I draw cartoons daily
tonight I started with a Chinese geisha woman
an elf house, flowers a frog, faerie, elf
a yum yum tree, mushroom stools
bunny, apples, a Scottish highlands dancer
what else to add?
I do not like a blank canvas and half was blank
I added clouds, flowers, and grass of course
this is the first part of the fun I do daily
the best part is adding paint to the canvas
I am a painter; it relaxes me; delights me
Inspires me, keeps me fresh and enthusiastic
I am a cartoonist and a painter
And sometimes a poet
Duane Bryers drew up the Hilda cartoons in the fifties
This is one, and she is truly one of the nifties.
You can tell she is a full size woman, comfortable in her skin.
She is an assertive gal in each cartoon she is in.
I have seen so many, and they are each rather fine.
Hilda is something, and she has a notorious mind.
She is happy to be full size, which is rare after Twiggy.
She is self-assured in each photo, not a big wiggy.
I really appreciate the pen of Duane Bryers now.
For Hilda is something; a big gal’s current “wow!”
I have looked up his work and I love it more every day.
Each one of his cartoons is a study in play.
I am the resident cartoonist
in this residence
My husband is the only other resident
Except for the dogs
and the missing cat
I am the resident poet too
Although my husband wrote poetry first
He has written two or three really good poems
But he likes my poems better
He is a wise man.
Every line is important
The thickness, the curve,
The swish, swirl, the flair.
The cartoonist stares at her work.
Begins adding designs – shades, cross hatches.
It is not what she had imagined.
She crumples it up, begins again.
And again, and again, and again and again.
She is finally semi-satisfied.
She walks over the other paper wads to get to her scanner.
Snatches it up and adds three more lines.
Erases two of them.
Finally has a finished cartoon
Which is standing on the bodies of all of the others.
Her caricature full of lampoonery
Drawn in the light of fine moonery
Some of us laugh
At her autograph
Til Grandma said “Brilliant Cartoon-ery!”
Green on my fingers,
pink and purple too.
Acrylic paint lingers,
Ah! There is red and blue.
When I paint I’m such a mess,
Ruin my clothes every time.
Outer beauty must confess.
Truly hidden under grime.
Magical canvas,
Interrupts in ups and downs.
Makes me so happy,
In yellows, blues and browns.
Light and lively,
My fingers and my knees
Paint is everywhere,
Because I am being me.
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