I can't believe it's June already. Busting out all over, as it were. Our gardenia bush is blooming its guts out, and its snow-white blossoms fill our backyard garden with their heady perfume. My mother's favorite flower was the gardenia and seeing so many of them in one place reminds me of her.
I can't decide which are prettier, the white magnolia trees blooming everywhere in the neighborhood or the sunny stella d'oro daylilies that welcomed Mrs. RWP and me to our son's and daughter-in-law's yard last Saturday. We went there to help celebrate the return of our 25-year-old grandson from his two-year stay in Uganda.
In other news, I have finally begun to discover how little I know. It only took 80 years. I recently attended a talk on the semantic (left) brain versus the episodic (right) brain that was quite eye-opening. I finally listened to Bob Dylan sing Mr. Tambourine Man. My daughter was astounded that I was not familiar with the song Louisiana Woman, Mississippi Man by Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty. These are but three examples of the appalling gaps in my education. I was able to point out that although Conway Twitty was from Mississippi, Loretta Lynn is actually from Kentucky, is a coal miner's daughter, and has a sister named Crystal Gayle.
For those of you who may suspect that I have a screw loose, I now present an original poem, one I wrote more than 40 years ago:
Delirium
by Robert H. Brague (1941- )
No Byron I, and yet the thought still lingers
Will-o'-the-wisp, upon my fevered brow;
Elephantine, its moving, grasping fingers;
Lady Macbeth, and do you haunt me now?
Ramifications swell in deep contrition;
Oceans recede, but in their sunset glow,
Farther away than ever life's ambition;
Kennedy-like, the newly fallen snow.
Brandishing swords, the ballerina tiptoes;
Duchess of Windsor, grieving at her loss;
Scalpel in hand, the purple eucalyptus;
Garden of Eden; Christ upon the cross.
Mountains volcanic; carousels spinning brightly:
Feeding the turtles, innocent, childlike, pure;
Mother of God, why do you visit nightly?
Pity my state, and pray they find a cure.
What I'm trying to say is that people 40 years ago probably thought I had a screw loose too.
Hello, world! This blog began on September 28, 2007, and so far nobody has come looking for me
with tar and feathers.
On my honor, I will do my best not to bore you. All comments are welcome
as long as your discourse is civil and your language is not blue.
Happy reading, and come back often!
And whether my cup is half full or half empty, fill my cup, Lord.
Copyright 2007 - 2024 by Robert H.Brague
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
<b>Christmas songs I wish had never been written</b>
...include, in no particular order: "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer" "I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas" ...
Everyone worth knowing has a screw loose. And the flowers are lovely.
ReplyDeleteEmma, people in the South don’t ask if you have any crazy relatives, they just want to know which side they are on. (Actually, this is no longer true since the influx of so many people from other parts of the country, but it used to be.)
DeleteI agree with Emma as I think most of us have a screw loose and that keeps life interesting. The flowers are beautiful and your mention of the magnolia trees took me back to my youth in the south. I miss those trees and the lovely scent of the flowers.
ReplyDeleteBonnie, I like warm weather and beautiful flowers much better than cold winter and a dreary landscape. Late May and early June in Georgia is the time when the magnolias put on their Sunday best.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful flowers!
ReplyDeleteGlad your grandson returned safely. I'm sure he has some wonderful stories of his time in Uganda.
Kathy, they are beautiful, aren’t they? Our grandson told us on Saturday that there had been some very good times and some very bad times also. He had the misfortune to be there during the days of pandemic and strict control by the government.
DeleteThat poem deserves more than a single reading. There's plenty to reflect upon in those lines. Sorry to hear that your grandson's experience of Uganda was somewhat tainted by the pandemic. I wonder what his highlights were. Was he with the Peace Corps?
ReplyDeleteNeil, sometimes the poet doesn’t see things in his own poem that are seenn by readers. A woman who read this poem 30 years ago saw a psychiatric ward nurse in the references to Lady Macbeth and Mother of God. I can’t “unsee” it now, but I wasn’t consciously thinking of it when I wrote the poem. I was trying only to bring many unrelated and widely disparate subjects together into the the brain of a mentally disturbed person. Obviously I mean the narrator in the poem and not the poet.
DeleteMy grandson was not with the Peace Corps but he was helping refugees from South Sudan and D.R. Congo
My first thought about being in Uganda through the pandemic was "what an amazing story to tell"
ReplyDeleteMagnolias and gardenias are both beautiful. Enjoy your spring!
kylie, we hope over time to hear quite a lot about his experiences there!
Delete