Thursday, October 27, 2016

OTI:one poem and notes:10/27/16

Open To Interpretation


I crumple it all together,
The finished jigsaw puzzle,
Kneading the pieces to separate them
An amorphous lot now bagged,
Set on the storage shelf,
To be forgotten,
Maybe someday someone
Will puzzlepuzzle
Just this same puzzle,
Bring back together
Its art.
"A few pieces are missing,
It was from a second hand store."
I should leave in a note.


Notes: now, yesterday's post may be it for awhile for the Black Ship tale, working title now, Of Black Dragons, and Black Ships...when I have it arranged chronologically all by itself, it may be seen to have a beginning, middle, and end, as any tale should!...I'm transcribing it from the blog to word began back there around 4/28/16, along with OTI, which is like 4/17/16...and, and I'll make another book like I did with Women Can Do No Wrong, so one can read it first to I post, I read things backwards, from today's post, backaways, editing, and trying to keep track of where I must all seem a jumble!...but it's every post, I kind of carry an overall sense of the whole blog from it's very beginning...speaking of which, some of the very old posts seem to be still active, insomuch the pageview counter is counting readership numbers I hadn't seen before...I think much of that is keyword stumbling...readers searching with keywords happen on a post...example: there's a post with over five hundred page views that gave me read's about the Kingfisher on the Chapel Bridge Post...and it has mention of the Xmas Count, and that mention I conjecture draws the 'ClicOns''s a good post, so maybe readers read it, even though it's likely not what they were looking for...normally, I think, maybe like a half dozen readers read the posts, maybe a couple dozen browsing...this is about the circumstance with my youtube clips too...though one, a one minute clip of a swap meet canopy being lofted in the wind, has like 287 views!...such is fame...this musing about page views happened as I'm having to go into the editor a lot to get the old Black Ship posts...I had thought to get them from the blog on line, but for some reason, a whole section of page background color comes with the copy/paste to Word one by one I'm going through the edit window listing...meanwhile, I find myself reading the old Roman playwright Terence...a comedian...I'm a little unbalanced on the gloom side like a one big claw beach crab, and 'am studying the old playwrights for wtf is funny!...oh!...thought to copy/paste from blog to notepad...and that works...and will speed things up!...I don't think notepad will retain the page color when copy/paste to Word doc....



Tuesday, October 25, 2016

OTI:two poems:10/25/16

Open To Interpretation

Of Black Dragons

Beside Volcano Never
A small cone, a crater,
It's ragged rim broken
Making one entrance for the sea.
Beneath this sheltered circular bay
Fumerals on the sea floor
Steamed and glowed,
Black and red pillow lavas oozing.
This heat kept the bay warm,
Ice free
And a perfect harborage
For Petra's navy,
Three Black Ships,
A long slender craft,
And one battered submarine
That Nemo was delighting in
Showing off to Hephaestus.
Not to be outdone,
Hephaestus took out an
Object from his pocket.
"A scrub brush?" Nemo said.
Hephaestus set it down on
The planks of the wooden wharf,
And it scrubbed
All on its own.
"For the Black Decks,
An automaton!" Hephaestus said.
Along the wharf
Assembled the ranks of the crews.
A difficulty has always been if it is
Dragons with their Humans
Humans with their Dragons.
Each crew member was paired
With a Dragon of the Southern Reach,
And beside one another they stood
In their ranks;
First Mates Ishmael, Jason,
Ned and Ichi,
Astride their Dragons at the forefront.
Petra, Glauce,
Calypso and Kannon,
Astride their Dragons,
Looked on.
The crews saluted their Captains
With the Dragon Wave,
And the Captains saluted,
Waved in answer.
All began to sing the Dragons' Roar.
"Petra," said Pet to Petra,
Beside herself hearing the singing,
"We Dragons rule Nevermore,
The white cap of this world,
Our Human Towns our care,
Will you be our Queen?
"Deal." Petra said.
"Mount up!"  Petra said to the crews.
"It's a long flight to the
Midnight Flowering."
And the Dragons belched flames
And roared to the Song's chorus.

And Black Ships

Snow had fallen
Over all the Northern Reach.
The treasures on the
Midnight Ceremony Crater's
Central stage
Covered over
Under a white blanket,
As they would be until Spring,
Save for one,
Placed by
Onyx and Medea,
The Golden Fleece on a tripod.
Golden it shown in the stage's
Lanterns' glow over the snow.
The Northern Dragon Flight
Perched each on their families' perches,
A respectful audience listening
To Onyx finish the eulogy
For the Black Dragons
Fallen in battle
With the Black Ship.
Onyx finished,
And a stillness in the snowy landscape
So quiet one could hear the Stars.
Onyx left the stage to
Who began to sing the Dragon hymn
"Somewhere it is Fall
Somewhere it is Spring."




Monday, October 24, 2016

OTI:one poem and notes:10/24/16

Open To Interpretation

A Shadow On The Moon

As a bird's shadow over the ocean
On a sunny day,
The Northern Black Dragon Flight
Obscured the Stars
And then the silver Moon
By their thousands overhead.
Hephaestus happened to look up.
"Oh, Medea, look!" he said.
Medea joined Hephaestus in amazement,
The Black Deck's entertainments forgotten.
The Flight was bound North, home,
The confrontation in the Southern Reach abandoned.
"Bats?" Hephaestus said.
"Not so tiny," Medea said.
"I know these,
But never so many!

Glauce was restrained gently
In her gondola,
Onyx's claw,
High over the Black Ocean,
The Golden Fleece held tightly
In Onyx's other claw.
Onyx flew at Flight's lead.
Looking down, Glauce could see,
Far below,
A glowing many colored gem
On the Black Sea.
Onyx too sighted
The Black Ship.

"Hephaestus, set your maidens,
The Keledones, to singing."  Medea said.
Hephaestus commanded,
And a chorus to make the Sirens envious filled the night.
The Dragons overhead overheard,
But flew on
Until at Onyx's  command
They circled above the Black Ship.
'A Black Ship that serenades its own doom.'  Onyx thought. 
'A pleasant song too,
'Not that imprisonment
Of that southern Black Ship's instrument.'
"We can take our seats in the night sky for this concert." 
He told the Flight,
Who were joyous as Dragons always are
To hear a Human tune,
Though this one seemed a bit off,
Inhuman, but with ethereal beauty.

Medea discerned Onyx.
"Hephaestus!"  Medea said.
"They have the Golden Fleece,
And Glauce,
Oh, and intend to attack!"
"How can you tell?" said Hephaestus.
"I know Dragons," said Medea,
"I have them for pets.
On your Eagle now, we fly up to them."
At the Black Ship's bow,
Hephaestus' Eagle that he rode from Olympus to Pegasae
Sat perched.
Hephaestus spoke to its animation,
And he and Medea were taken aloft.
And Medea began to sing.

Onyx and the Flight
Heard Medea's voice join
The Keledones' chorus.
The mix of heavenly and human
Was beyond any Dragon's ken.

"We surrender."
Onyx's first words
To Medea hovering before him
On Hephaestus' Great Eagle.

Medea studied Onyx,
"No need." Medea said.
 "Your cargo I would have,
And you for captive.
The rest,
Too many to feed,
Can go free.
Onyx studied Medea.
"Will you be our Queen?" Onyx said.
"Our land, the Northern Reach,
The white cap of this world,
We rule
And share with Humankind.
You wouldn't be alone."
"I have things to return, your cargo...Medea said,
Perchance, is there a Palace?"
"Palaces." Onyx said.
"I will be your Queen," Medea said,
"And you will be my ride.
"Deal." Onyx said.
Medea met Glauce's look.
"Drop me in the sea." said Glauce.
Medea lowered her eyes,
"Hephaestus," Medea said,
Take the Fleece,
And Glauce,
To the Black Ship,
Hers now to command."
"The treasure," Onyx said,
This Fleece,
Medea reconsidered.
"Just so."  Medea said.
"Once and always
The Fleece in Dragons' care."
Onyx belched flames with pleasure, and roared.
"I am Medea."  Medea said astride Onyx's neck.
"I, Onyx." said Onyx.
"Sail South, Hephaestus." said Medea,
"Deliver Glauce to where I once belonged.
"Visit me at Olympus, Medea," said Hephaestus,
"I would see the gods' envy."
Onyx and Medea at the lead,
The Flight continued its northern journey.


Notes: oh, it's an easy step to fashion a clay animal or person, and imagine it alive...the world of children and their toys...and Hephaestus was the Greek's toymaker...reference for yesterday the Silly Symphony Aesop Fables by Walt Disney, all on youtube it appears...



Sunday, October 23, 2016

OTI:one poem:10/23/16

Open To Interpretation


This Black Ship whisked us away, Hephaestus.
It is curious.
And you, curiosity manifest. 
Don't you miss Olympus, Hephaestus,
The court of the gods?
My lameness they mock.
Rather with your automatons you talk.
And you, Medea, with your magic lore,
Was the conversation at the Palace's dinner table
I miss it so. 
And my sons,
And Jason.
And after dinner,
Gathered together for tales.
Tales we have...
Hephaestus sets his hand to the Black Deck...
Moving scenes begin to appear...
Oh, a fable!
From Aesop!
The Black Ship sails on the Black Ocean, the waves fluorescing, the neon sails shimmering, Black Dolphins riding the bow waves, and the Moon full, the Stars in a clear night sky...




Saturday, October 22, 2016

OTI:four poems and notes:10/22/16

Open To Interpretation


We arrive unknown
And leave soon forgotten
No matter what sensation
Between tides
We drew in the soft sand.


We live close to the ground
Like flowers
When our petals wilt
It's a short drop
Not likely we can
Build your palace
Or moated castle
But when you decorate
Only our songs
Can echo through your halls
Only our freedom speak
Through your walls.


The Golden Fleece was a trap,
Helen of Troy too,
And Penelope at her loom
Waiting for Odysseus to come home.
A trap for every school boy
On a summer afternoon.
Soon enough each will grow to see
Glory Beauty Family
How illusory they can be.


The Homeridae beneath the Dodona Oaks one afternoon...

Well, it is a trap, Jason and Orpheus,
On the Black Ship Argo,
Chasing after the Fleece again.
Don't forget Glauce.
Of course, there's always a girl.
What fishing line doesn't have a hook?
We can never be entirely free,
But to oppression,
We can be entirely opposed.
We consider imprisonments?
Of myriad sorts below and above the wide sea. 
What does Nemo want with a Black Ship? 
He has Calypso back.
Yes, how did that sleight of hand happen?
A lost fragment.
Petra found her searching
The Humankind villages of Nevermore,
Returned Calypso to Nemo.
Today it is so hot, not a breath of wind. 
We share the shade under the Oaks
With the dry wing chatter of grasshoppers;
An afternoon lassitude over these storied hills:
Windmills still,
Dragons napping.
A confinement
With the door open,
What sweeter torture?
Perhaps an earthquake;
It's that kind of weather
I knew in the West.
Just so, I too.
This round globe
Has its ways
To rattle our cage.
Let me turn the page...
Jason and Medea rage.


Notes:  I get just happens...a casual conversation about the baseball game with another peddler on the stationary bikes at the gym inevitably, inevitably, turns to employments...backed into that corner, I have my ways to get I tried Cicero!...on facebook there was a post up pointing out the deceitfulness of a candidate, imagine or real, I dunno, and in the comment scroll was a quote from the old Roman orator,, as it happens, on the nightstand is Laurel Masterpieces of World Literature, Classical Age, and I've been in and out of it...hadn't read Cicero yet, but he's in there, so I looked him the introduction, browsed a bit, and happened on this...


Now there are many at present, and there have been many in the past, who in the pursuit of this peace of mind I have been talking about have withdrawn from the affairs of state and fled to the refuge of retirement, among them the best known and by far the most distinguished philosophers and numbers of men of high seriousness who have not been able to stand the conduct either of the people or of princes, and have lived in the country enjoying their estate.  Their aim was like that of kings: to lack nothing, and obey no one, to live independently, the essence of independence to live as you please.
... ... ...
(Cicero goes back and forth comparing those who take up the political life, with all it's vicissitudes, with these close to the earth philosophers, and comes to this...)

This is easier for the philosophers, since there are fewer things in their lives open to the blows of fortune, since their needs are less, and since if misfortune befalls them, their fall cannot be so heavy.

Moral Courage: The Retired Life
The Duty of Public Service
Laurel Masterpieces of World Literature, Classical Age

end quote

Nearly everyone of the author introductions in this book goes on about how difficult it is to translate the classical authors.   And it may be why my eyes glaze over so often!  Cicero can really go on and on, and must have been Shakespeare's model for Polonius...brb...there's a bunch of side by sides...


Cicero's advice on practical philosophy in this volume make his the most likely role model for Shakespeare's Polonius. 

from the comment reviews


where was I...oh, so I'm going on about Cicero at the gym...trying not to be pigeon holed as a wastrel and a vagrant...and the conversation went back to baseball...Cubs!...Sand...these old poets often wrote just commonplace conceits...maybe they weren't commonplace back then...maybe they still aren't...Petals...'close to the ground'...'short drop...reference Cicero's 'their fall cannot be so heavy'...took a bit to get to this note! and then a resort to the 'authors in eternity' for the Black Ship Tale...I cant remember if it was Arthur C. Clarke, or Ray Bradbury, who had on Mars a community of deceased writers, spirits that would continue so long as someone was reading their maybe 'Sand' is not so commonplace!...oh...I'll look again...brb...


The crew of a rocket ship headed for the planet Mars is dying and plagued by nightmarish visions and dreams. Meanwhile, the inhabitants of Mars – supernaturalist authors such as Edgar Allan Poe, Algernon Blackwood and Ambrose Bierce — are also dying, fading from existence as the people of Earth burn the last of their books, outlawed a century ago for their superstitious themes. Charles Dickens and William Shakespeare are there too, although Dickens bitterly resents his "ghettoization" among genre writers.

hmmph...time was 'Beyond The Pillars Of Hercules' was like Mars when it had 'canals'...and Edgar Rice Burroughs!...reference 'authors in eternity'
"I may praise it, since I dare not pretend to be any other than the secretary; the authors are in Eternity." William Blake (I've had that as a refrain in my head for like forever, this link is to a gigantic blog all about Blake!...2004 intro)...update Sand...changed 'from your walls' to 'through your walls' it's interesting!...and...and I change it back to 'from'...I need to knuckle down on this one and get it right!...'knuckle down'?...where's that from, marbles?...brb...yep...I was very good at marbles...



Tuesday, October 18, 2016

OTI:two poems and notes:10/18/16

Open To Interpretation


What battles have been won
And taken for granted
I mean
Sometime somewhere
Some critter invented
Sometime somewhere
Some critter invented
Then comes along this critter
And we invent

The Black Deck

Hephaestus and Medea aboard her Black Ship.

Your automatons are boring, Hephaestus.
Yes, like rain finding ways down a mountain.
 I can have an ensemble sing for us.
I've heard all the tunes,
They have about them a sameness.
Yes, my authorship, such as it is.
And this,
Medea holds up her scrub brush. 
Who authors this? 
Compelled I am, like eating and breathing,
To keep this Black Deck clean and polished. 
And you, Hephaestus, an Olympian no less,
On your knees beside me.
I don't know.
You, among all the gods, must have a clue,
The why of this scrubbing,
And the nature of this Black Ship.
I study, and I've been humbled. 
Here, let me show you this Black Deck's magic,
Magic even you, daughter of Hecate, may find entertaining.
From storage, Hephaestus gathers a tarp,
And tosses it over both himself and Medea. 
Underneath it they both sit on the Black Deck in darkness,
Shaded from the sunlight.
A sunless world for a tryst, or are we camping?
I hadn't thought...
Oh, it is this you should see.
The crap rained down from the rigging
By the Ravens and Gulls
Is nourishment for the Black Ship.
And our scrubbing is like teeth masticating,
Helping the Deck eat the crap, absorbing it. 
It's no ordinary crap,
The Ravens and Gulls no ordinary birds,
Though on their foraging they consume the same,
Fish and bugs and such. 
They crap some magic transformed from their digestion,
Magic food for the Ship. 
The Ship is no ordinary ship,
Not an automaton as I first thought. 
I considered it may be a creature, or even a god,
But it is some new category on the Tree of Things. 
Here, in this sunless ink under our tent,
Set your hand to the Deck with mine. 
Before them the Deck begins to fluoresce,
Colors and geometries,
And then a scene,
The round earth and the sun and moon and planets
Against the backdrop of stars.
This much we Olympians perceive
And consider proudly our domain, our universe. 
In truth, all we know, and thought to know.
Just so mortals are told.  I see no beyond this. 
Just as Medea speaks,
She feels the deck is speaking to her,
Showing to her,
And the scene changes,
Another sun but with different planets and moons,
And another,
And another,
And then she sees the galaxy,
And understands she is seeing the Milky Way
With countless suns.
Yesterday I was a child.
And I an immortal. 
Careful now, what you feel and think, 
With your hand on the Deck.
How so?
It is a black mirror of sorts,
Giving back reflections
Of our innermost feelings and thoughts.
The deck ripples with images and scenes,
Lifelike as can be,
Snatches of Medea's thoughts, feelings, memories, imaginings. 
She watches entranced, feeling one with the Ship.
A scene of her sons graves makes her pause,
And scenes cluster of their time together as they grew,
And she catches her breath in shock to see again the travail. 
Her hand recoils.
Think of just one thing, it doesn't have to be a perfect focus.
I can think of Jason?
I have reason to think he lives.
The Deck can tell you so.
Medea holds her hand to the Deck,
And sees again when the Helios chariot dragon swallowed Jason,

And then the scene with Athene, including Glauce and Creon,
When the dragon vomited Jason up,
And they were all taken away to Pegasae in Helios' Chariot.
I thought as much,
Jason lives,
By Athene's intervention, along with Creon and Glauce. 
Would our sons had escaped me too, Hephaestus.
The Deck only relates, it can't make.
Making is our purview.
I would see where Jason is...
A scene presents of Jason with Orpheus
Aboard the Black Ship Argo,
And the scene fades,
Along with the Deck's colors and geometries. 
It is barely fluorescing.
Ship's hungry.
Hephaestus stands, and stows the tarp. 
After nightfall, we can explore, see more scenes in the Deck. 
At night, the Deck doesn't dim.
In the meantime, my appetite for scrubbing returns!
What does this all portend Hephaestus?
Days now beyond the Pillars of Hercules,
On this vast ocean,
We sail like a ghost ship without destination.
I have my amusement, the mysteries of this Ship,
But I understand,
A queen needs a palace.


Notes: I've arrange things like a movie script, I think...have to study movie scripts!...but not to make a script, but rather a poem that includes back and forth dialog, and descriptive asides...there was a little video game for Macintosh computers at the outset...shadow had little dialog balloons in the present tense!...there were torches that faded as one meandered in the dungeons...if one was too slow, they went out...SHADOW GATE!


The game is notorious for its many opportunities for death, including being burned by a dragon's breath, attacked by a cyclops, sucked into outer space through a broken mirror, dissolved by acidic slime, mauled by a wolf-woman, eaten by sharks, and suicide. Virtually any action taken by the player which is not the correct solution to a puzzle will result in a fatality.


I wouldn't have even gotten in the door if I hadn't overheard someone telling their friend, 'click on the skull'...



Friday, October 14, 2016

OTI:three poems and notes:10/14/16

Open To Interpretation


Dead men fighting in their graveyards
Hiding behind their tombstones
Picking up their pieces
Covered with their feces
Dead men in their playgrounds
Laughing at their loud sounds
Screaming with the inbounds
Huddled behind their tombstones
Dead men in their graveyards
Picking out the hot shards
Blood pouring from warm wounds
Brains thinking on cold grounds
Dead men praying in their churchyards.


You'll find the likes of me
In old pool halls
Poking the balls about
Half smiling
Half frowning
Like that players' mask
Comedy tragedy
Sometimes the kids
Come in
Playing hooky from school
Boys with their girls
Knocking the balls around
While they flirt
They should be studying
How to run out
Occupies my attention
First shot misses
I smile frown
They haven't a clue
Or maybe I'm the fool
To keep my cue.


You'll find the likes of me
In the laundry mat
At the little tables
With a donut and a coke
Poking at the keypad
Making a poem
Maybe about war
Maybe about peace
So long
As we don't run around naked
The dryer machines
Go 'round 'n' 'round.


Notes: well, I had the line, 'dead men fighting in their graveyard', and thought to make something Halloweenish...and made things miserable...reference turn it up song Dead Man's Party by Oingo Boingo...oh, to make Cadence even more miserable, add the f--- word before the lines ending noun(s)...then it's really a cadence...Cue and Spin...meditations on the same dilemma...taking things serious while others are oblivious...I was reading wiki's take on the Korean War...from 1949 to 1953 about...brb...June 25, 1950 – July 27, I was born March 26, 1948, I was a kid then...oblivious...I don't recall a thing on television...all kinds of things about WW2...knew some things from building plastic models...our bombing reduced North Korea to rubble...and we kept bombing the rubble...with aid from Russia and China, the North Koreans persisted...underground, spread out...later we did likewise to Laos...more bombs dropped there than anywhere...Afghanistan again...bombed to rubble the rubble bombed again and again...and on youtube now a crowd of clips from Syria...rubble...we're the UN's muscle...sometimes there's a coalition, sometimes not...but the purpose is the same...boundaries are drawn, however they came about, and no one is to cross them...inside their boundaries nations can pretty much do what they want, but poach on a neighboring country's turf, and the muscle, US, will show up...the UN is a fine notion, but it can't encroach on nations' sovereignty, can't have it's own muscle, that would be an, we're the muscle and just deal with the uproar...I say we, but 'we' is fictitious...we're kids...oh, I went to Wednesday's Orange County Poetry Club reading, brought home another book, No Peace In Our Time by T. Monroe...Tom runs the readings...not a big crowd!...but attentive, and poems harsh, until a kid got up and read hers, which were kind of harsh too!, but sweet...wish I could hear/discern better...audience is always picking up on things, the punch lines and such, that I miss...the OCPC audiences are becoming the 'reader over my shoulder'!..."leave your body at the door"--Oingo Boingo...