Practice

Because I'll have who knows how many art classes this school year, I figured that I had better dust off my pencils and sketch book. With so much translating to do lately, most of my spare time has been devoted to reading and improving my French skills. My drawing has been ignored, and photography has been something I've enjoyed only once in a while. So yesterday, I trekked over to the Barnes & Noble to sit in the café, to have a latte and to sketch from a coffee table book. I found some beautiful 360° photos of places in France, and once my inspiration opened before me, I began to sketch. Here's my version of a sand dune in the South of France.

Dune, July 2008 (graphite on paper)

At last, at last, thank God, a winner at last!

Yesterday I attended my fourth Poetry Slam at the Barnes & Noble in Newnan. With a small crowd, my own children as a judging team and two of my own students as competition (and a darling little girl who couldn't have been more than 7 years old)...I WON! Youpi! Hourah! The $25 gift card is mine and Marie won a free desert for a cute little drawing. Below you'll find the winning poems and art work.

Guard Dog

Small black dog

asleep on a chair.

From outside

an engine's rumble or a neighbor's knock,

he's all snarls and barks and bristled hair.

Short races he makes

from one corner to another of the window ledge,

then two big brown eyes look back

for approval.

A short pant and a yip, a groan and a grunt,

now the home, protected once more,

gets a quick tour from a faithful

four-footed detective.

A damp black nose

sniffs ottoman and coffee table.

All's well.

Back to the chair,

once, twice, thrice

a circle of steps

before settling down again to surveille

the living room

for potential danger.

Little black pup,

homebound K9,

keeps me safe and sane.

Lazy Monday

Drip-drop from the espresso machine in the shop.

A rookie barista gets me the last cookie in the bakery case

to eat here despite the to-go-bag.

In this place where I can relax amid words and music,

and after only a small deduction from my debit card!

I take pleasure in the moment's leisure

to peruse a few books,

check out a Blu-ray that my device won't play

'til prices one day come down.

So back to the books where my mind makes up the pictures

in mental high def.

All that's left in my paper cup, a swig or two,

and time is up!

The last of my pax arabica

before going home to resume

the pattern of commute and reboot,

of work and rest.

Marie's Flower: crayon, marker and graphite on 20 lb. paper

4th Monday @ Barnes & Noble

Yesterday evening made my third appearance at the local Barnes & Noble poetry "slam." There were only four or five people to read. I fell from second place scores to penultimate disgrace. Here are my two "morceaux":

Comestible conversation

Flecks of indignation pepper speech.
Kernels of sarcasm direct conversation waste.
The thrown away spoken word becomes moldering vegetable peel.

Words need growth and time to age and ripen, to reach maturity, to arrive on point, to be apropos or not at all.

Much like beer, wine, cheese or chocolate, words require proper preparation and degustation.

When carefully handcrafted, the well chosen "bon mot" has savor, balance, delicacy and weight.

The empty calories of slander and vulgarity and the saucy satisfaction of the quick retort sate only temporarily but are the fast food followed by guilt and more hunger, leaving the unpalatable aftertaste of wanted wit and questionable character.

Plagiarism becomes the store-bought pie that "tastes just like mom's" but its obvious occlusion of source and recipe disgruntles the guest and makes the dish indigestible.

Relax to dine slowly on words to take pleasure in succulent syllables that in a perfect moment give compliment to comestible conversation.


Indefinite articles

a toothbrush with blue and white bristles dropped beside a speed bump

a napkin from Arby's coated in decomposing grease turning it translucent

a losing lottery ticket from a scratch game, instant fun discarded beneath an azalea

a gold-tipped cigarette butt with maybe 30 seconds of tobacco left to smoke

a brown beer bottle, glass shards blending into pine straw

a plastic blue cap from a long lost bottle of spring water

a rubber ball for playing catch, soft molded to resemble a Major League hardball

a Coke can suspended in a shrub like a forgotten Christmas ornament dangling in early spring evergreen

a jumbo paper clip unfolded like a key or tool tossed to the ground after momentary use

a flattened watch battery deceptively reflective like an abandoned nickel

a silver label from a bottle of vodka, crushed on the pavement in an empty parking space

Poetry Slam @ Barnes and Noble

Tonight I presented Starbucks at the first poetry slam at the Newnan Barnes & Noble. There were audience judges, and my presentation earned 27 out of 30 possible points. A 93-year old local author & poet named Mary won the night. Her poems were inspirational and lovely the way only someone who is fast approaching a century of life can make them be. Truly, youth is wasted on the young.

For once, I performed in a way that wasn't tied to school, was solo, was my own creation and people received it with applause. It makes me glad and helps me to overcome a little social anxiety.

3PM Barnes and Noble - Newnan, GA

Sitting in the café, commercial wonderland of books and coffee that it is, I see people around me, and I wonder about their lives.

The three students examine children's literature intently, consulting each other about publishers, authors, illustrators and content.

Spouses browse books. The wife is either oblivious or in denial a out her husband's status as a flaming queen. Really, she has to know; don't they all?

An old man flips the pages of a monthly on woodworking, glossy photos and drawings for next weekend's backyard or tool shed project.

Me? I stop writing long enough to read a few paragraphs of Le Comte de Monte-Cristo. Why exactly does Edmond Dantès need 1500 pages to exact his exquisite revenge on those who betrayed him?

At tables and in upholstered chairs, portable PC's plugged into wall sockets send data packets through WinSockets across WiFi connections freely offered by the bookstore.

The librairie is busy, and I imagine that there must be a reader for every one of the thousands of titles shelved for sale. But there isn't. The store could not accommodate as many, and so few people read books cover to cover any more.

Even these students--of education, of writing, of literature, who knows?--don't read the books piled before them. Pages flip. PowerPoint slides compile. Presentations materialize, but no one seems to enjoy the wealth and power of knowledge and experience in written word and artful images.