A Complaint About Captain Lecho Guave

I am worried about my captain, Lecho Guave. He has not posted in his blog since February 15th. Surely, were he alive, he would have posted by now. I have written this poem as a safe haven for my emotions, I am distrought, I do not know what else to do.

O CAPTAIN! My Captain! Our fearful trip's begun;
The ship will weather every rack, the prize we seek we'll win;
The port too far for the bells to hear the people all exulting,
We must maintain a steady keel, this vessels grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Is that my captain lying on the deck,
Fallen cold and dead?

Place Making

Attended an AIA meeting this week about Fort Worth's Trinity Uptown project. For those of you who aren't familiar with it, it is a redevelopment of the north side of downtown Fort Worth. An enormous project which will potentially keep local architects busy for quite a while. You can see what''s happening at www.trinityrivervision.org.

I have thought for many years about the meaning of place and the meaning of 'making place'. This is essentially what architects do, they create 'place'. I don't know what the Trinity Uptown project will become but i do know what i hope it does not become. I can't explain my ideas in full without boring everyone who reads this blog to death but i will say this, i hope that it does not become a fabricated idealism. By this i mean that i hope it doesn't get built up to look like a particular thing or style. This would be a mistake that lasts generations.

I'll conclude this with an old poem I wrote many dreams ago:


Blushing
1991

covered
tight
in
certain
colors
me
red
with
naked
smile

32 Bedrock Place

I made this card for Emilie for her 32nd birthday. Wanted to share it.

Date with Emilie

Went out on a rare date with my wife Emilie tonight. I say rare because with young kids 'dates' are often hard to come by. We had so much fun just being together. It's nice when you can be with someone for so many years and still just love being in their presence. In honor of Emilie's birthday (which is today) and our wonderful date I am entering the following old poem:

"Rosebud of Memory. Who’s She?"
1993

I feel I felt I fell
with floating Emilies
to those regions in which
reasons are remarked through pigeons
in fermented Vermont.

I feel I felt I fell
with floating Emilies
into piles of pails of pools
of water that are thrown at her
by the sun in summertime.

I feel I felt I fell
with floating Emilies
with the sweat of the sun
falling and feeling I feel
that in falling I felt.

Untitled

but edith’s bones
(though nice)
are delicate.
her skin had left them
ages ago.

it traveled towards the earth.
in a way,
towards her feet
(had always felt their press)
loved gravity,
loved her,
its consequence.

-collaboration by lecho guave and farce withers

To Calculate an Idea

To calculate an idea you must first
Add together all the thoughts your mind thinks,
then subtract the time between the blinks,
include what you think and what you dream,
because thoughts and dreams are one and the same,
multiply these thoughts by similar thoughts you’ve had,
then divide all this by the poor decisions you've made,
by the times you’ve spoken when you shouldn’t,
by the times you wished you could but couldn’t,
by the times you had but wished you hadn’t,
make sure and include the times you did but wished you didn’t,
then add this number to any two digit number of your choosing,
reversing the first and second digits while perusing
the holy pendentives that support the dome of H. Sophia;
this, the only means to calculating an idea.

Wise Words from Withers

The following are aphorisms extracted from the natural world by the hero of this blog, Mr. Farce Withers. Wisdom tends to find gentle souls.

bare feet please the grass

a river never stops to chat
with all the leaves and stones it meets

you may be crying
but your tears will be laughing

The wind loves hearing the trees words

love never has to prove
the proof is love

My Good Cricket Friend

Ok, i got positive feedback on the first poem i posted so i decided to post another tonight before i enter dreamland. This one is about a cricket i once knew, and is one of the poems that make up the book, "The Creatures I Knew, Before I knew you".

“My Good Cricket Friend”

The spring in his hop
would make summer stop,
made colored leaves drop.

His legs were gymnastic,
with tentacles elastic,
and music fantastic.

We’d talk about chirping,
about music and rhythm,
went everywhere with him.

He’d straighten my hair
with his tentacle ends,
we were good friends,
we were good friends.

What's it like to be a spider?

Because, for the time being, I have nothing better to post, I have decided to post short children's poems that I have been working on over the past one-hundred years or so. You are allowed to respond to them, ignore them, critique them, change them, quote them, wash with them, make love to them, or load them in your favorite weapon and fire them. You are absolutely not allowed to copy them or make money off of them that you don't share with me. One for today, more later if you're friendly.

“What’s it like to be a Spider?”

Just imagine yourself,
but with twice the limbs.

Or imagine you could crawl
on a ceiling, up a wall;
not an itch
you couldn’t scratch.

Able to quickly calculate,
Numbers divisible by eight.

And though it’s a curious thing
To hang from a string,
Just think of how fun it is to swing,
And climb, and cling.

Farce Withers: a formal introduction

They call me Farce Withers - I am an explorer who navigates through human dreams and desires. Travel with me as I try and navigate toward the origin of a single thought.

Little Topher Swimming