Archive for October, 2010


Happy Halloween!

October 31, 2010

My absolute favorite holiday! Godzilla, on the other hand, isn’t too keen on trick-or-treaters, but he promises to work on his manners.

And here’s an old poem, which I think suits this holiday, just fine:

Listening to the Devil

Open the bottle, raise the skirt,
strike the match:
There he is, no angel come down
from sunlit whitecloud heaven,
his wings wet and his powder dry.
Know him, anywhere:  the voice that tingles
the air, sprinkles flakes of rust
into your blood so it locks the jaw,
so you have to listen.  Listen,
he rides the bus with me, sits behind the driver
in a Panama hat, white sports shirt.
Listen, even now, going on and on
about how much he loves,
he loves orange sherbet so much
he’s crazy.

(Wrote this when I used to ride the bus to work in Dallas, in another lifetime. It’s based on a conversation I overheard between a snazzily dressed eldery gent, and the bus driver. It’s always been one of my personal favorites.)

Oh, and just for shiv-v-v-v-v-ers, here’s a recent pic of a baby tarantula climbing on my husband’s hand:

Mmmmm, we sure do seem to have a lot of tarantulas around here.


Godzilla’s Patio Party™

October 25, 2010

Gorgeous Fall day today — just right for Godzilla’s Patio Party™! Being so close to Halloween, he invited all his demonic pals for a day of fun & games.

Godzilla greets his Mummy.

Godzilla disco dancin’ with Count Dracula.

Godzilla photo-bombing Zombie Elvis.

Godzilla racing Frankenstein’s Monster. ‘Zilla always wins.

Godzilla playing hide-and-seek with the Wolfman (who always cheats).

Godzilla: Patron Saint and Protector of Jawas.

Music was provided by the local Steel Drum Band. Here’s a shot of their grooviest drummer:

Play that funky music, white boy!


The Architechture of Abandoned Things, and an Autumnal Poem

October 20, 2010

In the Desert Southwest we don’t experience the drastic change of seasons that take place in other parts of this country — the change is subtle here: the temperatures mellow and chill, the light softens. Autumn weather makes me think of things and places forsaken — things and places abandoned fall into disrepair; eventually Nature reclaims her her place. Still, there is beauty in such disrepair.

In Fall

trees unravel like soft sweaters
jack o’ lanterns hunker on every porch
black wings of crows harvest the moon


But how could there be an October post without a Halloween picture?

He may be the Devil in my house, but he helps keep the real monsters away.


Different Shades of Blue

October 12, 2010

Everything is more beautiful in blue.

New Mexico, 2010
He’s all better now.

There’s a song by Moby, from the Southland Tales soundtrack, called “Memory Gospel” — please check it out if you’re ever in the mood for blue ambiance music.  Perfectly suits the mood of this poem, my poem with the blues —



What Delightful Dilapidation

October 7, 2010

New Orleans is famous for “genteel decadence” — we have “delightful dilapidation” around here. For example, there is something cool about old signs — and the more weathered, the better. Some are minimalist, like the sign for Gus’ Liquor Store — all that white space around a simple message:

It’s almost sad and tired, the message floating there all on its lonesome.

Contrariwise, this Lucky Lager sign is set amidst a tangle of wires and lines, plus there’s a splash of a red X in the middle of the the sign — why, it’s like a poke in the eye:

The sky was just the right shade of blue that morning; “right” in that the Lucky Lager sign blends in with it so well. Can’t quite make out the letters on the white sign just below it. Any thoughts?

The best sign (in terms of delightful dilapidation), has to be the Pueblo Hotel sign:

Gotta love the lady on the diving board. Oh, and it’s “Refrigerated,” too. What, the pool? The hotel/apartments? The sign is streaked with rust, like salty trails of dried tears. Like the thin wails of ghosts pining for better times.


Light Reflected, and Reflections

October 4, 2010

Lately, I’ve been struck by the quality of the light outside and the light inside as well. Everywhere there is such beautiful light, seems like the world is lit by an artist. Interesting reflections are born, and even light tossed aside makes for dramatic portraits. Here are some:

The reflections off a chrome kitchen trash can (of all things!).

The reflected light from that same chrome trash can spot-lights the clock on the wall:

Actual time not shown.

And this reflection, found inside my purse:

Son in my glasses.

Now being in a reflective mood, a poem about options and advice, about mystical crutches versus self-reliance :

The Forecast

My girlfriend drinks a cup
of herbal tea, telling me
of fortune tellers, women
reading palms and leaves.

One tapped the cards, told her:
your youngest, a source of great misery.
Another stroked her hand, advising
marriage counselors and therapy.

The last studied cracks stained
by the oolong leaves, predicting
warm sands and laughter, offsetting
cold currents of despondency.

I say raise the window in this room,
give entrance to an enlightened breeze;
draw your omens from its whispers,
invent your own prophecies.

Construct you future carefully, and tell
the witches what it will be.

(Originally published in The Markham Group of Poets: A Collection (Canada) 1994, First Edition)