Hi and welcome to the Attic, I'm Frankenberry of said Blog Title and I write of just my everyday here, sometimes funny, sometimes heartfelt, sometimes angry, sometimes funny again because, well, who don't like funny, thoughts on getting older and sometimes stuff that's just kinda shit. I pen and sing the occasional parody tune and other songs, sometimes I even get a little bit poetic or short story-etic or something like that. If you're joining me here I thank you, but just mind your head and feet and keep an eye out for my little Bella and Cricket The Blind as well as the memories of Raspberry (Razzy), Mimi the Quirky, of Blink The Lil' Kit, Grayson the Mighty, Shoes the Big Orange, Shana-Girl, Benny Good Man Benny Brown, Merlin & Bob. Wouldn't want you step on them or anything … 'cause then I might just have to throw you down the stairs … damned humans.
Author: Stephen J Frankenberry
Just some guy in a Pirates hat, couple'o cats and this spot
Her prompt then, in relation to that (in the above link), was to ask folks to write a poem that incorporates one or more of the sewing terms she listed in said link.
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Sweat Pants
Years have longed me
to try and seem even a glimpse of
pant seams unstretched
back to
younger ones
before I longed
older years to be more like those
maybe if I start walking
with intent
sit up more than just sitting up
being victory enough
of still breathing we talk
joke
but so buttonholes on jeans won’t mock
my pinch-skin attempts
tell me they won’t tell if I don’t of an open ease hid with a belt
Once a month comes once a month, it’s pretty regular as once a months go, as long as calendars don’t try to fuck with me and suddenly change cats out of time on my wall … (hey wait, when the hell did that meowing tabby suddenly turn into a yawning gray long hair?) but once a month means that I am takin’ Monday off. And when I do, take this once monthly, it can sometimes involve a new “tune” …
(sorry, that was Cricket in case you were curious, always reminding that she is a part of this process, blind keyboard stepping right through, though her singing voice definitely can leave a bit to be desired … but so with ya on the solitary 7 my friend … I know huh? Nope, don’t get me started)
… and when that is the case, a new tune, I will take my time that often then involves me working said tune, though it has been a little while for this as we live in dire times, free thought not really being all that much of a thing these days so you must be careful, but I will work it.
Well I did work a new thing this Friday and with that, that new tune I thought, as I have done before, to put a few things into one easy, convenient post as once I am in song mode I am just there.
So, with links to their posts, I boogie woogie here, I channel Bob Dylan, there’s a new one with a big top soundtrack, I lament the white supremacy that seems to, so sadly, be a thing these days, from the top on down, I Cheap trick some need to conform, I rail on tax cuts ala the Beatles, and the always GOP minority rule via Tears for Fears.
I’ve written of this before (so feel free to heavy sigh and skip off now while you can) but one of the main tools for me in my job (I’m a production guy) is a production music site I use on an almost daily basis to find music beds for commercials that I will maybe voice or, if not, still produce.
But in my searching, though, for a tune that seems to work for whatever spot is at hand I will come across beds that I like, beds that I can even think that I might like to write some lyrics to and have a bit of fun with at another time, something I have done on occasion because Hey? Who don’t imagine themselves to possibly be a rock star right? I know, that’s silly but still, for me, it’s always been just another avenue for creating and also to do that bit of rock star wannabe “singing” (“singing” definitely in quotes here but, being a production guy, I can work a little magic on the me sing end).
But, if you know this me here in the Attic, you also know that I have done quite a lot of parody tunes over the last 8 or so years, “parody” in name only though as they ain’t silly, mostly those of a political type to try and get some genuinely angry angers and frustrations out and make needed points (and lord knows there are a lot of those and needs of such, especially now) as, years ago, I realized, no matter how well written or compelling a straight up opinion piece of mine might be no one was ever going to read it. Period. Not even me back to me.
Decided tonight to not do any writing after bad attempts at forcing something (yes, fully aware of the now current irony here) and, instead, try to just keep to a normal, human, regular ol’ me schedule on a Friday for once and just pretend that it’s like any other night during the week and NOT a finally reached weekend to stay up to all hours like I’m reliving some little kid fantasy of being allowed to not have to go to bed all normal and such with no adult supervision or guardrails and eating nothing but candy, even though I AM an adult (at least as I’ve been told on occasion and that a birth certificate will attest) and could and should admonish myself and hold the guardrails up on my own but too often don’t (there was actually and admittedly a little candy involved … but hey, it was dark chocolate which is better right?).
Last weekend kind of put this in some stark perspective when I realized on Sunday morning, around 9a, that I hadn’t been to bed yet, since Friday when I got up for the day, though I’m sure I nodded off at some point in my somewhat recently bought sleek and cool, tall backed computer chair holding the napping torch for old men everywhere who fall asleep in chairs but, as said old man, I just can’t do that shit any longer. Well, I can, but just not terribly well and when Beck, earlier tonight, as we did of bit of catching up on a day and a week, an eventful one, and a one where I was sitting in a rocking chair, I know huh? told me that I can start to sound a bit silly and punch drunk about half way through a weekend’s lack of sleep and I realized enough is enough.
So, I decided to just stick to my usual weeknight schedule on this Friday. Come home, say Hi to Beck and Mr Matt (nephew) and the Arthur and the Saphira and the Rikki (cats), give a “Hello” shout down the stairs to my Bella and the Cricket (also cats) while moving rather quicky to the bathroom for a pee (it was a longer ride home than usual tonight with some snow that involved a long brush and a grabbing of gloves before I could drive, so peeing was of the utmost importance, the first thing, a priority, as that bit of extra time on the road can really get ya as an old dude) get some dinner in order for the girls and then for me, look at a few things in the Attic, some new likes and views and comments, thanks everyone, while Cricket waits to share my dinner, something she will remind of in meowling impatience if I am moving too slow for her liking on some nights, plus I know, she knew, that I had some pasta tonight … she could smell it … a slice of ziti ala vodka pizza from earlier and the Cricket, well she just LOVES herself some pasta.
Then it was search for a something to watch, continue some recent new found shows maybe, “Pluribus” or “Down Cemetery Road”, look at the texts I send to myself during the week for new watch ideas, possibly a movie, or just scroll through all the possibilities without really deciding on anything, just preview a bunch of trailers which, eventually, can prove to be just like I had taken the time to watch an actual movie.
I did eventually decide on something though, “The Legend of Ochi”, which I had been eyeing for a while, for a well spent 5 dollar rental, which was a story of unintentionally befriending some perceived enemy but one that’s really cute with big ears and one we’ve seen many times over but had Willem Dafoe and Emily Watson and Finn Wolfhard from “Stranger Things” and a wonderful young actress I didn’t know and a really cool, really cute, big eared little furry fella I just mentioned with even bigger emotive eyes and a Momma just waiting for and dearly missing him.
This garnered some genuine welling up from me at the end, eye dabbing with the bottom of my T-shirt, but not in a bad way, though there were some harrowing moments and I thought “Well done Me. You spent almost a movie’s length worth watching trailers and then also watched a full movie (after its trailer – twice) and still kept in line, almost, with a regular night during the week”.
But then, at the end of “The Legend of Ochi” and, again, some eyes dabbed with the bottom of a t-shirt, I went to my little half fridge for a seltzer and a beer and I noticed the remainders of a bag of grapes that I had brought home with me, from my other little fridge, the one under my desk at work and I said to myself “Let them eat Grapes”
Then I was fucked.
Now I had to get up and expand on “Let them eat grapes” and I had been doing so well.
And this was the dumbest of shit. I mean who the hell is going to say “Let them eat grapes?” Who is possibly going to take that as some dismissive thing, as it sounded in my head, like Marie-Antoinette and some shit about cake (which didn’t really work out all that well for her if embellished, somewhat fictional history recalls) but “Let them eat Grapes?”
Hell Steve, who don’t like grapes?
I mean if I am some sort of disdainful aristocrat basically telling you to fuck off “Let them eat grapes” would be a real head scratcher right?
Let them eat grapes and let them have universal health care and let them shorten the divide between the have’s and the have nots and let them feel safe?
Yeah, surely some correlations to our current here but I ain’t goin’ there, not right now at least. That’ll just make me angry.
So, “Let them eat grapes” which I did by the way, as I try to be a bit healthier with my snack choices these days but only after some dark chocolate of course.
Been thinking all week on a prompt from Lisa this past Monday, a new quadrille idea (dVerse 44 word poem) to include, this time around, the word “coax” and I really just had nothin’.
But then when I got home tonight I gave it another thought and suddenly remembered something that I had written quite a number of years ago (30 plus now) but could never find the copy of over all that time and so many moves, but something that had gotten a compliment, back then, from a well known, well published local poet and professor who frequented the cigar shop my fiancé managed and who agreed to take a moment to read after I convinced Danielle to ask him the big ask, if he would be so kind.
Now, I still have never found that copy but tonight some of it came to me, including the lead in of the title (I always remember that) so I thought to revisit and rework it then as best I could and it was a short bit, certainly one that could fit a quadrille.
So, my altered version (including “coax” replacing “feel” and meeting a 44) but still there in spirit and pretty close, I think, to the original.
The compliment from him, by the way, written in pencil at the bottom of the poem? He said he thought that it was complete.
So, a new prompt from Laura at dVerse Poets is to get Chaucerian with a Roundel. This is something I’m sure I would remember if I were to be transported back to my College days, and Doc Sipple and Doc Bowers but then, in that transporting back, I would most surely get distracted and totally forget the task at hand and forget about those classes and lessons.
But here, in the now?
Circling back to the 14th Century: Though we often associate the Roundel with Swinburne, his was a 19th century deviation because it is to Chaucer that we owe this poetry style, (as well as the iambic pentameter and the ‘rime royal’).
Thus we distinguish the Chaucerian Roundel from all other forms as well as from The Rondel and Rondeau. And by now you’ve guessed that our poetry today is to be written as Chaucer outlines:
usually 10 syllables per line as iambic pentameter
As is evident from the above there are only 2 rhymes to the scheme, and once you have the first 3 lines, it repeats in two refrains so the poem is not too challenging!
Ok, now I will beg to differ on the “not too challenging” but?
So I went to where I’ve been on a few things somewhat recently and hope I kept to task Laura.
As to Doc Sipple and Doc Bower? Sorry I’m late, I was a bit distracted.
“Steve, I have some news” Beck said as I poked my head in the living room to her on the Beck couch to say “Hi” after what had been a frustrating but finally muddled through Friday.
“Aunt Anne passed away”
I was going to joke about something totally silly in my poking corners of living rooms with sisters on couches and then …
… pause … “Oh no … no” and I flashed to the late 90’s almost 00’s and felt guilty, immediately, as I hadn’t talked to Aunt Anne in too long.
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There were thank you cards that I would never send for wedding gifts I never kept (though there were a couple I would like to have, that fully loaded tool box filled with shit I would never need or know how to use for one) and feel guilty of for the longest of time and there was paperwork eventually that said the magic had passed well before its time or thank you card expectations suddenly no longer a thing, plus divorce numbers in graphs and charts and over multiple demographics helped me explain, painfully, fast endings and also just being lazy and hurt.
“Hey what time is it?”
“It’s now and you still haven’t sent those thank you cards and, oh, try again sometime, maybe, on this whole marriage thing if you can or wish?” Another thought entirely there, and a nonstarter.
And then there was Aunt Anne.
I needed a place, a spot, a wherever that wasn’t this whatever now, I needed, really, to just run away.
Cue Aunt Anne and Uncle Don and Florida sun and unintended but welcome beaches and Mouse dreams. Yes, I went to the beach and Yes, I worked for the Mouse, even wore tights and big ass floppy shoes and baggy shorts and plastic heads on the weekends.
I know, kinky huh? Just minus the soft light and candles and knotted rope.
She offered me a room, in a welcome home when I was at a loss as to what to do after my unexpected sideways step replete with those Thank You cards I never sent that I kept in a box on a new nightstand as a reminder of my lacking’s but also of my refusals (that was my justification anyway).
But Aunt Anne and Uncle Don and that huge living room where I would sit, cross-legged watching TV with them and commenting together on new shared favorite shows as a part of the family still sits cross-legged with me, along with remembrances of Benny the Cat who catted along with me to this new stead and who Aunt Anne, to her sure consternation, and unneeded pressure, kept an extra eye for “Hey that’s Stephen’s cat, keep an extra eye or i’ll never sleep and then be forced to hurt you … “
My cats have always had that effect.
We’re all, obviously, older now, shit catches up eventually as it will, as it does as it must but there are Aunt Anne’s and Uncle Don’s along the way who give you place, comfort, friendship, if you are lucky enough, a place to lay your head and regroup and even go to the beach or wear big ass plastic heads on the weekends (no, not in a kinky way … freakin’ wierdo’s) and breathe for just a moment.
Dictionary.com gives these 3 options as definitions of craftsmanship: the art or skill of a craftsperson. the quality of being well-crafted or well-built. the product or result of skilled labor or craft.
Another site gives craft three meanings: an object made with skill a vehicle for traveling on water or through air an individual who makes objects in a skilled way.
Your challenge today is to use one or more of the definitions of craft or craftspersonship that have been given and write a poem in any format or length you choose.
So I thought, then, to crafting Paper Airplanes and just kind of flew along for a bit.
Hi and welcome to the Attic, I'm Frankenberry of said Blog Title and I write of just my everyday here, sometimes funny, sometimes heartfelt, sometimes angry, sometimes funny again because, well, who don't like funny, thoughts on getting older and sometimes stuff that's just kinda shit. I pen and sing the occasional parody tune and other songs, sometimes I even get a little bit poetic or short story-etic or something like that. If you're joining me here I thank you, but just mind your head and feet and keep an eye out for my little Bella and Cricket The Blind as well as the memories of Raspberry (Razzy), Mimi the Quirky, of Blink The Lil' Kit, Grayson the Mighty, Shoes the Big Orange, Shana-Girl, Benny Good Man Benny Brown, Merlin & Bob. Wouldn't want you step on them or anything ... 'cause then I might just have to throw you down the stairs ... damned humans.
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A personal exploration of autism from a brother’s perspective, including family relationships, philosophy, neuroscience, mental health history and ethics
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