The Pose

Obligatory parthenon shot, you know, between the columns,
Highlighting sculptured friezes, a flyby transition to ye ol' B.C.-
Turn upon horseback and fire back, sending arrows straight
To you - pediment or impediment - ah, triangular entablature.
The camera sees it all.

Doric order, Ionic nostalgia, Corinthian history, and, "When was the
Last time you did something for the first time?" Eddie wants to know.
It's a different kind of truth, old as Athena, introscopic and satyric.
Whether in La Jolla or with Iktinos, Kallikrates and Karpion,
The punch line, the hook, the chorus, is the crown jewel.

Haven't been there in forever, literally; like a research manual,
Collecting dust and data, synthesis of incidental outcomes, you say
There are no coincidences, only truth, to you and your blues.
Renaissance man, I was there before, when it cost but one talent
To construct a trireme (fathom that) in the Peloponnesian War.

You'll never enter through the back door; gaze in, moving east,
Looking toward her cella, visual interruption erupts divine.
Chryselephantine goddess with her wooden core, draped in
Blood and fire, she's the woman, "Honeybabysweetiedoll."
Arrephores sewed her peplos for a year; your hagor elicits itches.

David sings, "A buck is still a buck in Shaghai," and, "Whole lotta
Shakespeare goin' on," as you cruise Chinatown in your mind.
Nothing's civil about war nor that coal tattoo; I'll stick to my guns,
But eighteen wheels brought a dozen roses too - an ideal apogee.
Posts and lintels make a nice classical view; Pnyx democracy rules.

© Ann Reinhardt Cantu, 02/11/2013

So it's been a year and a half since I've blogged. No surprise. It was/is kinda boring and weird. I mean, an online diary? Really? I'm on FaceBook daily, and that's about enough. I recently joined Pinterest. I can see how one could easily become addicted to that site. When I was setting up my boards (when I learned - duh - you can have more than one board), I stayed with my head in Pinterest so long I had a throbbing headache for a couple hours afterwards. I joined Twitter a year or so ago, but certainly don't feel like tweeting what I'm doing all day long. Talk about boring to the max. I don't want to make time to follow anyone on Twitter either. Ugh. If I were still writing poetry, I'd post it here, I guess. But my writing's dwindled down to less than a trickle. Maybe someday again...

“Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry.” — W.B. Yeats

Exquisistence

Exquisistence

Those pipe dreams
cleared these rooms
years ago,
spiced blue curls,
art forms really,
sweet potpourried hashy plumes,
luxuriant "S"s, "O"s and "L"s,
like the way his fingers curved
and moved,
soft yet firm,
measured, determined,
and again,
splayed
for maximum extrapolation
commanding every cell arise,
wake, like mad science, live.

Those men are long gone
away to their secured plateaus,
protected, nurtured,
not nurturing,
where they can no more consider
fierce, sweet intenseness,
haunted and haunting
today,
to have,
to hold
no more
than smoky swirls,
delectable incense,
that hashy
Exquisistence.

~Ann R Cantu
01/15/2011

Fruits Of Our Labors

In 1947, Mihail Timofeevič Kalašnikov designed the AK-47,
Which, by 1949, was the official Soviet military rifle.
How many balalaikas serenaded his glory, honoring him?
Kalašnikov is on FaceBook - have you seen him?
He's 91 now, so he doesn't really post...

In 1955, the Kremlin ordered Konstantin Lyasnikov to fly his TU-16
toward mushroom clouds in the wake of A-bombs he'd dropped.
He said, "The plane shook so hard the controls kept slipping out of my hands.
The heat was so intense I could hardly breathe," lamenting he wouldn't
Have wished that ordeal on his worst enemy. It didn't happen once.
He ran 178 tests, until 1962, when nuclear testing went underground.

Lyasnikov couldn't tell his wife until 1992 when the SU was no more.
Many comrades, fellow pilots and airmen, were disfigured, several died,
some after years of suffering. At the scene, "The earth was scorched.
I saw sheep and horses without skin and eyes, shredded trees," the pilot
Recounted. Radiation poisoning must be for the loyal.

What wanton disregard for humanity makes a chess game of human lives,
Pitting Soviet power against Western authority? I have my suspicions
Men comfortably enshrouded in heavily tinted, armored Rolls Royces
Don't understand diplomacy. The Ukraine has a parliamentary government
The U.S. Department of State watches with interest.
You know there's oil between the coast and them there hills.

Vines grow in the southern Crimean Peninsula, so thick and verdant
That the highlands barely reflect, from the zenith of Tchatir Dagh
To the lush valley of Soudagh, what travesty and injustice
Razed it barren during a time call the Cold War.
Hops and clematis drape luxuriantly over branches bearing
The most delicious fruits the world has ever tasted.

~Ann R Cantu, 12/20/2010

Red Skelton's Pledge of Allegiance

Starry's Tale

Starry's a yare nymph
Who lives in wild shadows
Her mother Moonlight casts
Within a restless midnight
Glenn, where shades transmute
From cloudy to translucent,
Where tiny sounds of sadness creep
Into the land of Tir na nOg.

In a place where sunshine is famous
Starry sleeps beneath a golden chanterelle,
Until at last the darkness falls to wake her,
And little sprinkles of her namesake whisper
Freedom verses in her ear, while wee fae
Lift the veil of dreaming from her face.

Starry's a yare nymph
Who longs to travel but knows
Her place is home in Tir na nOg,
Within the darkling valley,
Unseen by most yet not unknown.
For in a cloud, behind a shadow,
Silent slippers scurry to and fro,
Wildly casting what-ifs everywhere she goes.

~ARCantu

All Hail

A persuasive slip of the tongue
Lingers on unpainted lips.
The invitation resounds clearly.
I shudder and scan the perimeter.

Reasons murky, feeling uneasy.
Disassociated with this barren landscape,
It is impossible to comprehend one tiny
Gleaming hope beyond paraphrases of tonight.

Your phrasing is impeccable, as always.
Your crown has not slipped one micron.
Within, halls gleam in palatial splendor.
For this I fear the wonder lying in wait.

What lurks behind these silver doors,
Cool to the touch, a white hot promise
Half spoken, half implied, in a world
Where I am an alien and all is foreign?

Gliding along the corridor, a surrender,
Sliding into a chamber filled with dark,
Hackles raised, a soothing breath evokes
A glorious release, time fades, peace.

~ARCantu, 09/25/10

Dancing with Orion

Clouds wisped away by firefly breeze
commune via galaxies afar
dancing with Orion
he never drops his guard
Taurus watches nightly
swishing his Pleiades tail
Ignore Libra's glare, wind away
quickly on an early spring trill
summoning all Jupiter's moons
it's time for the Gallow Hill Reel
carrying sheaves like a warrior
shielded by a furrowed brow
there will be no tomorrow, no stories
so tonight we must listen well




http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/613077/a_cherokee_myth_of_the_pleiades_and.html

Daily Ablutions

Shards of last night
echo what was on TV
barely noticed but embedded
somewhere in the psyche
where threads rub upon fibers
a neuron calls a synapse and says
Hey, did you hear the one about the croc
that ate yo mama...or was that Obama
what's the point of cream without sugar
distilled is fine, diluted should be rejected
less said, less rehashed later

Children and grandchildren
nieces, nephews and cousins
will remember, not thoughts nor dreams
how could they ever have known them
but interactions by their own definition
things we do on impulse with a quick laugh
instinct is thicker than intention
it blends better if you pour milk in first
swirl the sugar before even considering coffee
too many have come and gone before

Reviewing homework from last night
you teach them to count, about money
what do you say about juggling bills
nothing when a dumb screen beckons
opening deluded avenues for escape
oh daughter, oh son, from what do you run
why are you my déjà vu
where was I when you called me
there--only partly, mostly far far
off in some allusion to karma
reality slobbering at my heels

Tighten the laces and drive due south

* ARCantu * 2010 *

Double Edge of the Rapier

..."you experience a story within yourself from its beginning, from the distant point up to the approaching locomotive of steel, coal and steam, and you don't abandon it even now, but want to be pursued by it and have time for it, therefore are pursued by it and of your own volition run before it wherever it may thrust and wherever you may lure it." -Franz Kafka, from "The Diaries of Franz Kafka, 1913."

I could say I'm better off without, believing it a lie
Does that we once were green together
in the same shared slip upon some time
ever haunt your re-formed mind?
Consumed by fruits of your labor, you grind
I wither along hallowed shores of the Nile
Anubis and Osiris bid me come
Tell me I have a pharaoh's smile
I have been the ideal
Patron of nature, magician, friend of sinners
I hear petitions of the downtrodden
Will you yet confess, yield your harvest here?
Daughter of the sacred earth, I resurrect
your dying pallid bat (Antrozous pallidus)
flank his naked wings, habituate your
deserts and arroyos, westwardly piercing -
rasping cries echoing off crisped, sere canyons
Every rhetorical climax of Poe could apply here
self-perpetuating, developing, insisting
so long as these same conditions prevail
Parry no more - fold into this knight's caress
I will only welcome, but I travel West no more.

~ARCantu * 2010 *

Slowly, with Determination

I have a little space to fill
Would that I could
Break myself open for you
Take the portion that will
Satiate you best
And leave the rest

I hunger, and thirst too
For your toil and sweat, verve and grace
Thrust deep within me
Pulsing, beating
Lifeblood and knowledge
Coming closer to the truth

* ARCantu 2010 *

for what are we without words?

Eyes, windows, souls
Smile - it is Saturday
O is for
Whatever the moment allows
Drama has no place here
If you need me to rest
Take eat, take drink
For this is my body
And my blood
Sustenance
Comfort
Dreams

Chapter 2 - The End (a new beginning?)

Aurora cast cascades of crimson, orange, and gold across bluing vestiges of the earth's atmosphere as he dropped her at her father's. She invited him in to drink coffee with her and Duke. Dad would be asleep at least until noon. He declined. There was purpose behind his soft kiss on her earlobe as her fingers reached for the Tahoe's door handle. He was in no position to linger. Somewhere between intermission and the closing curtain he'd decided. Dancing at Spurs and crepes at I-Hop hadn't changed his mind. He and she were going nowhere. He was going somewhere, albeit destination unknown at present. She smiled thinly and said, "Call me later." He said, "OK." He watched her sway slowly up the walk as she searched her purse for the house key. He waited until the door was closed...counted to ten...and put the Tahoe in gear. It was 2 miles to I-45, and the truck made an easy transition to 70 MPH in less than six seconds. North was good, for now. Maybe west a little later. The windows down, he thought the cool clear air never felt so refreshing before now. Humming along with Kenny Chesney, he wondered what needed building in southern Colorado...

I have no idea where I'm going with this...

Chapter One

It's not quite early evening. Memorial Park is quiet. Picnicking masses have availed themselves of their various modes of transportation and delivered their snot-nosed nymphs to Spiderman and Hannah Montana beds for naps. An unimposing platform blocks a view of the pond where ducks, geese and swans call out that it's time to sup. Spindly pines surround the area with some azaleas which seem to have taken no notice of the fact that it's early January. It's unclear if they're foolhardy or hopeful. As Forrest says, maybe it's a little bit of both.

A lone couple returns from their meander along a curving trail. She carries a blanket to spread upon the semi-green expanse of grass, where, in an hour, the night crowd will gather for Shakespeare in the Park. In January? Well, this is Houston, where folks aren't bothered by fickle trifles like weather.

He is a beleagured carpenter, on hiatus from new home construction that leads to overpopulation of what once was considered national forest. She interests him, yet he's clueless as to her reasoning behind the gothic attire, accentuated by dark lips and nails, which casts a gray pall over the otherwise softly caressing fading light. He doesn't understand her sorrow. She's a product of the upper middle class, after all. He's a working stiff still trying to make good.

He's confided in her that city life doesn't gel with his lifetime goals. She complains about her Australian Shepherd Duke, whom her father keeps because he has a back yard. She's resigned herself to the ridiculously expensive condo downtown, because she works in the medical center. Ironically she's a lab technician who spends eight plus hours, five or six days a week, drawing blood. She looks like a mistress of the dark, who's forgotten she can't traipse about in the daytime. She curtly dismisses any further discussion of family, shakes out the plaid flannel blanket, and arranges it neatly upon an even patch free of dampness. He takes her hand as the sit in silent repose. Tonight it's The Tempest. He was hoping for As You Like It. But that was last week. They missed it.

She sighs and lies back to admire the last rays of a star she has no business gazing upon. Her sense of disdain bothers him. They've known each other a good while, but they don't really know anyone, not even themselves. He asks her if she's jealous that a female friend called on his cell while they were walking. She replies with a, "Humphf," and says nothing. Is she petulant, or dismissing it as inconsequential? He thinks her most grievous flaw is her lack of appreciation for classic theater. He lapses into what appears to her to be a state of suspended animation as they await act one, forty minutes away. She contemplates his sweeping black lashes and faded worn jeans...

2 and a half more days

The closer Monday comes, the more I want to zombie out/anesthetize myself with some mindless endeavor, like Pirates, Petville, or Vampire Wars. I don't want to have to think about going back to work. I do enjoy what I do for a living. But the company's sucking the life out of me - all of us there - by continually trying to get more for less in their quest to manage expenses. Whereas employees used to be treated well and rewarded often, we're now expected to do more and more and more, and we're rarely rewarded. A job well done is not praised. It's considered the norm. Going way above and beyond what's expected may get you a pat on the head, a nod, and a halfway decent raise. But who can go above and beyond when they're drained from mental exhaustion, the utter fatigue that comes from trying daily to do more than is humanly possible? Ah well, I'll do what I can to enjoy the weekend while I can.

The bottle of Martini & Rossi Asti Spumante Fred bought us for NYE is still unopened in the fridge. When he went to bed last night at 11:00 PM I asked him if we were going to drink our toasts in bed. He replied he'd be asleep before midnight. It was expected; after 28 years I should know. Ha. So maybe we'll sip the wine after dinner tonight. Jessica's called to invite us over, but I'd just as soon wait until tomorrow to go over there. I told her as much. I'll call Mom in a minute to find out when Dick and Lucille will be in from MI. They're passing through, spending the night in Houston, on their way to Corpus Christi. I would like to see them. Lucille's father and my dad's mother were siblings. So she's my 2nd cousin.

Fred just called to say he had a tire blow out on my car on 610, so he had to put the spare on and is getting a new tire now at Wally World. Always something that interferes with what we think is going to be our budgeted allowance for the pay period. Which is why we need more reserves in savings. It's so hard to save when the cost of living nearly doubles and salaries increase by less than 10% annually. I don't know if I'll ever be able to afford to retire. I don't know if I can afford not to retire...which reminds me...gotta go call the dr's office and leave a message to ask if they'll refill my Rxs before I go back in for my next quarterly blood work.

Geez, if I was going to write something to cheer myself up, I haven't done a very good job. LOL!

Waiting on the Rose Parade

I was up at 3:30 this morning, after going to sleep about midnight-thirty. Tried to watch George Lopez's last HBO special again, but fell asleep. It was hilarious the first time and still quite humorous the 2nd. But with this my 3rd viewing, I couldn't last until the end. At midnight I went out in the front yard to watch fireworks. There was a cold north wind blowing, so I didn't stay out there too long. I think it should be sunny today, near 60. At least that's the way it was yesterday. And it doesn't look like rain now...always subject to change. Later I'll watch the Parade of Roses, as is my tradition. I think I'll watch it in bed, and hopefully I won't fall asleep before it's over. Friday is menudo day for Fred and his brothers Richard and Louis. So he'll be going to meet them, probably about the time the parade begins. We have no plans for New Year's Day. I think I'll make chicken and cornbread dressing for dinner, with green beans, and maybe cauliflower. Now I'm off to play Vampire Wars.

8:15 PM, December 31, 2009

The moon appears a full disc of fiery ice
peering disdainfully down upon our atmosphere.
I hear fireworks all around, but cannot see them,
as I sit quietly on my patio in the sprinkling mist.

Eric got off work early and came to pick up Carl,
to take him to Jessica's and Brad's, where they'll
drink, smoke, play video games, and perhaps watch
the brilliantly extravagant fireworks display the
neighbors always put on there. Meanwhile, Jessica
and Brad took the kids to their other parent's
annual NYE bash - at Kam's, Kern's, Anna's, & JJ's
parents' house in The Woodlands. Fred went with
Alfee and Louise to pick up her other 2 grandsons
in Baytown, then to visit Chance and his family, if
they can be found.

I opted to stay home, where I've cooked pork loin,
and have scalloped potatoes baking, with some fresh
broccoli stems sauteeing on the stove. I'm a loner,
for the most part. I don't mind not being involved
in any celebratory festivities. I like solitude, maybe
too much sometimes. But, after all, I am my own best
friend. LOL Well, actually, I'm sharing the evening
with my spirit guide, Wenonah. I did express to her
that I'm very blessed to be spending NYE with her.
(No, I'm not crazy.) And I told all my loved ones
who've passed on from this life that I love them.
(Seriously - not crazy.)

I'm a homebody, and family is more important to me than
anyone or anything else. But part of me still longs for
something elusive. Not adventure, I've outgrown that stage.
Something serendipitous and serene. True companionship.
I miss my friend Jenn so much. It's been 3 years since she
died. I still don't know if the coroner determined whether
it was a heart attack like they suspected. I tend to suspect
differently. Only because I knew her as well as anyone,
I believe. I haven't spoken to her family since the week after
her funeral. I have no reason to travel to Nederland anymore.
I wasn't close enough to any of them to call. Oh well.

I have no best girl friend, without Jenn. There are no close
girlfriends here. There are friends, but not best friends.
I relate better to men most of the time anyway. Fred is my
best friend, which is as it should be. But there should be more.
I know there must. Everyone feels such longing, I surmise, from
time to time. Surely we all think there must be something else,
somewhere else, that would fit us better. Is that true? I have to
believe it is. There's comfort in assurance that I'm no stranger
than the next poor slob.
*S*

Happy New Year!

I entered a poetry challenge for NYE...this was my entry...

The Indictment

Joe conveniently blamed his undoing on Frances.
Their hearts had hardened over a few long years,
Like the hoary overgrowth of thorn-laden shrubs
That lined the drive winding from Harrod Lane
Up to their walnut double doors, heavy, sturdy,
And proudly exhibiting their stained glass panes.
They only appeared inviting to casual observers.

Anyone who knew the two needn't be a prophet to see
The chance was high that either Frances or Joe might
Surface dead long before their time should've been due.
That cold topaz resting on her third finger, left hand,
Gave way to a gem of grander repose, highly carated,
Shining like the iridescent glint in Joe's hard eyes,
As he encircled Frances with favors, lies, and demands.

The wedding was de rigueur, the reception posh.
The decade that followed was a whirlwind of gain.
Then came Brittany, followed by Marsh...blessings -
Or the demise of all that remained plausibly sane?
Joe inhaled and injected his profits; business crashed,
As did Frances, into a crevasse below and past the last
Turn west of Morgan's Point, on a night much too dark.

Authorities suspected, unproven, more than casual mishap.
Joe blamed his late wife's lover for breaking her heart.
He claimed Frances got a call she never expected,
That sent her out the door then over that retaining wall.
He told detectives he hadn't slept with her in years.
Perhaps they split the sheets, but Joe never split hairs,
Nor profits. Frances knew too much to remain untouched.

Cold cases gather dust slowly on dim back shelves.
Her lifestyle was top-drawer, but Frances' demise
Held less glamor, less drama - more apathy and ennui.
She never stood for being ignored; she didn't lie
Still for it long either. Somehow Joe never rested
Peacefully again, even though he remained unindicted.
Between midnight and 3:00 AM, without fail, she came

To him - bloody finger outstretched, beautiful face
Abraded, marred...floating, not walking...closer...
Calling Joe, Joe, you know I'll never leave you.

New Year's Eve eve...

Yes, here's a pic of Carl at his finest. LOL!

I'm watching Ghost Hunters (sorta) while playing on Facebook - mostly Vampire Wars and a little Fashion Wars. VW is addictive and I'll have to slack off next week when I return to work. FW is fairly boring, but I do it in between energy and rage refills on VW. I refuse to try Farmville, which EVERYone in my family seems to be playing...and I especially refuse to try Zynga poker/Texas Hold 'Em, or whatever it is my kids and their friends play.

I baked 2 pumpkin pies for NYE tomorrow. Fred fried catfish and salmon for supper, along with fries, and I fixed a salad w/lettuce, tomato, avacado, carrot, and broccoli. It was all delish. I'd never tried fried salmon before, but it was good. Cooked in olive oil, not too greasy. I'll be glad when holiday season is finís after this weekend, mainly because there will be much fewer sweet temptations beckoning wherever we go. We still have some pecan pie left over from Xmas. But we polished of the Italian creme cake yesterday. Damn.

I thought it actually might snow yesterday, but it never did. Had a little (very little) sleet mixed with some rain. Much more rain last night, apparently, from the looks of the yard. But it's drier now. Enough weather talk. I'm talking to myself, so what do I care? Ha.

Didn't feel much Christmas spirit this past week, but I tell myself it's OK, Christ wasn't born on Dec. 25th anyway. I miss Pope John Paul II's midnight masses on Xmas Eve. I watched those every year. They were/he was inspirational. And he knew to surround himself with other equally inspirational clerics and others. Benedict just doesn't even come close. Not that I'm Catholic. I took a 'what religion are you' quiz on BeliefNet (what DON'T they have a quiz for?!), and it told me, no surprise, that I'm 100% mainstream liberal Protextant Christian. Well, duh... But Gloria would be pleased (and maybe not surprised at all) that I also had 89% UU tendencies.

Gloria sent an email out to her cohorts yesterday inviting everyone to Crazy Heart (who/what the heck is that?) Sat. night. Said she wants to meet before for dinner somewhere good. I have to first look up the venue and also the featured ?performer(s)?, but I doubt I'll go. Been kinda (well, more than kinda) lazy all week. Not having to go in to the office will do that to ya'. At least it does for me.

Yesterday Fred was all like- we need to go here, we need to do this. Ugh. I told him I was on vacation and wanted to relax. I asked him what he thought vacation was for, and he said it was for getting other things done that you couldn't do when you have to work all week. Typical answer for a workaholic. Opposites...