I'm still recovering from three long days of recording with my band, Horno. See that building over Mike's (our drummer) right shoulder? That's The Banks Building, Magpo's world headquarters.
We managed to get eight songs "in the can," as they say; if you'd like a copy, respond to this blog and ten bucks will get you a CD. It turned out pretty darn good, in my jaded opinion. All original songs, three of them mine...
I know that at some point I should blog about something having to do with Magnetic Poetry and language in general, but right now I'm all about little natural miracles. Today, a wooly bear caterpillar; I hadn't seen one in quite awhile, so he seemed like a long-lost friend. He was wandering across the the middle of a bike path, and after photographing him I plucked him up and placed him out of danger on the other side, roughly in the direction he seemed to be headed. He felt like a fat pipe cleaner curled up in my hand, and tumbled off my fingers down into the dry spring leaves...
There... a bad prose poem about a wooly bear caterpillar! Put that in your corn cob pipe and smoke it!
...but I'm not going to lie in it, because I just filled it with manure (boy, that play on words went downhill quickly...). Did you know that that stuff now comes in dehydrated, pelletized form? Still gives off a pretty earthy aroma as you fold it into the soil, though. I'm putting in five different varieties of heirloom tomatoes; come August, what the hell am I going to do with all of them? Give some to you, maybe...
...by Robert Frost. It's that time of year again:
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leafs a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
...now that the snow has melted. I just love her face; so sweet and gentle. I even like her beauty marks!
