Saturday, November 13, 2010

(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.




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