L'aura del Campo

Humpty Dumpty Time

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███████          L'aura del campo           ███████

SUMMER: 15 Kalimát (27 July)

'é a lua,  é a lua,  na quintana dos mortos'
♣    Federico García Lorca    ♣

Well it has sprinkled a bit again today. The grey clouds are giving the garden a break from the relentless sun. I spent the morning raking up apples. And read an awesome poem of Maxine Kumin, "In the root cellar".

████████ Think cool !
████████ Weather where I am: 78º and damp again.
████████ Weather where shamrocks grow: 66º in Carrickmacross, Ireland.
████████ Weather where I'd rather be: 79º in Block Island, Rhode Island.

IMAGES

What I didn't see walking home:

The general lack of litter (one beer can); bird song; mosquitoes; signs of snakes or lizards; no roadkill; human voices; a mower (plenty of mown grass ... is it the self mowing type?)

It is so much harder to see what isn't there than what is.

Sometimes I get a tune in my head or an idea that rattles about for ages. When I was in Tulsa on a regular basis, I knew Austin who played cello, Gary who played saw. Knew Michelle who made leather roses and Daniel with a voice like butter. I thought of them and came up with a tune that I've never been able to complete the lyrics for.

The basic repeating phrase goes like this:

"in the heartstrings of the cello,
through the whining of the saw,
in the center of the blackened heart,
love gnaws."

So I came up with the idea of using the same melody for the poem I have to compose for Spinning Nouns where I have to marry the item 'compost heap' with the emotion 'lust'. It's actually working and I'll have it done this weekend!

A silly ditty sketched earlier this week. Someone mentioned "Humpty Dumpty time"; I can't remember much more than that. So, since I can't be serious all the time:

It's Humpty Dumpty Time

And you thought I'd crack;
no home, no food, no money,
but I fooled you thrice
sitting here, with my pork fried rice,
smacking lips before I stumble home,
avoiding cracks in the sidewalk
and the high stone walls.
I don't like walls.

I pause to watch the sunset's thrall,
inhale the fragrance of it all:
carrots, onions, pork and peas
and rice ... ah rice ...

I save my crab rangoon for last,
to savor its creamcheese repast!
I'll even be a cannibal and eat the egg
that hides among it all,
(don't mention walls)
among those grains like lice.
Ah rice ... give me pork fried rice. [163.267]