Dryterranean Homesick Blues, The Digital Version
I took a morning lately when
The house was all my own, and then
I did a rain dance in the hall,
I pranced and waved my dusters all
Around my feathered, painted noggin;
I called the Spirits down to login
To the universal code
To tinker with the Weather Mode.
But alack, awaily and alas
The code is writ in C++!
I do not speak that language well
- Or e’en at all if truth be tell.
I took my plight direct to Source
(Who is God the Big, of course.)
A little housewife, meek and pleading,
I found God at His fire, reading
Dorothy Parker with a grin
(He hid the book when I came in.)
“Great God,” said I, not bold but shaking
“We need some rain, So Cal* is baking!
“I’ve tried to go through proper channels
But every weather-techno-angel’s
Snowed under working MidWest storms -
Their “out-of-office” mail informs.
“I tried to call on Injun spirits
And mess with MotherEarthBoard circuits,
Yet not a drop on us has fallen
To green the grass or seed the pollen.
“I miss the green and fresh of home;
Damp moss, dark, fertile, leafy loam.
My skin is itchy, th’air is stale;
I yearn for wild Atlantic gale!
“The town’s below its annual inchage
- For rain that is – our rivers’ shrinkage
Mean all’s still sere and dust and brown.
Wait! God? is that a Heffner gown?
“Islay Scotch? Cigars from Cuba?
Travel brochures for Aruba?
God, man, you’ve got to concentrate!
You can’t your duties abdicate!
“It’s March now, and just six wee inches!
(But that’s another of my bitches)
We need some rain on Ojai plain,
Dripping leaf and gurgling drain
“I pray! I go to PC chapel!
But think I’ll have to move to Apple.
You’ve made the world so damn PC,
The system’s broke with double-speak;
“You cannot say what’s on your tongue;
Fresh, green thought is up and gone.
But Apple see, they’re on their game;
They’d have us rained upon again.
“God, dude, you’ve run PC amok,
Our land is going into dry-shock!
Reboot, recode, do what you needta
Or I’ll report you to the Meeja.”
For greater enjoyment of this pome, try not to notice it’s crap, and doesn’t scan and
strains to rhyme. Thanks.
*What they call Southern California on the telly weather here.
This just in: If you are a British blogger or an expat British blogger consider submitting something to this: It’s called Shaggy Blog Stories: a collabarative blog-stunt for Comic Relief. It’s run by The Troubled Diva and looks great but you have to act quickly – the deadline is March 14th. Check it out!
March 10th, 2007 at 9:32 am
Thanks for the heads-up to the Shaggy Dog thing, I’ve put a post up about it and will look for something suitably hilarious from my corpus of sidesplitting work. Did you check out that gorgeous Jock from The Blue Nile? Oh my word, I am IN LURVE. Do they all look like him in Glasgae? I’m aft doon Sauchiehall Street the morra.
March 10th, 2007 at 10:36 am
Hungover and poetry, oh my.
I lived in BCN for some years and during the summer I forgot all about rain and what it smelled like and misty days…then I moved back, and it was back to four seasons in one day. But I do know why you’re wistfully pining.
Still though, poetry that is not MacCavity the Mystery Cat and/or The Raven, I’m not sure about that. I may need to take Panadol, although I also may need to take that anyway.
March 10th, 2007 at 2:25 pm
Daphne, glad to do it, hun. It looks like larks.
fmc, I tried not to write it. I thought, now I know fmc will be by, and I knowhow she feels about poetry, but out it burped itself nevertheless. Only McCavity though? What about “James James Morrison Morrison Weatherby George Dupree/ Took great care of his mother though he was only 3.” I loved that when I was wee!
March 10th, 2007 at 2:39 pm
Doesn’t wee kinda sound just the same as 3?
I realise that you’re codding with me. Fortunately I’m off to town where I shall sip a rum and coke and forget all about poems and whatnot, at least for a goodly while. I might even read a paper or two, eye people’s footwear. You know, Satdee stuff.
March 10th, 2007 at 2:43 pm
Sam, the heimweh comes through the humor. If it’ll help, I’ll drive out there and spray you with a garden hose. I think you need some time in Scotland.
On a related note, I was listening to a CD of Gaelic stuff last night and I’ve decided to take up the pipes in my dotage.
Cheers.
March 10th, 2007 at 10:04 pm
Sounds like you’ve got the perfect climate for soul-searching in the wilderness. Time to unpack the desert robes and sun hat.
March 10th, 2007 at 11:11 pm
It has been rather warm of late. The beanbag has become quite sticky. I’m not sure I have anything suitable for submission to the book thingy, but thanks for the link. I will have to look.
March 10th, 2007 at 11:43 pm
It scanned for me,
but then,
I ain’t got no rhythm?
(got my arms, got my legs?)
There was an obit for one of the Gallio brothers on the radio the other day. I am a great fan of their white zinfandel, – it?s got a kick on it like a mule, so I hope your drought won?t interrupt my summer fun. What I meant to say was that the obituary went on about SoCal and I did turn my thoughts and vibes in your direction.
Thought you should know.
The remarkable thing about all that, is that I have about 300 family in Sacramento, San Francisco and a tiny but real cowboy town called Oakdale, all in California, and didn?t think about any of them once, and that?s odd because you want to see some of my cousins, total model material, I?ve fancied them rotten for 25 years.
Obviously I must be straight with you, you deserve that much. I have been pining for Fatmammycat something hellish and also Andraste and Pat and even Kim and the Ape but mostly it?s the women.
Why,? I hear you ask.
I?ll just tell you.
The women write better.
They bloody do and that?s a fact.
None of them can drive for toffee, it?s not their fault, but you can all write the men of the screen.
Besides, I work with men, so I can have the banter anytime.
Nice to be online again.
I am drunk enough to post this but sober enough to know I will regret it.
March 11th, 2007 at 1:07 am
fmc, I am only codding you. I just trout I’d add a bit of culture to the plaice. And poems is reel culture. I haddock crazy idea I might stir your sole with me rhymin’ but I can see now I was just being shellfish and I halibutter keep me pomes to meself.
Randall, the hose lies limp in the garden, its life force trickling sadly out the end. But a girls doesn’t need a hose to be happy. A girl needs to notice that, despite the drought, the blossoms on the fruit trees are pushing themselves out with wee green leafy bits following. A few really good rainstorms and we’ll be fine for the year but we are way overdue for that. More fires in the fall, I fear.
Nanas, the perfect climate for soul-searching is in front of the fire or on top of a windy Scottish mountain because those places don’t want to bite or sting or poke or hobble or thirst you to death like a desert does. And to all intents and purposes the Western Isles of Scotland are the wilderness so you can see I didn’t learn much there.
Eddie, we haven’t been all that warm up our way, just dry, dry, dry. The town looks green all year because its watered but if you go into the hills it’s still all yellow and brown from last year, a drought year too. It’s supposed to be a riot of green and fresh new life about now – it’s less of a riot and more of a small baked-hippy protest-march for Spring.
March 11th, 2007 at 1:26 am
Doc, I just found you in the moderation queue with my email. But moderation is clearly where you’re not. Glad to see you back on-line, sweets. When are you getting your NTL connection?
But never mind all that! Straighten up, man! Have this coffee. There, that’s it. Oh…try not to spill, I’ve just done the carpets. Drink it all up and then listen! Go for a rummage through your archives for your funniest post; they explicitly want funny for this thing. Then go to The Troubled Diva’s. I put the link on your site.
March 11th, 2007 at 6:00 am
I thought that was brilliant , it worked for me I just read it in a funny yank voice while holding my nose.
Thanks for the charity work I’ve always wanted to be like clooney but in other ways. No telling if they’ll like the story I sent in, I’m no judge of what is funny. I just write it and if it works it works.
March 11th, 2007 at 8:24 am
Sam; I’ll pray for rain for you and I loved the pome. Now you missed my asnwer to your suggestion re Comic Relief so here is an up-date. I got in touch with the web site and offered a Shaggy dog story I wrote some time ago. However they stipulated it had to have already been a post. My posts are not funny. However – again – yours are so I hope you will send one or two of yours.xoxox
March 11th, 2007 at 12:15 pm
Sam darling I have just read your comment at Kim’s and it made me cry and I am sending you a loving motherly hug and a kiss.
March 11th, 2007 at 12:41 pm
Having lived in Scotland for over 18 years I can’t imagine ever praying for rain again.
March 12th, 2007 at 3:35 am
Knudders, I wrote it “in a funny Yank voice holding my nose!” What a communicator I am! And ta, hun.
Pat, thanks. We are desparate for rain here. That’s too bad about the Shaggy Blog thing. I’m not at all sure mine will make it in; he’s had hundreds and hundreds of posts sent to him. Re, Kim’s – it seems like a lifetime away now. I hardly recognise her as me. Thanks, dear Pat. I dinna mean to make ye cry, hun!
Kim, there’s 18% humidity here at the moment and I just heard on the news that there’s a wildfire raging in Anaheim Hills. That’s a good bit away from us but it’s March! Fire season is June through November or so. This is supposed to be the “rainy” season in So Cal but in Ojai we’ve only had 6 inches tso far this season to get us through the year.
March 12th, 2007 at 7:02 am
Oh, sorry about the dry, that’s no good. But why was your noggin feathered and painted? My oh my! It obviously isn’t all bad over there. Here in Port Moresby we’ve got horizontal rain which is a wee bit frustrating with louvered windows, dammit. We’re getting all wet!
March 12th, 2007 at 7:58 am
Carolyn, it was on account of the rain dance but, do you know, I quite liked it! It’s a good look for me. I might do it on other mornings I have alone in the house. Maybe talk the postman into being the Hiawatha to my Minihaha.
March 12th, 2007 at 10:50 am
I like the poem, it has style. Did you write poetry as a teenager? If so, i would guess that it was about being miserable and painting your bedroom black. Well, mine was anyway. Also, i shall parcel up some home counties rainwater and send it your way – we’re over-run with the bloody stuff.
March 12th, 2007 at 12:58 pm
I liked your Pome.
I’d send you some soggy british weather….. but it’s actually quite nice here for once……. I’m sure it won’t last though!
March 12th, 2007 at 4:43 pm
You are too amazing. And if God reads Dorothy Parker, well I might just have to reconsider my devotion (or lack thereof). Now wouldn’t that be a better pr tactic to get the young folk worshipping instead of all these threats of damnation?
March 12th, 2007 at 4:50 pm
Great panache in this as ever Sam. I too would miss the moss and ferns and that damp, salty tang in the air that we have here.
March 12th, 2007 at 6:00 pm
Asym – some poems although i cringed myself even as I wrote them; so I did less of those and more interminable stream-of-thought things. And then, when I reread later, I’d be overcome with horror at my own earnest mediocrity as it rose from the page and punched me repeatedly between the eyes. And I’d be scared off it for ages.
birchsprite, where there’s sogginess there’s tufty green moss, and all moss is lovely. God, I miss tufty green moss. It will pass though. About twice a year I get homesick and parched. This year it’s worse, is all.
Mom 101, I’m hoping for a chuckling God that reads Dorothy Parker; I’m praying for one and the beauty of that is that it’s a reflexive, self-fulfilling prayer: the God I pray to is already the Dorothy Parker reading one!
Apprentice, Oh God, I’d forgotten about the salty tang. Rats! You’re not helping you know!
March 12th, 2007 at 7:22 pm
Wiping the tears from my eyes, that was so lovely.
So Cal does strange things to people.
March 12th, 2007 at 7:50 pm
Pardon my Dylan pedantry, but it’s Maggie’s Farm in which he talks about ‘folding his hands and praying for rain.’
See, I told you I can’t think of clever things to say here. The standard’s too high.
March 12th, 2007 at 7:56 pm
Hello, Sassy! Welcome! It’s like the chicken and the egg problem here. Did So Cal do strange things to people? Or were the people here already strange, making people wonder whether So Cal does strange things to people? That’s not like chickens or eggs at all is it? (Note to self: work on increasingly poor simile skills!!)
March 12th, 2007 at 8:00 pm
Foots! The Prodigal Foot returns. * Goes to wash and anoint your feet but then…doesn’t – sorry! It’s the crypt juices.*
I can’t remember if it’s Maggie’s Farm or not but never mind that! The sun is shining, God is in his heaven and Foot Eater has returned form the wilderness! Still no rain though.
March 12th, 2007 at 8:05 pm
I can?t think of clever things to say here. The standard?s too high.
I swear Mr Eater has just insulted my blog as he is both clever and funny when he comments on mine…………. though its been a while ::::sobs::::
March 12th, 2007 at 10:43 pm
You want rain? You come on up to Oregon here and I’ll show you some RAIN. Shoot…it’s raining right now…I’ll just bottle some of it up and send it via parcel post. It should keep from evaporating just long enough for you to take it out of the parcel post packaging and pour it upon your head.
So yeah, I’ll get right on that.
March 13th, 2007 at 2:59 am
Mom 101 sent me here to witness the brilliance. And witness I did. Amen!
March 13th, 2007 at 6:10 am
Hi Stephanie. Thanks for visiting. You ought to be aware that I pay the lovely Mom101 much money for saying nice things about me. And I also tell her that I have “friends” in New York who’ll “pay her a little visit” if she doesn’t, ifdjaknowwhaddahmasayin’. It’s called the Comment Racket and it’s sweet and hot. This is all between us, mind. And don’t be thinking about muscling in on my turf, capice? The blogworld’s big enough for both of us, my friend, oh yes…*cackles evilly; strokes evil cat.*
March 13th, 2007 at 7:52 am
Knudsen, I felt the sting of his spurning too. You are not alone, brother.
Kara, do, do.
March 14th, 2007 at 2:38 pm
And how is the head this morning my little chiquetita of booze and crispy things? Hum?
March 14th, 2007 at 2:54 pm
thanks, Sam. I almost lost myself between tons of pages for translation, your poem helped me to stay sane. strained rhyme??? c’mon… try to translate some crane specifications and you’ll see how much music is in your words.
cheers! you deserve a glass of red wine;)
March 14th, 2007 at 4:42 pm
fmc. I ache today. I ache and rue. I’m pretty sure I suggested an blogger orgy of 12ish, however many we all are, in Crieff to Maroon, but I’m too scared to go and find out. I need the strength one can only get from a cheese sandwich (Kikenny cheddar as it happens!)
Jenpen, crane specifications? No, you deserve a glass of red wine!
I am a wretched thing and deserving of nothing. Tequila sunrises, appletinis and some banana vodka thing + much beer = ill shadow of a blogger. It hurts to type.
March 15th, 2007 at 2:01 am
What I want to know is why FatMammyCat grants you a virtual free pass but insists on excoriating me for my own poetry.
Could it be because Foot Eater is but Weird Al Yankovic to Sam’s Lord Byron?
March 15th, 2007 at 5:05 am
Noooooooooooo! You can be Lord Byron. I want to be Wierd Al Yankovic! With perhaps a bit of Emily Dickinson thrown in. Wierd Emily Yankovic – for it is my dream.
March 15th, 2007 at 5:36 pm
((HUGS)) to you Sam
March 15th, 2007 at 11:35 pm
Well I can’t. Catching rain is really hard.
March 23rd, 2007 at 3:50 am
[...] We had one – count it! – one rainy day recently. God obviously liked the choreography in my latest hall rain-dance.* I have to agree with God on that one – my jetes were extrordinary, although I say it myself. [...]