Libby Weber's Blog, page 9

November 18: We Built This Citrus

Five years ago we bought a lemon tree

And put it in a smallish square of dirt

Never suspecting that the BBC

Its usefulness with silly would subvert,

Whose groundwork was laid out on our vacations,

With Smotherses and Freberg ever playing,

Developing my aural inclinations

For humor I had small hope of repaying.

But thanks to fandom, I found Cabin Pressure

I shared it with my folks to pay them back

For years of laughs, in hopes it would feel fresher

In Olney as in Qikiqtarjuaq.

So when my parents flew home...

November 17: Sudden Stop

First it’s the preparation, then the work,

Then shifting gears when circumstance requires.

Alas, it is not possible to shirk

Responsibilities when one desires

More sleep or entertainment, but it’s not

Maturity that ranks ought over want-

In calculating what, if I get caught,

Will be the penalty, I’m a savant.

So if I disengage from any task,

It’s not that I do so sans reservation,

And if you’re curious enough to ask,

I’ll list ten ways that it’s self-preservation.

If not maturity, wisdom perhaps

Will keep...

November 16: Nick of Time

The faithless hound hides underneath the bed,

Thus showing more sense than mistress and master,

For Dashiell Hammett hit it on the head-

Nora and Nick are quick, but Asta’s faster.

My parents, married thirty years and counting,

Diverted by the antics on the screen,

Are laughing, now, as always when surmounting

Their troubles, filling every day between.

As mine and mine join in the merriment

I can’t not be aware we share the room

With two great pairs, each for the other meant,

One caught in spring, and o...

November 15: God Head

It’s thanks to John and John I know the word

That’s used when martyrs are in art depicted

With their own severed heads in hand: absurd,

Yet somehow dignified are the afflicted.

It’s thanks to Schwartz and Menken I possess

A favorite cephalophore at all.

My past pet peeves they handily redress,

While cleverness and spectacle enthrall.

Though Aphrodisius unfortunate

Capitulated to the mob his head,

That generosity produced a glut

Of miracles he made once he was dead.

That silliness can come from sacrifice

I...

November 14: Clique Claque

When one knows members of the audience,

The show will inexplicably feel fraught,

And one feels one can tell the difference

Between an friendly crowd and one that’s not.

Your ears are tuned to laughter and your eyes

Are drawn to those with hands against their faces

Contorted with despair or with surprise,

As they’re put through their sentimental paces.

But when the signs are indisputable:

The audience is actually enjoying

Delusions become much more suitable,

And kind to stories ready for retelling.

For we...

November 13: Reviewing

When one performs a musical’s premiere

The wait for feedback seems well nigh eternal

Will critics rave? Will audiences cheer?

Will chipper chatter spread or rants infernal?

Will people sense the spilled ink, sweat, and tears

That brought the show so suddenly to life,

Comprised of Broadway vets and volunteers

All balanced on a sharpened gypsy’s knife?

And when they do, it’s mixed: one thoroughly

Adores the luscious score, one finds it trite,

One hates the sad, one hates the comedy,

But great performance...

November 12: Big Miss

A dachshund’s an unsubtle little creature

Whose manners are perfunctory at best,

Whose stubbornness confounds the patient teacher,

By whom a grand persona is possessed.

But luckily attempts at stealing food

Are oft preceded by a stalking mien,

And throes of undesired solitude

Through yaps and cunning poses can be seen.

While some requests in healing take a while,

And naughtiness produces looks contrite

That last a second, then becomes a smile,

Love needn’t be well-polished or polite.

On days of politics...

November 11: AAK and EEW

We met in summer, fathers’ daughters we,

Though during school years we were separated

And parents’ hopes were not a guarantee,

We reunited, friendship unabated.

But then one autumn, new names we selected

To be our first identities online,

And since we two were already connected

The BBS served only to refine

Our giddiness- for once, were weren’t just two,

We found like-minded souls around the world,

So Sophie and November joined the crew,

And motley, joyous freak flags we unfurled.

Though worldly currents...

November 10: Seasonettes

When one lives in a coastal chaparral,

The joke is that we only have two seasons:

One dry, one wet, and by that rationale

Our climate is monotonous, and reasons

To shun it are abounding, for the mild

Of winter weakens us when faced with cold,

Expecting it to suit us, like a child,

As if to human wishes climates mold.

Endemic plants cannot hope to compete

With foreign trees and irrigated lawns,

Which means that autumn isn’t obsolete-

Merely that in an instant it is gone.

When fall’s bright fifteen minutes...

November 9: Inner Space

Grief is a hole that suddenly appears

Protected by an invisible seal,

Hidden, immeasurable, so that one fears

The indefinable may not be real.

And yet it can be felt sporadically,

At times both unforseeable and those

That fall beneath predictability

And half-remembered history- suppose

That curiosity will chip away

The seal, but fear of sadness fills the cracks-

Is grief a thing that thinking can allay

Or is it something everything impacts?

There’s no one way to meaningful goodbye,

Nor is there a convenie...