Live from the office

It's stuffy and hot in here.
The outside world still can't quite admit that winter is over. There were occasional snow flurries this moring.
Some stubborn trees are holding on to brown leaves.
Two Russians are in the office today, but there's no Iron Curtain whatsoever. Apparently, all of Russia laughed about Mrs. Clinton's emergency stop switch present.
Need to get on with work, but had to blog off some boredom.*

– Yours truly, L.B.

* 'Boredom' is, of course, a word that's not allowed around here. Problems aren't allowed, either. Only challenges and solutions. What shall we call boredom then? 'Slight momentary lull in the general scheme of challenge'?

What’s it take

to cajole that sourpuss,
that scroungy being with his grey strandy beard
away from his sacred tree?

What a recluse he is, and oh what a temper he has
when disturbed, letting pretend-holy
anger strike me like lightning

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2009)

Written from someone else’s point of view around cajole, recluse and temper from 3WW. It’s all Indian today, after a Holi festival last night with Bharatanatyam dances and Bollywood film karaoke, plus immersing myself into a few poems by Rabindranath Tagore this morning. No wonder then that this is by some poor woman whose husband has got it into his brain that he needs to sit under a big old tree, grow his beard and become enlightened.

Vortic exercise

I’d
like
to hurl
myself in a
swirl – hurtling into
synesthesia: sound, meaning, love.

– Leonard “Vorticist for a Change” Blumfeld

Notes
A fibonacci written for Swirl at Inspire Me Thursday.
Alludes to the vorticist art movement (and Ezra Pound, who coined the term) – without, I admit, knowing much about it beyond surface stuff.

Twilight

Over by the wildwood, in the hot summer night,
We lay in the tall grass, til the mornin' light come shining

If I had my way I'd never get the urge to roam.
But sometimes I serve my country, sometimes I stay at home.

Just don't put me in the frame upon the mantel
Where memories grow dusty old and grey.
Don't leave me alone in the twilight.
Twilight is the loneliest time of day.

And I never gave it a second thought, it never crossed my mind
What's right and what's not. I'm not the judgin' kind.
But I would steal your darkness and the storms from your skies.
We’ve all got certain trials burnin' up inside.
Don't send me no distant salutations.
Or silly souvenirs from far away.
Don't leave me alone in the twilight.
Twilight is the loneliest time a day.

And don't put me in the frame upon the mantel.
Where memories turn dusty old and grey.
Don't leave me alone in the twilight.
Twilight is the loneliest time a day.

Written by Robbie Robertson

Posted for Twilight, a suggestion at One Single Impression.

The words reproduced here are Shawn Colvin's from her cover version of this song by The Band on her Cover Girl album from 1994. She deviates from the original lyrics in many instances.

Here's an impassioned rendering of the song by Eddie629 (recorded in the mud-room with steam rising in the cold weather) from Youtube:

Spanish circle

Inspired by One Single Impression's Circle.

The dark box fib

Part
of
me is
like a dark
box: that’s where I put
most of you to keep the lid on.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2009)

As usual, an accurate rendering of (momentary albeit recurrent) first-hand feelings.

In and out of tune with Parveen Sultana

I
sing
along
with her and
am happy to be
in tune sometimes and notice it.

– Leonard Blumfeld

Note
Parveen Sultana, born in Assam in 1950, is one of the great current singers of India. Her voice spans umpteen octaves, making it difficult for normal untrained mortals like yours truly to even attempt to sing along.

Here's a not so serious sample – Parveen Sultana's contribution to the movie Kudrat from 1981:

Unwritten love letter

My love,

I’m trying to imagine what would happen if tomorrow I boarded the train that takes you to work, sat down on the hopefully empty seat next to yours, placed – among all the people that might be watching your uneasy surprise and my jolly trespassing – the letter in your hands – the letter written to me in your words and with your name signed, the letter that tells it through you as I see it: your denial to acknowledge any feeling for me, the explanation of those glances, the happiness you felt in those moments spent together when we were in perfect tune, the glow on your face and in your eyes, the gleeful exchange of easy banter, the absorption that made us forget the world around. Would you wash your hands of all this, laugh it off as all in my imagination and send me off, once again, coolly, with some pedestrian greeting? Or would you admit that you’ve been lying all along – for whatever rational logic?

But perhaps it’s better to leave everything as it is – suppressed, puzzling, frustrating, ignored, lopsided.

I could be wrong.

L.

The task from Café Writing was to pick at least three of the following words and build a piece of writing around them.

I chose all the words: greeting, hands, imagine, leave, letter, people, train, trespassing, washing.

Two lacy variations

Variation 1

Variation 2

Two variations resulting from different combinations of two pictures - one of a strip of lace, the other of a lacy flower. Posted for Inspire Me Thursday's Lace.

Disarrayed rabble

This disarrayed*
rabble** has nearly
invalidated every
human array I ever
believed in.

* So in disarray with the actual needs of mankind and this planet.
** A reference to those who would probably rather think themselves to be the very crown of the crown of creation, or at least of financial cleverness.

– Leonard Blumfeld

Written using disarray, rabble and validate from 3WW CXXIV.