How to educate an abject object

"You know, James, that you are an object.

The way you sit here in silence despite all my efforts to educate you!"

Tears welled up in James’ eyes.
He turned his head so she could not see.

And still he would not speak.
Later on he would write.

He would write down that the hurt inflicted by her words was simply too much.
All he could do was sit like an object, while her words were squeezing the air, the life out of him like an iron clamp.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written with educate, object, silence for 3WW, from whence these words came. There are these kids (and eventually they become adults) who are unable to defend themselves against certain people, usually people they love. They should stand up for themselves instead of sitting transfixed and taking the crap dished out by these people who profess to care about them. I know from experience.

The cantankerous fib

Oh

my!

Am I

cantanker-

ous today. What louse

did walk across my liver?

– Leonard Blumfeld

And now to the explanatory part...
When someone is in a bad mood in Germany, one may ask "Was ist denn dem für eine Laus über die Leber gelaufen?" ("What louse did walk across his liver?") – so much for where that second part came from.
And what louse was it that walked across my liver? Mostly myself, I have to admit. I'm working hard on thinking of how to improve and avoid the potholes I've been stepping into in the future. As a first step, I shaved off the beard I'd been proudly wearing since about 1976. Now if that ain't a good or even significant start!

Parasitic ditty

Well, I’m sure glad today’s words are
dabble, lean and utter
instead of
babble, unclean and stutter.

– Leonard “Paraphraser” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Played around with the three words from 3WW CCXIX, and this was the outcome.

Reinventing the dog

This
old
dog has
been barking
up the wrong tree for
years. Another trick is needed.

– Len "Old Blue" Blumfeld

But then there's the saying "You can't teach an old dog new tricks." Ouch.

77 entries

2010 – 77 blog entries so far ...

That's more productive than 2009 already, even though a lot less productive than during the first two years of this blog.

I must have really reported on just about anything back then, participated regularly in just about any writing meme I came across.

Whereas this year I frequently suffered from an "I've got nothing to say" syndrome.

But then again there were those fruitful moments when just about anything, any word, any inspiration triggered an outburst, usually resulting in a poem or ultrashort piece of fiction.

Not so bad, after all, then, this year?

– Leonard "I've Got Nothing to Say" Blumfeld

Sanjiv bhai approaches the boss

“Give me an advance, malik,” I told the boss.
“Why, you’ve probably pandered all your paycheck again, and not even half the month is over.”
“Yes, boss.”
“I bet you lost it all playing shuffle.”
“Yes, boss. That blasted shuffle.”
“You need to quit shuffling, Sanjiv.”
“I know, malik, I promise I will. But you know Mallika and the kids are starving.”
“All right, Sanjiv, one last time. The very last time.”

This boss was so easy. Every time I’d give him the same story, and every time it was the very last time.

But we both knew that very last time would never come. Mallika was his sister. And I was too addicted to pandering and shuffling. Besides being completely underpaid.

– Surendra Sparsh (© 2010)

Written with advance, pander, shuffle from 3WW.

Center, on right foot

One nail not cut. Must
have escaped last campaign. Tall
among short siblings.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

An earth-shattering discovery that simply had to turn poetic.

Magic

For her, again and again

She opened her eyes, and they were all dreamy.
“That was magic!”

“Shall we do it again?”
She blinked her eyes in consent, and we dove into another one that left us utterly breathless.

“I could get used to this,” she said, “that was so –”
“Intimate?”

“Yes. I don’t think it could ever become routine.”
“Shall we try?”

“Let’s.”
And we did. And it still wasn’t.

When we came up for air after a small eternity, she smiled and said, “And after that you expect to take the girl’s clothes off, right?”

I burst out laughing.
“I thought it was funny, too, but not that funny.”

“Well, the funny thing is that I’m obviously kissing someone who has read Raymond Chandler, which is rare nowadays –”

“I love reading Chandler,” she interjected.
“and, if you wish, I’d only be too happy to proceed in the Chandler way.”

“We’ll see about that – eventually,” she cautioned, but with a twinkle. “First we’ll have to get some more practice with magic, intimate and routine.”

And we proceeded to do exactly that.

– Leonard “Raymond” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for Café Writing (Magic) and Option 5 Seven Things, but not quite going by the instructions. The instructions were “Give me seven examples of every-day magic.” Instead, I let myself be carried away by the Chandler quote which preceded the instructions:

“Alcohol is like love. The first kiss is magic, the second is intimate, the third is routine. After that you take the girl’s clothes off.”

Echoes

For her (who else?)

Past knocks on door, perturbing –
all a bad dream?

It was like this a long time ago –
an endless, semi-mute coexistence,

ups and downs brought on
by nothing but my imagination

(which is fruitful, very
fruitful, but hesitant to

come to the surface).
“You have a rich interior

life,” my therapist told me,
“it’s just that nobody

knows about it.”
She also told me that anecdote

about walking along
and stepping into a pothole.

That doing it once is ok,
even repeating it once

can be excused. But three
times means you’re

a bad learner. I am.
I can’t seem to wait

to set up the next pothole
for myself to step into.

– Leonard “He Who Suspects the Truth” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for One Single Impression and Echoes.

Fronzy in his new piece of heavy Detroit metal

Pressing the clutch in such a fine car was such delight. And the thrill of hitting the gas pedal, of that roar from the twin tailpipes!

Tomorrow Fronzy’s gonna sign up for a thousand shares of new GM stock. And he won’t tell Tilda about it for as long as possible.

Cause Tilda won’t be happy about it. Just like she wasn’t happy about that bloated gas guzzler, as she calls it, in the first place.

But there are some things a man’s gotta have, and there are some things a man’s gonna do.

– Leonard “Out of Love with Detroit” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written to involve clutch, delight and happy from 3WW.

Daisy and Kuno

(Scenes from a not so reminiscent love story XVI)

“I treasure those immediate gestures of yours,” he said.
She heaved a sigh of relief.

“And I’d feared that those very immediate gestures
were the reason you’ve been silent all week.”

“Why, I love the immediacy of them! I wouldn’t
treasure anything else nearly that much.

Not nearly that immediately or moderately
or even vaguely.”

By that time she had forgotten who he was
and could not for the world remember

what gestures these might have been, and why
anyone would have called them immediate.

Happily, she began to look forward to another
day of grazing. In fact, to many other days of grazing,

to many months, or even years of grazing
on luscious alpine meadows like this one.

Or like another one.
The alfalfa of the future was shining brightly.

– Leonard “Silliness Alive & Well” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written around gesture, immediate, treasure from 3WW.

Semi-Borgesian notes on this one
Borges was always good for a library-steeped, erudite explanation to make something purely imaginary entirely real. To confound my readers, I volunteer the following background information: Daisy was a black-and-white stuffed cow I brought back from a trip to the U.S. for my daughter when she was about 5 years old and going through a stuffed cow phase. Kuno was another black-and-white stuffed cow that my mother-in-law brought from the U.S. for my daughter, who was still going through the same phase, even though by then it was waning. I would tell my daughter bedtime stories about two cows called Daisy and Kuno. Kuno was madly in love with Daisy but occasionally unbearably overbearing. Daisy was capricious and could not make up her mind about whether she loved Kuno, detested him or was merely oblivious to him.

A world of friction

An attractive youngish woman dressed in some kind of frumpy lilac frock walked up to the desk that had been set up for the reading.
“Hi, my name is Frue.”
That surely had to be Sue, and I was about to quote Johnny Cash (“So how do you do!”), but thought better of it and smiled politely.
“I hear you’re a writer of friction,” said the woman.
“Of friction?”
“Yes, of froze.”
“Froze?”
I was beginning to sound very dull to myself, simply repeating her cues.
“Yes, froze, as fropposed to froetry.”
“That is true, I hardly ever write froetry. How about you? Are you a writer too?”
“No. I come from Frampton, which is near Frondon, and that is –”
“... in France?” I simply knew it had to start with an F and an R.
“What gives you that fridea? – No, it’s in Frotland, of course.”
“Which makes you a true Frot, I suppose.”
“Indeed, and I’m froud to be one.”
Was I ever going to snap out of this fruity world of friction?
I decided to steer the conversation back to the realm of reality ... err ... freality.
“So, Sue from Hampton, would you like me to sign a copy of my book for you?”
“It’s Frue and Frampton, and I don’t want you to frign a fropy of your frigging frook.”
“Oh?!”
“I came here for friction, and what did I get? Only frustration and fret.”
I frinally frinked my freyes – and that frid it.
Frue, with a frap of my froes, went up in a frume of froke.

– Leonard F. R. Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for Sunday Scribblings and Friction.

The late phone call fib

For her, as usual

Late
at
night my
love did ex-
hibit the friendli-
ness of a steel brush when I called.

– Len "Will He Ever Learn" Blumfeld (© 2010)

Reality notes
What is it with her? You call and inevitably get the distinct frosty feeling she'd like nothing better than to shake you off the soonest possible. And it's not like I call at uncivil times, either.
But perhaps I'm only ultraresistant to hints that are as clear as a totem pole.
Started this one with the first words of a song by Joan Armatrading that is among my all-time favorites:

I need you

Late
At night
I feel so lonely
Here's a body next to mine but I'm feeling cold

And baby in the morning light
When I look in some stranger's eyes
It's then I know that the need in me
Is really for your paradise

I dance
I sing
But there's something missing
Every night a different name to call

But you know when I hold 'em tight
I always give the game away
I try so hard to make it right
But it always ends up the same

You know I need you

I need you
Like I needed you
The first time we kissed
I need you
And I need you now
And I can't resist
Standing by your door in case you leave

I miss you mostly in the night
And I miss you through the day
I hate myself for hurting you
Yes I know I drove you clean away

You know I need you
But now I need you

(Written by Joan Armatrading, from me myself I, released in 1980)

The intense immense ditty

Some people like it all intense –
I must admit I find that too immense.

Feelings looming like a tower
can do a lot to overpower.

How about some relaxation –
with plenty of room for imagination.

A steady love is what I crave –
steady, quiet, not one to enslave.

None of these spells and bouts I get from you,
and most of them come without a clue.

Some people like it all intense –
to me that shows a lack of common sense.

– Leonard “Calmly But Surely Intense” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Rhymed and timed for Sunday Scribblings and Immense.

55 words or more

There's a story called 55 words or less by J. M. Collinz (here), which inspired me to write this one, titled 55 words or more. Forget everything you've read so far. The story follows below. Hold your breath. Tie your shoes. Adjust your tie. Take your foot off the pedal while observing traffic to see that it's safe to do so.

Here it comes:

More

– Leonard “Dil Maange More” Blumfeld (© 2020*)

*This story is so leading edge, tunnel blasting and futuristic that I’ve put the copyright date ahead a bit.

She used to be an ...

For her, more than ever

Up to twenty-one
things were all pink; at forty,
there are some grey streaks.

– Len “Incorrigibly Hopeful” Blumfeld (© 2010)

For Haiku Heights and Optimistic.

Still life haiku

Work is still for the
duration of this still act,
disturbed by key clicks.

– Leonard “Sunday Morning” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Believe it or not, it's Sunday morning, and I'm working away on gainful work (freelancer's fate).
Oh, and it's grey and drab out there, with drizzle in the air.

Everyone’s dream baby

A hint of lust in
an otherwise perfectly
smooth sheen of beauty...

Oh that’s the way Carmela
Hiller trots down High Street
on stiletto heels,
tired for once from relentless
pleasure seeking.

Wish I could fall in love
with her and have things
uncomplicated like the rest
of the world, having
smooth sheen of my own
and more than a hint of lust.

– Leonard “Vicariator” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written around hint, lust and sheen from 3WW.

Note on genesis
What started out as a simple haiku (1st stanza) spread out into much more of a story than originally thought of, becoming geographically and emotionally situated and, finally, self reflection-saturated.

Soledad en …

Some­‑
times
there is
nothing as
lonely as a crowd
milling merrily around you.

– Leonard "Master of Truisms" Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for One Single Impression and Lonely. The title, added retroactively, alludes to García Lorca's Poemas de la soledad en Columbia University from Poeta en Nueva York (1930).

Try this

“Try this!”

Sunita was my seductress.
With glee she’d ask me to close my eyes and open my mouth. Then she’d insert something and tell me to chomp down.

I got to taste hot green chilies that way, hot mango pickle and burnt brinjal (she was Indian, and her family ate Indian all the time).

All great stuff for sure, but challenging to tongue and taste buds.
I’d be in pain, she’d dance around me, laughing her head off.

Things took a different turn one day, when we were about sixteen.
She warned me not to bite down hard this time, or it would cost me dear.

With eyes closed, I felt the heat of her face very near me and then tasted no vegetable, no chutney, no pickle, no slimy substance, but something alive and soft and warm – the tip of her tongue.

I opened my eyes and stared into hers, so close, so intense. We stayed that way for minutes, but they seemed like a small eternity.

...

She’s off to college in California, where she got a scholarship because she’s brilliant. A few days ago I received a package containing a DVD – an Indian movie called “Ugly Aur Pagli*” – and a card with these words:

WATCH THIS! Your Pagli.
PS: Come see me soon. You still have lots of things to try.

– Leonard “In Teen Mode” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Posted for One Single Impression and Try.

* “Aur Pagli” = “and Crazy” in Hindi. “Pagli” rhymes with “Ugly.”

Information about the 2008 movie starring Mallika Sherawat (as Kuhu / Pagli) and Ranvir Shorey (as Kabir / Ugly) at IMDB:

This Indian film is a remake of the South Korean film My Sassy Girl (2001). Both are a lot of fun. Much more so, to my taste, than the American version: My Sassy Girl (2008), starring Elisha Cuthbert and Jesse Bradford.

2046

For her, as usual

“You say your life is so empty these days, so lacking in purpose and meaning. But aren’t you shortselling your friends, the hours you spend with them, the hours they spend with you, the things you do together, the food and drinks you share? Aren’t you just a bit too much into feeling sorry for yourself and for the vicarious time you spend with the one person who does not wish to spend time with you?”

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for One Single Impression and Empty.

Note
The title is derived from the film 2046 by Wong Kar Wai (2004), which portrays a middle-aged man whose life gradually becomes more and more meaningless as he drifts from one party to the next, from one short-lived affair to the next.

 Scene from 2046, with Ziyi Zhang and Tony Leung

Today's horoscope said ...

You could be interested in psychology right now, Leonard. Perhaps you are trying to unlock the secrets of a complex relationship. You could be romantically involved with someone who is a bit of a puzzle.

Wow! Hardly ever has a horoscope been more spot-on than this. I've been working on unlocking the secrets of this complex relationship with this big bit of a puzzle for years.

Orange in the Rockies

Orange in the Rockies

Posted for 'Orange' at Photo Hunt

I'd like to thank ...

... everyone involved in urgently proposing my overall work to the illustrious jury of Pedestrian Writing At Best, which includes such celebrated authors as Morman Nailer, Menry Hiller, Nais Ananin, Kephen Sting, Kean Doontz and Ban Drown.

My lifetime achievement won third prize in the Experimental Pedestrian Writing category.

The Pedestrian Writing At Best Prizes are on par with the coveted Cooker Prize, Phoolitzer Prize and Mobile Prize for Literature.

I am extremely proud and honored to have been awarded this prestigious prize, and it's all due to your efforts, my buddies, colleagues, cronies, acolytes and sycophants!

Thank you so eternally much!

– Leonard “Clod” Blumfeld

Published for Sunday Scribblings and I'd like to thank...

Some time, a while ago

For her

Some time, a while ago,
you went out the door
with that twist of waist
and derrière so all your own
that I knew I wanted
to see that back of yours
and you rise from my
bed every single
morning for the rest
of my days – I knew it
with the certainty
of a kick by an angel

– Leonard “Hangs On” Blumfeld

Posted for One Single Impression and ‘Angel’.

She sprang forward

She sprang forward with
her plastic sword, declaring
war on France’s foes.

– Leonard “Spectator” Blumfeld

Wasn’t quite with it last night at the open air theater on the stairs of Lukaskirche in Suttgart. The short version of Schiller’s Joan of Arc play seemed a bit ludicrous, and that’s what the haiku above is about ... in so few words.

The photo is from the show, but from another scene of the play.

Somebody tipped the window

Somebody tipped the window,
and now I've got all the
traffic on B10 for infotainment.

– Leonard "Lone Worker" Blumfeld

My new office at its very best. It's either too hot or too noisy... Thanks to the powers that sent me here.

This was intended to be a haiku but grew a little too fat. I'll call it a bigku (like the BigMac, which also has too much inside).

Roads and roads and roads

Roads
and
roads and
roads I've been
on lately - black and
grey and long. Roads and roads and roads.

- Leonard "On the Road" Blumfeld

Written for One Single Impression and 'Roads' from on the road. I've been traveling in Utah and Colorado for the past two weeks. It's been a wonderful trip, and the roads, even though they were indeed black and grey and long, were great and took us through amazing landscapes.

Love is all around me / he tries again

For her

“Here’s a budge, Lucy. Fresh from the garden.”
“Thank you, Homer. What lovely leaves.”
“You do not seem to be very happy about this present.”
“How can you tell?”
“By the slight wrinkle of your nose.”
“You’re right, Homer, I’m not that pleased. I’d hoped for a pretty little nimble garnished with theory instead of this vegetable, fresh as it may be.”
“Sorry to have failed you yet again.”
“You know me, Homer. Hard to please.”

– Leonard “Still Mystified” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written with budge, nimble and theory from 3WW.

Trembling night

The tenuous bamboo bridge spanning the double tide of the Malini river has been carried away, and now my beauteous one is cut off from me upon an island. The rain continues. Each night I climb up the hill from which I can see the trembling night of Sarmicha's house. It shines in the wet darkness like a glance through tears.

– Amaru

Not much is known about Amaru, an Indian poet who lived in the 7th or 8th century and wrote in Sanskrit – mostly about erotic love, including passion, estrangement, longing, rapprochement, joy and sorrow.

Posted for One Single Impression and Trembling.

Laced with …

Octavius grasped the pacifier with dread.
Having to die in this manner after one insignificant battle lost seemed like a child’s cruel joke.
But then again, Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, better known as Caligula, often acted like a child and loved cruel jokes.

– Leonard "Historicus" Blumfeld

Written for 3WW using dread, grasp, pacify.

Address to Ms. Lina Crumbpet

Go on living in
your birdhouse. But don’t complain
about the birdseed.

– Leonard “Haikai” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for Haiku Bones and Birdhouse.

Love constellation

“Meanness is no recipe for love,”
he said and headed for the door.

“Knowing you, my dear,” she said,
“you will be back for more.”

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for ‘recipe’ at Sunday Scribblings.

Note
Some relationships I have occasion to observe simply appear to be doomed from whatever angle you look at them. A recipe that would save them does not seem to exist. And yet they go on and on and on...

A reign of smiles

Shrink calmly like a dusty girl.
Flowers stalk!
Walk loudly like a cold flower.
Action is an old door.

– Leonard “All Smiles” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written and posted for One Single Impression (Reign).

Oh my, these are times of personal crisis! What better than dada poetry to carry me through.

For a courageous one in the world of trendy fashion

Chest orange,
undies red,
apron garish –
edible

– Leonard “Bon Courage” Blumfeld (© 2010)

A little terse poem formed from the acronym ‘courage’ for Sunday Scribblings. About a courageous acquaintance who would not hesitate to wear such strange attire and would still look stunning in it. She might wear it to teach one of her Moroccan cooking classes, for example, and look absolutely positively edible...

On your birthday

(Photo credit: juditu at morguefile.com)

For N.

If I were to com-
pare you, you’d be the lightness
of a hummingbird ...

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for ‘hummingbirds’ at Haiku Bones.

Note
If I were to compare you ... but of course you're incomparable!

New Sacré Coeur Environment

Recently visited Sacré Coeur in Paris transplanted to a new environment.

Posted for 'Black and White' at Theme Thursday and
'Black' at Photo Hunt.

One minute before burn-out

Another night of lousy sleep,
waking up early, mulling over
and over and over what’s
already facts ... and still
painful, even though I should
be used to it all by now.
I am my own best collaborator,
my own best enemy,
my own worst friend.

Oh lighten up, you master
of self-torture. Accept
the fact that this is not fate.
Get off your serious clod –
you can change it all.

– Lenny B.

Written for napowrimo #30, free day and farewell.

Not the best note for the last day of napowrimo, but an immediate reflection of the mood in which I woke up and thus some razor-edge-of-time reporting. I may yet replace this by something more upbeat.

A great big and heart-felt thank you to all the people who have stopped by to read my contributions and who have commented!

Intuition

For her

How can one know something
that is going to be in the future?

It happened to me once before,
so I am not that keen on it.

I knew, before the relationship
with N. started, that it would be.

It happened, and two years later
we were about to kill each other

and getting ready for divorce.
And now, with you, even though

nothing worth mentioning
has ever happened, I have

the same feeling of certainty
(sometimes). And no, I am not

pushing it. I can and will not
push you, and I will not be pushed

myself. Everything to be
is to be loving and free.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for napowrimo #28, intuition.

Wasn't happy with the ending, amended it, like it better now.

Rose

I don't know, maybe it was the roses
– Robert Hunter/Jerry Garcia

Read
On
Sweet
Elaine

– Leonard “Minimalist” Blumfeld

Written for napowrimo #27, let somebody else take the lead.

Quite possibly the shortest poem I've ever written. I could write more about its inception.
First, there was the objective to write an acrostic poem. Second, my friend Chris' wife Rose celebrated her birthday yesterday. Third, when I thought of "rose," the song by Jerry Garcia I quoted from popped into my mind. Fourth, where does "Elaine" come from? That shall remain a mystery. Just like the whole little nothing of a poem, which could be called a "cliffhanger" at best.

A bunch of namby-pamby

You can eat my hat
and while at that
starve on my scarf

Feel free to
munch my mustache,
belie my belly button,
scrape my sternum
(but lightly),
chill my cheek,
tweak my beak,
knead my knees,
heal my heels
and muzzle my mouth

But never ever
tickle my toes
‘cause that causes
a sneeze of the nose

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2010)

Written for napowrimo #24, find a phrase.

Actually, I found two – “namby-pamby” (which stands for “childish and weakly sentimental”) and “I’ll eat my hat” and combined them in the namby-pamby poem above.

What is a namby-pamby poem?

Here’s one by Henry Carey to illustrate and deride the genre:

All ye poets of the age,
All ye witlings of the stage …
Namby-Pamby is your guide,
Albion's joy, Hibernia's pride.
Namby-Pamby, pilly-piss,
Rhimy-pim'd on Missy Miss
Tartaretta Tartaree
From the navel to the knee;
That her father's gracy grace
Might give him a placy place.

This satire is on English poet and playwright Ambrose Philips (1674-1749), “who became tutor to George I's grandchildren. The position gave him a status amongst the aristocracy, and he took the opportunity to advance his place in society by writing sycophantic sentimental poems in praise of their children. These were written in rather affected and insipid nursery language, of the 'eency-weency', 'goody-goody' sort.” (Quote from the Phrase Finder.)

I am a banana stalk

I am a banana stalk and was married off
to a plump guy with an elephant head

But oh he’s so loving, he brings me
good luck, and he’s the son of a god

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for napowrimo #23, unlikely couples.

Note
This poem alludes to Kola Bou, a banana plant, who in Bengal is considered to be the consort of Ganesha.

Letter to his older sister

Dear Mabelle,

I’ll order the squall jacket you recommded,
my that will be one fierce tendril less. I won’t flinch
no more with the crow at the emporium, as I used to,
and feel so small, like peppered rust reverberating.
Now there’s only one thing that remains to be said,
and that is that I dislike saffron, so contrary to your
advice I will not take those pills. CU tomorrow!

Bel-Ami

Written for napowrimo #22, in which the following words were proposed:

Meow!

“And the cat came back,”
said the Colonel
Sanders-type Italian
dressed properly
for the Parigi visit,
viz. Basque beret and
long Gréco-style scarf

Up on the balcony
across the street
from the café two
French boys were
showering cat &
caboodle with loud
imaginary bullets

While I was sitting
there sipping
the most expensive
expresso ever, taking
the mental notes that
did elicit this snide
little poetic chit

– Leonard “Been to Paris Again” Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written belatedly for napowrimo #18, meow!

All the things observed here truly happened – except that I rearranged them a bit for better effect. Similarities with living persons are definitely intented.

Like sunlight dancing on your skin

Live performance by Emmylou Harris and Rodney Crowell

'Til I Can Gain Control Again

Just like the sun over the mountaintop
You know I'll always come again
You know I love to spend my morningtime
Like sunlight dancing on your skin
I've never gone so wrong
As for telling lies to you
What you see is what I've been
There is nothing I could hide from you
You see me better than I can
Out on the road that lies before me now
There are some turns where I will spin
I only hope that you can hold me now
'Til I can gain control again
And like a lighthouse
you must stand alone
Landmark the sailor's journey's end
No matter what sea
I've been sailing on
I'll always pass this way again
Out on the road that lies before me now
There are some turns where I will spin
I only hope that you can hold me now
Til I can gain control again

(Lyrics and music by Rodney Crowell)

Just like a lighthouse you stand before me

For her

I

The brief instant the beacon hits you right in the eye,
that flash of time remains engraved

I remember a ridiculous instant in the tea kitchen,
with you standing with your back to the paper towel dispenser,
when you smiled at me and I was close to your face,
a flawed face with not the best of skin,
thinking, “Could I possibly love her?”

And now sometimes I stand next to you
and feel that our bodies are one without touching

I look at your face and
every flaw is a mosaic piece of certainty


II

But if I asked you if you felt the same,
you’d deny it with the coldest Asian face on earth

I know you would

You’d switch the beacon off, I’d wander off

You’d let me go until you changed your mind,
fearful suddenly of losing whatever I am,
turning the light on to renew the draw


III

You know I’ll come around again

But sometimes I see doubt come in
(I relish those moments, I admit it)

I see the beacon rotate in the dark,
I know it will come my way

In another instant, when it hits me in the eye,
I’ll know exactly what I feel

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for napowrimo #19, light bulb moments and napowrimo #21, perfectly flawed.

Notes
Thinking about what to write for this prompt, the word lighthouse came to my mind, and then a shred from a song I later identified as 'Til I Gain Control Again by Rodney Crowell.

To me, parts of the poem have a song-like quality, which may well be due to its source of inspiration.

The song was covered by many singers, including Emmylou Harris and Willie Nelson. Lyrics and a live performance: Like sunlight dancing on your skin.

Going to Paris

I'm about to leave for Paris by TGV to spend the weekend there with good friends and to experience Jim Hall in concert on Sunday.

I'm not taking a computer along, so chances are I will not be able to participate in the next 3 napowrimo challenges.

Friday

For M.

Even on Friday
the fragrance
of your perfume
from Wednesday night
kept drifting up
from my coat
when I moved
my head or arms
in some specific way

In the car
on the way to Stuttgart,
in the concert
with the African music
by Isak Roux

Through the air forest
of the landscape rushing by

And in the silence
lingering between the notes
from piano, marimba,
cello, flute and woodwinds

you were –
off and on –
right there
in me and around me

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

This one was originally written in German years ago.

Rendered in English and brought to napowrimo #16 because the prompt ("What’s that smell?") made me remember it. It was originally written on a Friday (hence the title) and was now translated on a Friday. That is definitely beyond coincidence :)

Isak Roux is a South-African composer and pianist who lives in Stuttgart, Germany.

A whole lot essential

I said now's the time
for something a whole lot essential

I said now's the time
to not just know you're free

I said now's the time
to act accordingly

I said now's the time
for something a whole lot essential

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2010)

Written for napowrimo #15, where the task was:

In a nice private place, pick out a stanza, or a few lines, that you like from a poem that you don’t otherwise feel was very successful. Say them over to yourself.
Now hum them. See if you can find the tune.
And now sing them aloud. (Who cares if you can sing? You’re in private. And this is poetry!)
Throwing away the rest of the poem, write two more stanzas (stand-alone or connected) that go to the same tune.

The line from a poem (song) I considered not entirely successful (for reasons of triteness) was "Now’s the time / for something a whole lot special."

Good-bye hello

You say yes, I say no
You say stop and I say go
– The Beatles

For her, as usual

One

We say good-bye,
each one walks on,
to meet again
and again
to let destiny
take its course

Two

you will not turn around,
I know,
tomorrow
and again,
becoming love
full circle

Three

We say good-bye, you will not turn around,
each one walks on, I know,
to meet again tomorrow
and again and again,
to let destiny becoming love
take its course full circle

– Leonard “Cleaver” Blumfeld (© 2010)


Three poems – two separate ones, which are then horizontally combined to form a third. This is called a cleave.

This cleave was written for napowrimo #14.

What is cleave poetry?