First Day of Spring - Robert Osborne Tribute on TCM - Poems: Patches and Panattone

Last night I spent hours and hours submitting.

Megan A whose website deals with very odd things had rejected my story Gibberish. I was shocked as I thought it was so good.

Thought of sending it to Twisted Sister and very quickly they got back to me. Angela said she loved it and loved the idea of the ant colony.

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This morning's poem:

PANA-WHAT?
It's Pannatone, said
Beatrice, Dante's guide
in Paradiso

Unknown to us in the
Writers Group and even
Beatrice herself.
She reigns on the long sofa
and paradise is ours
when she points to the
Panatone in the kitchen.
Hungry always as the
tiny birds that trill
about the feeder,
I pad, socks off, into
the fragrant kitchen
my nose up like a
bloodhound
What's that strange
creation, looking
like a foot-high
cupcake, wrapped
in paper?
Raisins, golden,
and dark, and citron strips,
finally see the light of day
I nibble right away
like a mouse, then
bring in ragged
slices for Linda,
Rem, Ken and myself.
Panatone! Panatone!
Wher'ere I go
over land or sea
I shall never meet
the likes of you
until I land in
Paradiso.

***

Earlier this evening, strode over to the K's house to give them a check for $25 for shoveling me out a few days ago. Then I just kept on going, walking as fast as I could around the block. Noticed these different patterns of snow in the front yards. "Oh no!" I said to myself. "Now I've got to write a poem about them."

PATCHES

Walking quickly round the block
as the darkness spread a
blanket across the land
I was suddenly aware
of the way the snow
was melting and
continues to melt

My foot ached to slice
a tower from its base
but like an Amtrek
floating into the station
I could stop for nothing

Set me free cried the grass
to the heavens and the
green and white rancher
on the corner got its
wish: a misshapen patch
shone free

The house I like, the
wedding cake house, in
various shades of white
and cream, had zigs and
zags across the lawn

Patterns unknown to us
mortals swept over the
neighborhood as I stepped
lively, avoiding the
mud, and hollered to
the barking white dog
as I cross the street
Hello Kalie Barker,
opened my door and turned
on the film Westworld
with its creepy
characters and pulled
out my rice cakes
spread with pear sauce
to nosh on as I
watched in total darkness.

***
Started eating those sticky rice cakes spread with warm pear sauce and when I finished, I knew I was low.

Gosh darn it!!!

         Thin mints. Whoa, am I full!

Called my sister Donna and asked if she'd read my newest story - The Saint of the Poconos - great title, huh! - she is not a great fan of my work, but I wanted her to read a part about drinking coffee. She did and said she didn't know the meaning of the Rubicon and dalliance, which I defined for her.

Well, sir, I just biked for 20 minutes and read the brilliant writer Alice Hoffman who, instead of using the word "boyfriends" uses "Romeos."

***

Sent an email to my group and included these words:

Two giants in entertainment died recently. The first is Robert Osbourne of Turner Classic Films. My sister Donna and I watched a tribute to Osbourne all night long, sleeping and watching, sleeping and watching.

- Saw wonderful intervws by Bob: Eva Marie Saint, Kim Novak - she's happily settled in Portland, married to an equine vet, and paints. Her dad was mentally ill and she has bipolar d/o.

He interviewed the great filmmaker Norman Jewison, born in 1926. Read about him here.  Thanks, Ruthie! I'll do it later.

Osbourn's alltime fave actor is William Holden.

The second was Chuck Berry. Read his obit here from the Times.

10 years ago I had a monthly "gig" at the Horsham Clinic. On Monday nights I'd cheer up the patients by bringing in my stereo and playing various songs, including those by Chuck Berry. I'd get them up and dancing.

And I'd do a modified "duck walk" like he did.

Hold on and lemme try it now.

Well, I did it in slo-mo.

Today, with snow still on the ground and 43 degrees, according to WDVR, it's THE FIRST DAY OF SPRING.

What can we do to celebrate? How about bundling up and going for a walk around the block?

- Scott and I did that. We took the long way with me huffing and puffing. He don't. We watched Hell or High Water, which I had watched on the cruise ship. Wasn't that great the second time around. Still enjoyable as it got toward the end and the useless killings.

Or how about a lovely spring poem by Robert Louis Stevenson, Scottish author of the famous...uh...Treasure Island and ... it's about the guy who has two faces...email me if you know.

- No one wrote. Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Don't you hate that? You do your best and no one responds. Oh, stop complaining.

Summer Sun by Stevenson.

My son/law Ethan Iverson and his band The Bad Plus were commissioned to write their version of The Rite of Spring or Le Sacre de Printemps.

Listen to a few bars here.

Feel free to donate to New Directions to help offset the cost of our Compass. Total, for 650 copies, including printing and graphic design, is $2835.90.

Send donation to New Directions, Box 181, Hatboro PA 19040 or go on website below and press the YELLOW PayPal donation button on the Right.

- Thanks Ellen R for your $20 donation. Every bit helps. I found a penny on the floor of the Giant Supermarket.

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He had to shave his hairy chest as it was considered too sexy. And this isn't sexy? 

William Motter Inge (/ˈɪndʒ/;^[1] May 3, 1913 – June 10, 1973) was an American playwright and novelist, whose works typically feature solitary protagonists encumbered with strained sexual relations. In the early 1950s, he had a string of memorable Broadway productions, including Picnic, which earned him a Pulitzer Prize. With his portraits of small-town life and settings rooted in the American heartland, Inge became known as the "Playwright of the Midwest."

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