
“It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity”
A mantra of utter stupidity
For, muggy or not
Let’s agree that it’s hot
Before tackling the lacking aridity
“It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity”
A mantra of utter stupidity
For, muggy or not
Let’s agree that it’s hot
Before tackling the lacking aridity
I was recently interviewed by Paul Szlosek for his blog: The International Imaginarium for Word & Verse. Paul is an American author (Paul’s Poetry Playground – https://playground.poetry.blog) and photographer (Paul’s Wonderful Word of Color https://thewonderfulworldofcolor77109243.wordpress.com) who stumbled across my poetry and wanted to chat about it.
The photo used in the article was snapped by one of my students waaaaaaaaaay back in 2007 when I was teaching at a university in Ukraine. It’s all about the shirt.
Anyway, here’s the link:
https://internationalimaginarium.blogspot.com/2022/07/the-international-imaginarium-for-word.html
Even at your throatiest
You’re not the least melodious.
The truth, my precious toady, is
You’re positively odious.
When greeting guests in Tokyo
The custom is to bow down low
While in Tibet both old and young
Say hi by sticking out their tongue.
In France it’s chic to peck the cheek
And friends will clap in Mozambique
Though Greenlanders will sniff your face
Before they help you with your case.
Most Eskimos rub nose to nose
In India they touch your toes
And Zambians will squeeze the thumbs
Of visitors considered chums.
Through handshakes, winks and nods we say:
I’m pleased that you dropped by today!
And bless those friends who always know
The sign for when it’s time to go…
When canny cannibals suggest
You call round as a dinner guest
You’re right to feel suspicious
They’re hoping you’re delicious
And if the book next to the pan
Is How To Serve Your Fellow Man
It’s time to quit the venue
‘Cause guess who’s on the menu?
Bananas look like boomerangs
But if you’re tempted, call a halt
For, if you don’t quite get the hang
The cops will charge you with assault
Nudism in cubism
Falls under The Abstract
And artist folk behind each stroke
Admit it’s inexact.
The avant garde can leave some jarred
So, should you choose to pose
Don’t be surprised to find your eyes
Where most look for their nose.
At Cana, water turned to wine
Delighting all the guests
And showed the world The Great Divine
Considers all requests.
Although some question Was it prayer?
Or did a son discover
The force behind a mother’s glare
Is unlike any other?
The ostrich claims the biggest eggs
The longest neck and strongest legs.
Give thanks these birds don’t fly about
For just one turd would knock you out.
Where do storks nest during a war
As spires tumble and towns are no more?
What will deer eat when tanks advance
Over sweet meadows of young, tender plants?
What drives a cub out of the den
Crying alone for its mother again?
Gone is the gold
Dark is the dawn
Ghostly and cold
Best to fly on