Mozart, for Example

Mary Oliver

All the quick notes

Mozart didn’t have time to use

before he entered the cloud-boat

are falling now from the beaks

of the finches

that have gathered from the joyous summer

into the hard winter

and, like Mozart, they speak of nothing

but light and delight,

though it is true, the heavy blades of the world

are still pounding underneath.

And this is what you can do too, maybe,

if you live simply and with a lyrical heart

in the cumbered neighborhoods or even,

as Mozart sometimes managed to, in a palace,

offering tune after tune after tune,

making some hard-hearted prince

prudent and kind, just by being happy.

The last two lines really hit home.

Syntactical Structures 

Ron Padgett 

It was as if

while I was driving down a one-lane dirt road

with tall pines on both sides

the landscape had a syntax

similar to that of our language

and as I moved along

a long sentence was being spoken

on the right and another on the left

and I thought

Maybe the landscape

can understand what I say too.

Ahead was a farmhouse

with children playing near the road

so I slowed down

and waved to them.

They were young enough

to smile and wave back.

Sixteen Saltines

Jack White

She's got stickers on her locker

And the boys' numbers there in magic marker

I'm hungry and the hunger will linger

I eat sixteen saltine crackers then I lick my fingers

Well, every morning I deliver the news

Black hat, white shoes, and I'm red all over

She's got a pink mailbox that she puts out front

Garbage in,

Garbage out,

She's getting what she wants

Who's jealous?

Who's jealous?

Who's jealous?

Who's jealous of who?

If I get busy then i couldn't care less what you do

But when I'm by myself I think of nothing else

Than if a boy just might be getting through and touching you

Spike heels make a hole in a life boat

Drifting away when I'm talking and laughing as we float

I hear her whistle, that's how I know she's home

Lipstick, eyelash, broke mirror, broken home

Force fed, forced meds 'til I drop dead

You can’t defeat her, when you meet her you’ll get what I said

The Lord knows there's a method to her madness

But the Lord's joke is a boat in a sea of sadness

She doesn't know but when she's gone I sit and drink her perfume

And I'm sure she's drinking too, but why, where and what for and who?

And I'm solo rowing on one side of the boat.

Looking up, throwing up, a lifesaver down my throat

Who's jealous? Who's jealous? Who's jealous? Who's jealous of who? 

Salty lyrics. Cool stuff.

Check out the weird video.

I like this. Very creative stuff.

https://youtu.be/DsixWMdScUI

The Hundred Names of Love 

Annie Lighthart 

The children have gone to bed.

We are so tired we could fold ourselves neatly

behind our eyes and sleep mid-word, sleep standing

warm among the creatures in the barn, lean together

and sleep, forgetting each other completely in the velvet,

the forgiveness of that sleep.

Then the one small cry:

one strike of the match-head of sound:

one child’s voice:

and the hundred names of love are lit

as we rise and walk down the hall.

One hundred nights we wake like this,

wake out of our nowhere

to kneel by small beds in darkness.

One hundred flowers open in our hands,

a name for love written in each one.

Writing prompt was over the barrel. First thought was a rodeo clown who sees the world over the barrel from inside his barrel. Traveled down that road for a while and it didn't lead anywhere I was happy with. Wrote a few verses about looking over the barrel of a 12 gauge splattered with blood but began to disgust and depress myself. Think happy and upbeat Walt! Finally came up with Chickapea O Mok See.

Chickapea O Mok See

Walt Sample

I looked over the barrel saw a skidding dust cloud 

Yee heee ya haw yelling for the crowd 

Nobody rides the Devils hide like cowhide Clyde 

I’m spinning the spurs urgen’ on ole’ peroxide 

Chickapea O Mok See

Cowhide Clyde can’t be beat

Chickapea O Mok See

Cowhide Clyde can’t be beat

Four lengths ahead down the lane keep her steady & straight 

Twenty more feet kiss the queen time to celebrate 

Knot is holdin’ rope is tight hold on Clyde I see the line 

Win another Devil’s slide for ranch double dime 

Chickapea O Mok See

Cowhide Clyde can’t be beat

Chickapea O Mok See

Cowhide Clyde can’t be beat

For my non mule and horse friends I will explain.

O Mok See is the Blackfoot Indian word for riding big.

Used west of the Mississippi instead of rodeo.

The History of O-Mok-See

The sport of O-Mok-See originates with the Blackfoot Indian Tribe where they 

described a particular style of riding as " oh-mak-see pass-kan" meaning "riding 

big dance." The second syllable of the first word is pronounced like our English 

word mock. The last syllable of the second word is sounded like our can. The 

Blackfeet had no written language, all we can do is render the sounds. There is 

no incorrect spelling, so long as the sound is correctly presented. One might 

even desire to leave the second work ( meaning dance) off entirely, and simply 

make it oh-mak-see — riding big.

The Blackfeet's riding big dance was not celebrated for some fifty years. All the 

old people remember it as a very striking performance. It was principally a war 

ceremony. Before setting out on a mounted expedition against the enemy, the 

warriors of the camp performed this dance as a part of the prelude of stirring up 

courage and enthusiasm for battle. The warriors put on their finest dress 

costumes, decorated and painted their best horses, carrying their war bundles, 

shields, lances and bonnets. They mounted and gathered at some distance out 

of sight of the camp. They turned and rode together at full speed into the great 

camp circle, circled around it once and then rode to the center of the camp. In 

the center were a number of old men and women who sang special songs and 

beat drums for the horsemen. The horsemen then rode their trained horses to 

the rhythm of the singers and drummers. From time to time the riders 

dismounted and danced about on foot beside their horses, shooting in the air 

and shouting to one another to be brave when the battle came. If anyone fell 

from his horse during the ceremony it was considered an omen of bad luck.

O-Mok-See is more descriptive and more Western American than other names 

used for the sport of pattern horse racing. O-Mok-See found its way into our 

western riding vocabulary in the same manner as the Spanish-American word 

rodeo. O-Mok-See, historically speaking, was coined by people who were living 

here long before the Spaniards arrived with rodeo.

Fast forward to modern O Mok See.

One of the events is the Devils Hide.

A rider pulls someone laying on a cowhide via rope attached to saddle horn.

Sounds like fun!

Check it out:

https://youtu.be/JjGXHc0iS50

Abandoned Farmhouse 

Ted Kooser 

He was a big man, says the size of his shoes

on a pile of broken dishes by the house;

a tall man too, says the length of the bed

in an upstairs room; and a good, God-fearing man,

says the Bible with a broken back

on the floor below the window, dusty with sun;

but not a man for farming, say the fields

cluttered with boulders and the leaky barn.

A woman lived with him, says the bedroom wall

papered with lilacs and the kitchen shelves

covered with oilcloth, and they had a child,

says the sandbox made from a tractor tire.

Money was scarce, say the jars of plum preserves

and canned tomatoes sealed in the cellar hole.

And the winters cold, say the rags in the window frames.

It was lonely here, says the narrow country road.

Something went wrong, says the empty house

in the weed-choked yard. Stones in the fields

say he was not a farmer; the still-sealed jars

in the cellar say she left in a nervous haste.

And the child? Its toys are strewn in the yard

like branches after a storm-a rubber cow,

a rusty tractor with a broken plow,

a doll in overalls. Something went wrong, they say.

Getting discouraged.

Great idea won't transform into a song.

Can't scratch out an opening line that doesn't laugh back at me.

Time to give up and ...............

Nope. Time to dig out and refresh.

Listen. Learn. 

"Learning is the natural reward of meetings with remarkable ideas, and remarkable people."

"What artists learn from other artists is not so much history or technique (although we learn tons of that too); what we really gain from the art-making of others is courage-by-association. Depth of contact grows as fears are shared — and thereby disarmed — and this comes from embracing art as process, and artists as kindred spirits."

"To the artist, art is a verb."

"To the critic, art is a noun."

"People stop making art when they stop being students."

Quotes are from Art & Fear: Observations on the Perils and Rewards

of Artmaking, written by David Bayles & Ted Orland.