Smile Visions

When people smile to themselves in the street, when I see the face of an ugly man or uninteresting woman light up…

I wonder from what visions within those smiles are reflected; from what footlights, what gay and incredible scenes they gleam of glory and triumph.

Girl in Swimming Cap by Diane Arbus

Logan Pearsall Smith

 

Lenny Bruce and Vet Tv

 

Can humor go too far?  Is a ‘good’ joke wasted on a particular few?  Those few who seem to have missed ‘punchlines’…when god was handing them out.  

Personally, I love a good slapstick.  And, my wife?  A good (I use the term loosely) rom-com, is her shtick. 

I discovered …Vet Tv

…as soon as the project got off the ground, critics honed in on what some called tasteless or downright toxic humor, raising questions about how best to reintegrate America’s ever-growing population of military veterans back into society. Are rape jokes and other gross gags crossing the boundaries of respectability really doing any good if they’re increasingly out of touch with the mainstream comedy? What kind of obligation does a network targeted at a narrow chunk of the population really have? And how much of content on the network is actually resonating with the country’s relatively diverse veteran population?

vice.com

However, a long ago era,  just before my time: offering not only ‘Cinnamon Girl’ by Neil Young but…the one and only Lenny Bruce!  There had been the same heated debate about comedy going to far!

I believe, as many do, in this #45 era, all that can be done is laugh.  Laughter combats the anger, the confusion.  It makes us all feel human again.  Does it really where the humor comes from?  As long as it helps us take life less seriously.

We Must Get Home

We must get home! How could we stray like this?
So far from home, we know not where it is,
cropped-bridge-2.jpgonly in some fair, apple-blossomy place
of children’s faces…and the mother’s face.
We dimly dream it, till the vision clears
even in the eyes of fancy, glad with tears.

We must get home…for we have been away.
So long, it seems forever and a day!
And, O so very homesick we have grown,
the laughter of the world is like a moan.
In our tired hearing, and its song as vain…
We must get home!  We must get home again!

We must get home! With heart and soul we yearn.
cropped-woman-and-man-3.jpgTo find the long-lost pathway, and return!…
The child’s shout lifted from the questing band.
Of old folk, faring weary, hand in hand,
but faces brightening, as if clouds at last
were showering sunshine on us as we passed.

We must get home: It hurts so staying here.
Where fond hearts must be wept out tear by tear.
And, where to wear wet lashes means, at best…
When most our lack, the least our hope of rest…
When most our need of joy, the more our pain…
We must get home…We must get home again!

We must get home…home to the simple things…
cropped-imageedit_10_7365917179.jpgThe morning-glories twirling up the strings
And, bugling color, as they blared in blue…
And, white o’er garden-gates we scampered through…
the long grape-arbor, with its under-shade
blue as the green and purple overlaid.

We must get home.  All is so quiet there:
The touch of loving hands on brow and hair…
Dim rooms, wherein the sunshine is made mild…
The lost love of the mother and the child.
Restored in restful lullabies of rain,
We must get home…We must get home again!

The rows of sweetcorn and the China beans
Beyond the lettuce-beds where, towering, leans.
imageedit_21_7011298630The giant sunflower in barbaric pride
guarding the barn-door and the lane outside.
The honeysuckles, midst the hollyhocks,
that clamber almost to the martin-box.

We must get home, where, as we nod and drowse.
Time humors us and tiptoes through the house.
and, loves us best when sleeping baby-wise.
With dreams…not tear-drops…brimming our clenched eyes,
pure dreams that know nor taint nor earthly stain.
We must get home…We must get home again!

We must get home! The willow-whistle’s call,
trills crisp and liquid as the waterfall…
imageedit_206_7223608855mocking the trillers in the cherry-trees
and, making discord of such rhymes as these.
That know nor lilt nor cadence but the birds.
First warbled…then all poets afterwards.

We must get home and, un-remembering there…
all gain of all ambition other-where…
Rest from the feverish victory, and the crown…
of conquest whose waste glory weighs us down.
Fame’s fairest gifts we toss back with disdain…
We must get home…We must get home again!

We must get home again…we must…we must!
(Our rainy faces pelted in the dust)
Creep back from the vain quest through endless strife…
to find not anywhere in all of life.
A happier happiness than blest us then …
We must get home…We must get home again!

imageedit_80_4389937315We must get home! 

We must get home!

James Whitcomb Riley

 

 

Singing Off Key

Melodramatic song…the words have brought to fruition…all my wrongs.

Familiar verses of lazy melancholia…shakes a being to the core.

To rest.

To laugh.

To sing.

To nap.

To give in.

The ‘out running’…  being off-key.

I have heard enough of ‘not good enough.’

Laying myself to rest.

Ear to the wall, screams fade into make-believe.