(An occasional poem written for the 

2010 Paseo Arts Association Awards Ceremony & Banquet)

A Pleasure 

It's a pleasure.

It's a pleasure to be.

To be sure, it’s pleasant.

Being and all that.

Pleased to be here

and to be heard.

What's it worth?

It's worth a try.

What a Pleasure!

Here we are, still—

perfect reflections of

the primordial thrill.

Mirrored in the mire of  DNA.

What was it Santayana

used to say— “intelligence

is but one centrifugal ray

darting from the slime

to the star.” And he says,

“protoplasmic pleasure.”

Every cell full of

its own joy in living.

Joie de vivre—

as the British put it.

Every bit of life scintillates.

When all these cells

gather together

it must be a something—

a parade, an occasion.

A vacation:

The sunshine spreads

and I see cells chillin’

each under a tiny parasol.

They sport sunglasses.

They lounge on a deck,

which is some body.

Blood is the Red Sea.

The belly’s a cruise ship,

Royal Caribbean liner.

I am one happy being,

being here—like a premier:

Roll out the red rugs.

Throw a few kisses.

Gentle with those hugs.

This is what this is.

Lights! Camera! Action!

Let the public clamor.

Tonight is not ordinary.

Tonight is all for glamour,

a formal occasion,

a rare affair, a function,

even an event.

This special evening,

(did I mention?)

this is all for art.

Art is the object—

thought made real.

This is the big deal

and it is a thrill.

It’s the part that stirs the heart.

What’s the matter?

Art makes it better.

It had better. – It will.

It all seems so real.

Thrilling to the core

It’s how we feel.

We couldn’t be more.

It’s the buzz

between “will be” and “was.”

It’s a cellular celebration,

singular and world wide.

Teasing text, I type

with just my pinky fingers

on a keyboard the size

of a matchbook. Striking.

My poems become electrons,

showers of sparks in the dark.

They glitter in the sun.

A life magnifies in dewdrops.

But this is bigger, bigger

than all of us.

Bigger than life, you know,

gallery sized. That’s huge,

something like liberty.

Happiness, I guess. Yes.

I’m ready for my 3D-Imax,

high-def, Mr. Spielberg.

Bring on the elephants, acrobats;

the sane, the absurd.

My expressions grow abstract.

What’s the right word?

Which ones are left?

Let me picture them.

Real to real, it’s like

you can almost touch

the ideal. Reach. Feel.

Life is a roll in the hay.

Lovers for a day.  So.

Let music fill the ear.

Let color catch the eye.

There are reasons to live,

and this is very why.

We join the occasion

(in progress now). We

lift our glasses high.

Toast artistic creation

in all its manifestations.

We laugh. We cry. We sigh.

At last this is what we know:

What you feel is all  you show.

I’m overwhelmed in gratitude.

Gracious, and I’m grateful

for this pleasure.

But one last emoticon before I’m done : )

as Albert, in Bye Bye Birdie,

sang, “put a happy face on.”

Now, to the fun—

Honor to each and all,

and thanks,

everyone.