"blue..blue...yellow...red...yellow...red...red...blue"
Brian brilliant is she a famous Oz poet?
Patrick -ps I find being gaga quite inspiring
PS just 'cause you were worried about your mental age-methinks-now where was I?
-----Original Message-----
From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of Brian Hawkins
Sent: 07 January 2010 00:09
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Re: snap: at odds with the sunny weather
I like it Andrew, the first half very much, up to "at odds with the sunny weather".� Tho the last bit is also good, I'm not sure that it's right, tho I can't think of any helpful suggestions. ��
I just spent a few weeks in the company of, among others, my step-mother in law, who has become addicted to a little Nintendo device that "tests your brain age."� By dint of laborious practice, she has got her brain age down to 44.� It was disconcerting, the first day I stayed there, to hear, descending through the planks of the balcony above me, her flat, robotic voice intoning "blue..blue...yellow...red...yellow...red...red...blue" (rapid identification of colours on the screen must be one of the components of the test.)� I had no idea what she was doing and thought she had gone gaga. �
Brian
--- On Thu, 7/1/10, andrew burke <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
From: andrew burke <[log in to unmask]>
Subject: snap: at odds with the sunny weather
To: [log in to unmask]
Received: Thursday, 7 January, 2010, 10:14 AM
All of a sudden the computer
is asking me, �How many balls
are bouncing?� They call it
an intelligence test: five
or six red balls are bouncing
wall to wall. I click by
quickly, thinking of
this morning driving down the highway
and out of the corner of my eye
seeing my friend standing
by the bus stop at the shopping centre
a short walk from his home,
standing like he�s just forgotten something
his thin frame and gaunt face
at odds with the sunny weather
and the smart young things waiting
for their bus, dressed
for the office, to �take care of business�.
He stands at the curb
in his faded fawn polo neck t-shirt
with a breeze gently flapping
his sports slacks. His white whiskers are ruffled
and his hair is a mess, and as I speed by
on the other side of the highway,
a puzzled� hand goes up to his forehead
and he takes a small step.
All comments are very welcome. Just wrote this and am pleased to have
written something after dry weeks of frustration, but am unsure of its
value.
Andrew
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