
arnold pumpkinquickie sketch, was going to do a whole tunnel concept – truth be told – housecleaning day – damn ūüėČ

Life is Short

My Friends,

Life is short
Throw jellybeans at a giant
Challenge a lion to a dueling roar
Whisper into the wind’s ear
Sail the ocean aboard a paper boat
Howl at the moon during sunrise

Life is short
Live it long…
bullbloardmy tablecar and max on roadThank you. Dream until you fall asleep
Kitchen bulletin board and studio table photographed 7 pm tonight. My kiddies photo taken twelve years ago.

Super Heroes Shouldn’t Own Cows

The year is 1968¬†and¬†I’m the strongest kid in kindergarten. Today my title¬†will be put to the test. My class will be making buttermilk then enjoying the results. Crisp, blue and white boxes of saltine crackers are stacked atop¬†a nearby classroom table. My¬†teacher, Ms. T informs the class, “Saltines are absolutely perfect with sweet buttermilk.”

Thirty-one little mouths are salivating for this delectable, creamy treat, but first comes the challenge¬†of¬†making the stuff. Ms. T pours milk and what she calls ‘buttermilk magic’ into the¬†big jar until its almost bursting. She places, then twists the¬†gold¬†lid with the long¬†crank handle on¬†the buttermilk jar. She gives the giant¬†jar a thorough shake to ensure nothing leaks.

Ms. T regards us¬†thirty-one, drooling tikes sitting pretzel-legged on¬†the classroom carpet, “Okay children, time to line up for churning. Now remember, as I explained this morning, the buttermilk will get thicker and thicker as it is mixed, so I’d like the girls to lineup first then the boys. I’ll pass the jar to each of you. You will turn the crank a few¬†times then I’ll pass the jar¬†on to the next student in line.”

From the carpet, my hot little¬†hand shoots up like a cheese knife slicing soft gouda. “Ehem, excuse me Ms. T, I’d like to line up with the boys.”

“No.”

“Ms. T, I’d like to line up with the boys.”

“No.”

“Ms. T‚Äď” I was just going to tell my teacher¬†how strong I really am, when she grabs my little arm. She proceeds to line up the girls first, then the boys, then places me at the absolute end of the line. I’d be the last to turn¬†the crank. It was my proudest moment.

My knees are whacking into each other and my feet are tap¬†dancing on¬†the tile. The jar of golden buttermilk is making its way down the line. The biggest boys near the end of the line are¬†straining.Their faces are shades darker,¬†several¬†are breaking a sweat. Me, I’m not worried at all. I just want to have at that jar. The husky boy in front of me managed four turns of the crank then quit. Ms. T takes the jar from his exhausted paws.

I grab¬†the jar from Ms. T, tucking it into my side, like a running back securing the¬†pigskin as if his life depended on it. This is the moment of truth for the strongest kindergartener. I start imagining myself a superhero with a plaid cape and red PF Flyers. I firmly grasp the wooden handle, take a deep breath and force the handle clockwise. It goes slowly and it’s difficult to move. I go for a second turn which is equally as trying but I push into¬†a third rotation. I’m biting my lower lip except I don’t notice.¬†I’m going for a fourth. My grip hand is sweating and the other hand holding the jar is too. There is a small slip, then a drop, then CRASH…

I learned three very important lessons on that ominous kindergarten day: The first is never give small children large glass jars. The second is without sweet, creamy buttermilk, saltine crackers are very dry. And finally, superheroes should never own cows.
Hiding Bull