For most of her life she wanted a tattoo
But was leery her mother might yell, gnaw and chew
The unicorn landed!
Mom won’t understand it
And Mo doesn’t know what to do!
Barclay Ann Foubert (nee Nelligan) 1956-2006
Found sticky note
(stuck to a second sticky note)
Dear Mo,
I don’t understand it but I realize you’re a big girl.
I don’t have to love what you do but I love you,
with or without decoration.
Love
Mom ***
Funny the way memory works. I did not remember this, I only
remembered her initial “you do these things to shock me”, that and
“what are you going to tell your grandkids about the giraffe with a bump
on its head”… which now I know is a quote from Joan Rivers.
My mother loved Joan Rivers. And me, as it turns out.
Categories:
barclay, appreciation, love, mom,
Form: Limerick
Freudiana
Famous poet Barclay Cruse
curent toast of New York salons
wears tinted glasses and Italian shoes
and composes doggerel for subway johns.
Acclaimed a purist by his colleagues
hard-edge painter Geoffrey Pyle
earned during Summers spent at Antibes
covert commissions from Armstrong Tile.
Junk sculptor Cranston Bold
collects mufflers and I'm told
often edits his creations
to fix his Chevy station wagon.
Cordell composes way-out music
quartets for flute and flushing toilets.
His father was a music critic
and caned him with his clarinet.
Categories:
barclay, art, celebrity, character, humor,
Form: Light Verse
Milltown, Shawsbridge in the 1980's...
When the sun had possession of the season
and tarmac was treacled by the temperature.
When we went to war with the wasps
and ventured wide eyed in 'the planties'
to the roped thrall of commandoland.
Back when 'mr freeze pops' and 'cherry coke'
was our sustenance against the beating sun.
When real music blared from ghettoblasters
and parents red raw slurped ice cold harp via can.
When shawsbridge was appealing
and patchworked in vibrant beach towels,
folks clustered in defeat of the sun.
Back when the Barclay had an arcade machines
and we cross pollenated each's bedrooms
to play Nes, Atari and Amstrad CPC 464.
Back when our longsuffering knees
were raw to the pavement
and rollerboots were means of transport.
When kirby was played and water pistols our means of defence.
Back when reality glimmered....
And summer shone with meaning.
S.J.C
Categories:
barclay, childhood, life,
Form: Light Verse