Catching color

In the afternoon, he took us to the mosque.
The sun darted through, and how!
We rode a while on the donkey.

In the evening, through the streets.
A café decorated with pictures.
Beautiful watercolors.

We ransacked the place buying.
A street scene around a mouse.
Finally someone killed it with a shoe.

We landed at a sidewalk café.
An evening of colors as tender
as they were clear.

Virtuosos at checkers. Happy hour.
Louis found exquisite color tidbits
and I — was to catch them.

(From Paul Klee’s diary, April 1914)

God help me

What I will bring to that altar
is this nauseating sack of guts—

selfish, small, lecherous,
a mind like a whorehouse,
a tongue like a longshoreman’s,
a soft mousy body that seeks
always its own comforts,

a will deluded by hyperactive desires.
Poor wreck that I am.

Can I give over to God’s service
only so little,
and that so badly damaged,
so in and out
of sin and desire?

(John L’Heureux’s diary, April 1966)

Villainelle

Opt for the treadmill, you’ll be running in the nude,
My cat slept through a blizzard in Florida this year.
One person says something that sounds true.

Install a fake microwave on the wall you never use;
Surprise! If a funny looking cat appears,
Opt for the treadmill, you’ll be running in the nude.

Sleep in the middle of the room;
Just wait until the third of April when your friends hear.
One person says something that sounds true.

Have a tortoise deliver your package for you,
Flowing through the water in a reindeer.
Opt for the treadmill, you’ll be running in the nude.

Prank: put your name on a balloon.
Putting your car keys in the freezer;
One person says something that sounds true.

Don’t be surprised if it sings Happy Birthday back at you.
In my house, there are porcelain ponies, I swear.
Opt for the treadmill, you’ll be running in the nude;
One person says something that sounds true.

(From AI generated April Fools pranks)

A magnificent fire

“Last night the English Opera House was burnt down — a magnificent fire.” 

Charles Greville

All the gentility of London was there
from Princess Esterhazy’s ball and all
the clubs; gentlemen in their fur cloaks, pumps,
and velvet waistcoats mixed with objects like

the sans-culottes in the French Revolution —
men and women half-dressed, covered with rags
and dirt, some with nightcaps or handkerchief
round their heads — then the soldiers, the firemen,

and the engines, and the new police running
and bustling, clearing the way, clattering
along, with that intense interest and restless
curiosity, which received fresh stimulus

at every renewed burst of the flames as
they rose in a shower of sparks like gold dust.

(From The Greville Memoirs, January 1830)

The empty room

I dreamt of you again last night. 
And when I woke up it was as if 
you had died afresh. I read 
all your letters this afternoon.

I feel as if we had collected all 
our wheat into a barn to make bread 
and beer for the rest of our lives 
and now our barn has been burnt down 

and we stand on a cold winter morning 
looking at the charred ruins. For this 
little room was the gleanings of our life. 
All our happiness was over this fire 

and with these books. Voltaire blessing us 
with up-raised hand on the wall. No one 
to talk to about my pleasures. I write in 
an empty book. I cry in an empty room.

(Dora Carrington’s diary, February 1932)

Stopping

Two feet of snow fell last evening.  
It lies in largest masses on the flat 

fronded branches of firs and the mounded 
close foliage of the live-oaks, and it 

bends and welds together the tassels 
of the pines. The ouzel heeds not the roar 

of avalanches, the heavy masses 
of snow from banks and trees, and the constant 

upspringing of pines. He would not cease 
singing or feeding for an earthquake. 

(From John Muir’s journal, February 1873)