The give us today our daily grind haiku

Most irritating:
can’t even see what they’ve been
grinding all morning.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2014)

Razor-edge-of-time reporting from the noise front. Picture the building as a giant tooth, with a gigantic dentist going at it. I can feel the damage done to the enamel all the way to my work room on the 1st floor.

You are like a hurricane

Again woke up with a song playing in my mind that seemed to have sprung from nowhere – Neil Young's Like a Hurricane, essentially a one-image song: that of the stillness in the eye of the hurricane while the storm rages, blowing the narrator away.

It is one of my favorite Neil Young songs, but I haven't listened to it in ages.

What could have caused this to rise to the surface this morning?

Musical affliction

Has it ever happened to you that a song implanted itself in your inner ear, seemingly out of nowhere, and would stay with you for days?

Hank Snow's One More Ride has been with me off and on for several days now. Where did it come from? No source I'm aware of. It's unlikely that I heard it somewhere here in Italy. It certainly would not be played in any Roman store or elevator.

I remember recording this song on my reel-to-reel tape recorder from the country music hour at SWF 3 around 1973 and must have listened to it a lot back then. I loved country music at the time and hardly ever missed that radio show on Saturday afternoon.

The clickety-clack of Hank's railroad track has been calling me much too long. What to do? I have no button to switch it off.

– Leonard Blumfeld, musically afflicted

The art movie haiku

So I decided
to make an art movie. Long
long shot of nothing.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2014)

Note
Today’s horoscope said my creativity was going to be low today. But I tried anyway. The picture is a still from the movie – 90 minutes of showing the shadows play on my balcony.

Proverbs from the Chinese XIV

Gifted, intense talk may be another form of rot.

Once again, a piece of Chinese fortune cookie wisdom happens to coincide with Three Word Wednesday's selection of words: gifted, intense, rot.

Whoever wrote this may have been thinking of politicians. Except that what they spout often could neither be called gifted nor intense. Just plain rot.

Rowing my boat in the right direction

Your current situation doesn't allow you to fulfill your potential, and you are now becoming aware of this. You're dreaming of travel, study and different professional experiences. Row your boat in the direction that draws you, for any move forward right now will be a positive one.

This was part of today's horoscope, and it was spot on. At least the first part about my current situation. Better start rowing that boat!

– L.B.

The Anish Kapoor haiku

A gigantic fat
blue donut rolled into my
art field of vision.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2014)

Note
Very much razor-edge-of-time reporting of an actual virtual (because computer screen-limited) visual event.

In a jam

When in a jam
when in jam
when jamming

Jabbering away
with a swagger

You get my drift
you aren’t daft

Riverrun dry
riverrun open
riverrun die

Mikey mukey moke
is poetry a joke?

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2014)

Notes
What brought this one about? 1. Reading some poetry by an eminent contemporary British poet that did not make the least bit of sense. 2. What's worse: I didn't even feel like trying to read some sense into it or break my poor unpoetic mind doing so. 3. I'd also read the riverrun quote* somewhere today, so it was lurking in the back of my mind.
Have a mukey poetry day!

*From James Joyce's Finnegans Wake (1939).

The perverse urge to do anything but what is most urgent

I’ve been a practitioner ever since I can remember.

Always thought I was the only one until I saw a German movie, one of those shallow TV productions steeped in exaggeratedly shining colors, in which some middle-aged woman writer avoided writing her urgently needed new novel by doing all sorts of chores in house and garden.

But my avoidance maneuvers aren’t even chores.

Listening to Steve Earle cannot possibly be called a chore, right? What about running downstairs and eating three cherry tomatoes?

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2014)

The May morning stupor haiku

Dazed, coffee did not
help, hay fever-feverish,
typing is a chore.

– Leonard Blumfeld (© 2014)

Razor-edge-of-time reporting from the work front. The truth and nothing but the (un)poetic truth. What an awful thing to have to deal with in the merry month of May.