Bubba's Quandry
dang, dere's Bubba a-scannin'
hopin' for JoseySue or her sister
wearin'd dat new lucky striped shirt
shadin' da eyes wit da hand new haircutted
makin a squint and the long stare
holdin' a bag a goodies
some sweet sticky bait
Bubbas jowls be quiverin'
Bubbas chest be heavin'
Bubbas drum in dere be beatin'
and beatin' and beatin' dat beat
Bubba be droolin' secret like and slurpin'
Bubba just thinkin' of tradin' some sweets
be gruntin' a bit
'bout an hour or so later
beyond dem moments of no JoseySue
yonder dem moments of no sissy either
Bubba mosied and shook da bag to a beat
down to da riverside whar he weren't no stranger
whar he'd empty dat bag of neglected bait - and fish awhile
as Bubba packed up his rod wit still baited hook
swung dat empty bag 'n headed home
a fish jumped unnoticed
'n died on da grassy bank
it had the zact same look - zact same
as JoesySue had wonderin' where Bubba'd gone off to
Bubba burped and wandered along fishin rod on shoulder
whistlin a little song about a couple a lonely worms
Daphne's Hands
Santa Cruz in '77
was a blur
was a fountain of hip
was an emerald wilderness
smelling of skunk and pungent grapefruit
Daphne's mountaintop bloomed
scuptures and gardens
moonlit late night rendevous
where timing was everything
showing up between other lovers
was the trick since she had no phone...
it made the journey up that winding road
an interesting bet
Daphne's hands were immense
at the deli her sandwiches shrank
at home her hammer and chisel flew
she had a great grip
on whatever she happened to be holding
Daphne's brother had small hands
they'd mention exchanging them
on their wish lists with laughs
while Daphne pinned him with ease
Daphne's eyes were in proportion to her hands
she caught me like an owl
she was a real hoot
her nipplature and beak were grand
Daphne and I tangled frequent
'til I introduced her to Bobo
the rest of us visited - hoping
but Bobo never left
Like fox without grapes
I searched for reason of glad
- you know, rationalizing losses...
it was then I remembered how I looked
held in those great hands.
________________________________
dat's all folks, cough cough, sniff sniff, gurgle gurgle.
sheesh. worked all last week while sick as a dog because my schedule was
heavy. nyquil and theraflu at night, dayquil and halls cough drops by day.
lousy drugs, ha.
peace and other follies,
jim "max" something or other
pen & ink from the red elves project
click for larger view
|
|
author is currently a technical illustrator/graphic
artist of northern california. he was born in New York and
moved to Los Angeles in the mid 60's. After adolescence
in LA and a tour in the Air Force, max relocated to
San Francisco and then Sonoma County where he started
a serigraphy studio and service as well as jobbing at
everything from construction to truck-driving.
As founder and manager of Wild Boar Productions, Jim
promoted and produced Truck Competitions and Shows
as well as musical events in small and large venues
in the wine country of northern California as well as
contributing studio work and graphix. Has been described
as an ocean that's only six inches deep.
At this time is assembling a body of work in linocut and
woodcut in preparation for a show at the California Museum
of Fine Art in Santa Rosa (this is going very slowly).
When Jim isn't working, he's usually scribbling down these
little groups of symbols that somehow paint the edges of this
thing called life.
yours,
climbmax aka jim christ
|
|
