Barry McCarthy: Paint and Poetry

Periodically, the Burlington Art Council invites local poets to write about the works of a featured artist. Then, at a reception for the artist, the poets read their work aloud. Generally, much to the delight of the artist. The three entries below are poems I wrote on the artwork of Barry McCarthy. I have referenced a website selling his work under my fave links.
About his work, The Cot. I related strongly to this piece, because my grandfather slept on such a cot in his basement, and I imagined as the occupant in the study.

Pink House

Call the children home.
Come here, come here!
Set the tables, ride the rocking chairs!
We’ll drink lemonade,
Eat sugar cookies,
Play ring-around-the-rosy
Until we fall down.
Dizzy dandelions
Butter our chins.
Watch the painted ponies win.
Could we begin again?
Aged roof sags with a sigh.

The Cot

Grandpa’s view
Made his poor cot a paradise,
His mouldy room a palace.
Fresh salt of the sea,
Wave murmurs of the womb.
One day he returned.

Museum Monument

Yearning
for release.
Open sky beckons,
Hot sun surrounds.
One tug, one thrust,
Then, discharge,
Burst into flight.
Liberation.

More on Christmas Wrap

This is my last word on this subject. Promise.
Did you know Friends of the Earth says six per cent of all annual paper waste is wrapping paper from Christmas?
I took a picture of my living tree bark paper from Ten Thousand Villages. UNICEF also sells it.
Environmentally friendly, socially conscious, and quite pretty, I think.

I Hate Turkey

What is it with holidays and turkey? Does anyone really like turkey meat? C’mon, the rest of the year when you go out for a fancy dinner, what do you order? Turkey? I think not. You order prime rib, or steak, or some other beef dish. Maybe you order lobster or even pork tenderloin. But you do not order turkey. Restaurants don't even stock turkey except at Christmas and Thanksgiving. There's a reason for that: nobody likes it.
I'm not being a grinch here. I love Christmas. I love the parties, being with family and friends, going to church at midnight, exchanging gifts . . . I even enjoy turkey dinners. The gravy, the stuffing, the mashed potatoes--real, not from a box--the cranberry sauce, and all the rest are wonderful. But I can only swallow the meat if it’s drowned in gravy. Lots and lots and lots of gravy. I generally take a very smalls slice of meat, place it prominently in my plate, and exclaim over how wonderful it is so no one’s offended by my lack of desire to actually eat any of this foul bird. Pun intended. Then I carve into the good stuff--the mincemeat pie with hard sauce. Especially hard sauce. Mmm . . . hard sauce. I can hear Homer drooling in the background even as I write.
Nobody wants the leftovers. My mother now trashes the rest of the bird because it’s a waste of effort--a lot of effort--to try and save it. And who likes turkey soup, turkey sandwiches, turkey casserole, and leftover dishes that drag on for days? Anyone? I mean it; if you do, tell me.
Not to mention turkey products valiantly sold in grocery stores the rest of the year. Turkey lunchmeat, hot dogs, etc.--meat substitutes that are supposedly more heart healthy than beef. Give me a break. Beef is leaner these day. Enjoy it.
So why do we celebrate our most special occasions with this horrid bird? Is it because we all need the excuse to serve gravy and stuffing?
So lets serve gravy and stuffing and mash and forgot the roast beast.
While we’re at it, lets forgo mince pie underneath the hard sauce. And dip without the ships. Less calories that way.
Have a merry Christmas. I’ll toast you with my rosé wine.

The Season

December dark,
Broken by
Electric Candlelight.
Snow and ice,
Melted by
Warmth of gas fires.
Fear and longing,
Displaced by
Gifts, food, & presents.
Stress and busyness
Halted in their tracks
By family and song.
Barren trees outside,
Draped trees inside.
The gloom dispelled by
Ultimate love,
Forever love,
God’s love.