Now I really have no concerns
if you think I may be nuts
If I finally owned a business
I would call it Rough as Guts
I'm happy with my own standards
someone else's perfection it's not my go
For years a fear to experiment
when self esteem was low
Confidence on the rise since mid thirties
as an owner builder several houses I have built
There maybe a wall or two that leans a little bit
So What! The Leaning Tower of Pisa I have no self guilt
Playing musical instruments started in mid fifties
eight in all I finally learnt to play a joyous journey had begun
When I play guitar and sing I may fluff a chord or two
So What ! Audience and me together are having lots of fun
Just recently began some illustrations for my poems
as an extra to provide some humorous cheer
I'm certainly no Picasso, Van Gogh or Toulouse Lautrec
So What !My drawings make some people laugh and I've not cut off an ear
We all have so much untapped talent
because of fear we often never try
Me. I'll keep on seeking mind expansion
until the day I finally die
I dreamed I was in Café Terrace with Toulouse-Lautrec.
We were downing glass after glass of orange triple sec.
And quite drunk, he muttered something that shocked me so ~
he slurred he'd eaten the ear of Vincent van Gogh!
And I jolted awake ~ sunflower bedsheet wrung around my neck.
orange delights, encourages, uplifts, stimulates
Van Gogh, Toulouse-Lautrec. Dali
According to Buddhists, orange is the highest meditative state
a state of illumination and enlightenment
she symbolizes a journey for knowledge
Translated from the Slovakian
I enlisted with the god of second chances
Knowing my chances were second to none.
I surrendered my soul and my passport
When I entered my new life’s routine
In service to the colors of France.
I’d pledged my honor and fidelity,
Or whatever romantic sh*te was required,
When I’d earned my coveted ticket
For the train ride from Marseilles to Toulouse.
A sheep that's learned to fill itself on meat.
The training was tough, but the treatment humane.
Not like the nonsense portrayed in the movies.
But I was prepared to march or die
On the day I was given my name,
Vojak Bojovnik, Légion étrangère.
THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR
DIEN BIEN PHU
*Image of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec provided by Sotheby's.
Lautrec At Night
He leads amongst the bustle
sedate naught condemn
the noise, music, and high kicks
late in the pm.
Paris famed tower
drunk paint blithe vibrant visions
artist empower.
2021 May 27
Just a big overgrown kid, my Bruce
Wanting to hit the road and vamoose
Dreams of conducting a caboose
Go all the way up to Toulouse
Bruce refuses to grow up, what’s the use
He can rhyme off one of many old excuse
And sometimes swears to All and to Zeus
Bruce wasn’t always this way, something came loose
He’s become simple yet ever so abstruse
Can’t differentiate a moose from a goose
Doesn’t have a clue what to do with his papoose
The best we could do was come to a truce
Now they both get an afternoon nap after their juice
Sometimes I feel like a recluse
But never a victim of abuse
Or that life dealt me a deuce
When Bruce smiles he can still seduce
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
It took fifty-seven paces to the end of the track
But for some strange reason, only fifty-six back.
I tried it again, for something to do
While constantly phoning for breakdown rescue.
The ants were enormous, the grasshoppers blue
Inside of their wings only showed when they flew.
Thistles and lavender, cornflowers too,
But mostly just tarmac, a magnificent view.
Of the village below, a distant haze
Whilst here on the hill, we’ve been waiting for days.
Well that’s how it seems here in the heat,
A broken down car, my life at my feet;
Two tents and three cases
A bag full of shoes,
Four roll mats, gas cooker
And a map of Toulouse.
Wet suits and sun hats
A blow-up canoe,
Cool box and sun cream
A deck chair or two.
There are pillows for night time
A towel for the beach,
Two picnic rugs
And a goodie bag each.
“You can take what you like,
if it fits in the boot”
I spy a small gap
And fill it with loot.
The back seat is clear
Tunnel’s booked for tonight
We’re off and our hols
And we’re travelling light.
She's far from Faro
and I s'pose Berlin.
There's something in her buildings -
they are rose in certain light.
She's far from London,
and I s'pose New York...
(Make that I know.)
There's something in her windows -
they are bright in light.
She's where I don't live,
but I may do one day...
That's if I don't go to
Faro, London, or New York.
Berlin's another matter.
Write it in the chalk!
5/13/2017
i won’t forget the times when i made roundish letters
in blue-black ink
as if i were crushing blackberry beads
perfumed and wild
and in the eyes of that man by chance
it was always the same toulouse-lautrec painting
with my watery blue dress
like a cloud in an armchair the color of rose petals
frozen rotted in november
with his checkered hat thrown
accidentally over my raincoat
i wondered too much
why he squeezed the whole sun between his teeth
while laughing
i continued to write about the dreams
like white dead pigeons
my lord
with the heart shielded between wings
{continued 2of2}...
the third girl took her
bullet reluctantly but
Mr. Mohammed Merah believes
in an eye for an eye
i wonder if Mr. Muhammad Wazir
would have preferred to take
his farming plowshare,
beat it into a sword
and bring writhing attrition
to still more children.
i think...i prefer to think,
that Mr. Muhammad Wazir, 35,
of Panjwai, Afganistan,
would tell Mr. Mohammed Merah, 24,
of Toulouse, France
that children are innocent
not just in God's eyes,
but in truth, in his too,
that killing only begets more killing
Alas, it is too late for Merah's merit,
and the sky still shines blue
© Goode Guy 2012-03-21
http://www.npr.org/2012/03/20/148974952/afghan-farmer-lost-11-relatives-in-shooting-rampage
http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2012/03/20/148976984/all-my-dreams-are-buried-under-a-pile-of-dust-now-says-grieving-afghan?ft=1&f=1001
http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2012/03/21/149080247/sifting-through-what-we-know-about-the-french-slaying-suspect
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052702304636404577294632810920116.html?mod=googlenews_wsj
Thoughts;
freedoms
wave goodbye-
all confined things
die
Inspired by the maxim of Toulouse Lautred's father about nature/birds etc
Genetics,kept his stature,small
'As is life' became his call
Graphic posters on city walls;
Murals,pasted,for just a while
Now,timeless.signatures his style
Th Warhol of the 1890's Hernri Toulouse Lautrec 1864-1901
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henri_de_Toulouse-Lautrec
Color'in books AND crayO.La looks
with a smile wondering while she
might be craZy or knot.ting a note
hear it ring from a ;ping! and a ling
a long song sing.ing over and over.
Again.
What's the color of my pen?
mmmm...
violettes de toulouse.
Sugar ;)
The flowers, leaves and roots of various Viola species are used for medicinal purposes,
being rich in vitamins A and C. They also contain a type of antioxidant called an
anthocyanin. Viola flowers are also used to make an herbal tea that is used in Chinese
herbal medicine...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Violet_(plant)
purrr pple... be sweet and be well.
He's really just a tiny chap,
no bigger than a speck,
but when he sits upon your lap
it's hard Toulouse Lautrec.
Toulouse, oh please do place a hand on me
Your pen will sketch what your eyes can see
The ladies’ legs as they dance the can-can
Make me feel like more than a napkin
Toulouse, oh s'il vous plaît placer une main sur moi
Votre stylo esquissera que vos yeux peuvent voir
Les dames les jambes comme ils dansent la Marque de french-cancan
Me me sens comme plus qu'une serviette de table
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