…and Children, Television, Recreation, Relatives, Food, Pets, Automobiles, Bugs, and Bibles
You see, Robert Hruzek is hosting a group writing project where people write about a mash-up of 18 fun topics. I added bugs and Bibles to his list just for good measure and polished up a poem for his group. He says it’s the first ever poetry entry. Yea, me!
First, the poem itself. You can hear me read it on the Evoca recording, but you’ll have to skip ahead to 1:20 remaining because I get long winded in my intro. (Be sure to check out my sweet musical intro/outro. Royalty free audio is fun!)
Welcoming Summer
Two love bugs mate on my leg
Until I draw them off with this
#2 pencil. The pair crawls past
my thumb as I write—then up
to the pink eraser which must taste
funny to tongue buds on their feet.
They fly away, black-legged snow-
flakes. We think of Christmas specials
where painted children catch snow
on tongues to welcome winter.
“Open wide, kids,” I say. “There’s
never snow in South Texas.”
My son plays along and we run
up and down the blacktop lot—
heat rising in waves around us—
we must look a pair of Baptist Johns,
prophesying protein in the desert.
A voice of two calling between
parked cars: “Prepare the way
for summer bugs. Make straight
your tongues for them.” Push that
play too far and bugs become God.
All mankind finds salvation in bugs.
And why not? God can raise up
children from rocks and bugs—
even cars with bug-splattered bumpers.
Second, here’s how the poem fits the mash-up rules.
A few weeks ago, we drove (automobiles) to a family reunion (relatives) where my children and I found ourselves surrounded by bugs on our little vacation (recreation) to decorate the graveyard at the Hebron Baptist Church. In fact, the bugs were so thick, we talked about how it was like a blizzard of black snowflakes with legs. My son loved this because he keeps bugs as pets (which means he puts them in bug cages over-night and holds a daily funeral for the ones who don’t make it). You can see from the picture above what so many bugs do to a white car (automobile—again). The snowstorm made me think of the peanuts gang catching snow on their tongues (like food) in the television Christmas special. At that point, my mind took off, and I started writing this poem.
I have to ask, though. Who uses the word automobile anymore, Bob?
Also, Gordon, you asked about W. P. and decoration. I provide a long answer in the audio file above. And you can see W. P.’s grave there on the right. He is my kid’s great-great-great-great granddad. Or maybe just great-great-great, I can never remember.
One last thing about poetry. Bob’s project “What I Learned From…” suggests that I’ll have answers for you here. But poetry isn’t very good at providing answers in the traditional sense. Nevertheless, I hope you’ve found some things to think about in my mash-up of mashed-up of bibles, bugs on my windshield, the subsequent discussions that followed us that weekend, and Writing, Children, Television, Recreation, Relatives, Food, Pets, Automobiles.
I love Randy Ingermanson. Let me just start there. I’m very excited to be presenting at 
Modernism is when the mirror began to crack. If there is any hope of understanding our current world of broken mirrors, we need to remember why the mirror cracked to begin with.
Last week, I posted 
Several years ago, the National Endowment for the Arts warned America: Reading is at risk. They proclaimed that literary reading is declining rapidly among all groups, especially the very young.
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