Sunday, November 29, 2009

Sunday Scribbling #191: Game

George Rodrigue: The Millenium

gamely, she squandered

five of the ten

ways she has

of fueling the masses

with her

five and dime

monkey see, monkey do-

ness. Politesse

her other game,

we were quickly

onto her gamey

smell, the touch

of patchouli that touches

the wild fauna

in even

the least of us,

wishing us down

its ferret ways,

gamboling

the gaming commissioners

lurking

in our black hearts,

raspberry-strewn

with configurations skyclad,

overdone,

Rodrigue's vestal dogs

memorizing the way home,

the way to palatial

pandemonium,

the way to soothe

this fevered brow.

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26 Comments:

Blogger Teresa said...

Well, all that gamey patchouli smell has triggered my allergies, bro.

I do like this one. I like the gaming "lurking in our black hearts, raspberry strewn."

I also like it that "the way home" is "the wa to palatial pandemonium, the way to soothe this fevered brow."

Don't give into that gambling addiction and lose the farm!

10:58 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

T: Patchouli is a dicey proposition: you love it or loathe it: I'm in the love crowd, probably another reason I love the Renaissance Fair. I'll cap the vial, though, and beg pardon to your nose.

I don't wear it, nor Tina (nor Mr. Baby), but I do love the scent.

3:49 PM  
Blogger Teresa said...

Well, I used to love it before it started closing my throat and trying to kill me a couple of years back. I guess I will have to avoid Renaissance Fairs. Rats. That was something on my "Things to do before I am so old I can't walk" list.

4:37 PM  
Blogger Dee Martin said...

patchouli brings back head shops and bell bottoms, and Ravi Shankar.
Who is this she and what are the ten ways to fuel the masses ( favorite line - the monkey see monkey do-ness). Monkeys and ferrets and other wild fauna in the back yard would be pandemonium of the most palatial level.
P.S. love Rodrigue's Oaks & Cajuns series.

7:49 PM  
Blogger Tumblewords: said...

Enjoyed your poem -

9:38 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Teresa: I think you can still move through the fair: they're usually in nice wide-open spaces, and to tell the truth, I caught traces, but when you love the scent, traces are precisely what you want to catch.

5:23 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Dee: I've no idea who she is, but she sure ain't tamed.

5:25 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Thank you again, Tumblewords.

5:26 AM  
Blogger Teresa said...

Thanks for making my day, bro!!

1:50 PM  
Blogger Tammie Lee said...

such a witty piece. the art is fun too.
patchouli is a bit much for me as well.
it is the worst when I hug someone and then smell of it myself. I like it from a distance.

4:47 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Well alright, Sister Teresa.

4:56 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Miz Lee: George Rodrigue's Blue Dogs certainly took New Orleans by storm in my last years there. I think I'm dating myself with all the patchouli talk: clearly, y'all is from the younger generations.

4:58 PM  
Blogger jsd said...

enjoyed the poem, and the art work; had to look up patchouli :)

8:42 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

jsd: Lucky you, that you had to look it up, though I feel sure you've scented, if not felt, the scent, somewhere along your way.

10:39 AM  
Blogger MichaelO said...

Rodrigue's virgin blue dog bitches lurking in the Quarter. The patchouli wafting from granola chicks and lesbians alike. Nothing like the scent of fauna, eh? Pheromonic musk, strange repulsive attraction. An aromatic push-me-pull-you only Doolittle could speak to.

3:51 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Miguel: I think you scored the underbelly on this one. I'm sure it's all there somewhere...

6:53 PM  
Blogger Beth said...

I'm a fan of the Blue Dog and George Rodrigue and have carried his card in my wallet ever since New Orleans and visiting his exhibit there three years ago. And I loved that you included that enigmatic blue dog in your enigmatic writing that sings and soars and somehow leaves me not quite understanding the woman you write of, for she seems to have layers and layers, sweet smelling and yet polite and yet . . .

9:21 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Thank you for the poem of your comment, Beth. I like your and yets: I think she, elusive she, is all about and yets, the rest of her always around the corner...

7:39 AM  
Blogger Dee Martin said...

swung by to say hello and had another read - missed the fevered brow first time around, maybe she is a sister of the sun? Thanks for the drop in at EDF. Scary stuff when you leave the nest and fly in front of strangers but I always have liked to sneak a little closer to the flames. My feathers got ruffled a bit but not singed.

9:14 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Dee: I'd say it was a swell debut, all things told. Nothing in the story stopped me, but the Old Spice. Poor chica. One of your many strengths as a writer was all full display: the narrative voice: knowing, chuckling, compassionate, gritty narrator peeking in - and commenting - on it all.

10:21 AM  
Blogger Devil Mood said...

You've successfully transmitted so many sensations to us with this poem, my senses are now more alert. In a way, it was like a cup of coffee :)

11:29 AM  
Blogger anno said...

Patchouli and clementines belong together. At least in my memory. With the complement of Rodrigue's Blue Dogs (and thanks for the introduction, by the way), this was an intriguing sensory game - made me happy to play along.

12:33 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Ms Mood: Hola, ArcherGirl! Time's a-nearing! My resident Sag-son is still in the middle of his Birthday Week. Actual day this past Thursday, but he'll be celebrating right on through his grandparents' visit tomorrow.

So good to hear from you. Glad I could provide the caffeine. Namaste, amiga.

12:41 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Anno: Glad to point you down CajunDog-way. I'm with you on the clementine/patchouli collision, too. Good memory you have there, hermana.

12:43 PM  
Blogger Tammie Lee said...

I'm drinking smokey tea and thinking of you.

1:51 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Good for you, MizLee. I'll bet it's the perfect day up your way for such doings. Perfect day down here, too, for that matter. Blessings to you, Sister Eyes.

5:12 PM  

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