Refrigerator Life (magnetic poetry)
The structure of this piece is based on the centuries’-old cumulative verse, The House That Jack Built, which begins--
This is the house that Jack built.
This is the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the rat that ate the malt
That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the cat that killed the rat ...
And so on. There was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly is similar. Unlike those nursery rhymes, however, This is the world follows a sequence to its cyclic conclusion, with a promise—or portent—of starting over, ad infinitum. History repeats, as it's been repeatedly said.
—Troy Howell / Mar 2022
This is the house that Jack built.
This is the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the rat that ate the malt
That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the cat that killed the rat ...
And so on. There was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly is similar. Unlike those nursery rhymes, however, This is the world follows a sequence to its cyclic conclusion, with a promise—or portent—of starting over, ad infinitum. History repeats, as it's been repeatedly said.
—Troy Howell / Mar 2022
Troy Howell
{ three-minute read }
PLAYERS
the big one
the little one
the day
stagehand
– C U R T A I N R I S E S –
(lights are up)
{ three-minute read }
PLAYERS
the big one
the little one
the day
stagehand
– C U R T A I N R I S E S –
(lights are up)
It fell upon a day ... says the big one.
What fell upon a day? asks the little one.
It. Fell upon a day, says the big one.
But it didn’t hurt itself, says the little one.
No, it ... didn't.
Not at all? Are you sure? asks the little one.
Very sure, says the big one (patiently perturbed). Cross-my-heart-and-hope-to –
Live for ever and ever, says the little one.
Ye–es.
So, says the little one.
So, says the big one. It didn’t hurt itself –
Or the day, says the little one.
Didn't hurt itself or the day. And the day said –
Greetings, says the day (entering).
From whence have you come? asks the little one (turning to the day).
From thence, says the day. Greetings.
Greetings, says the little one (turning to the big one). Continue, please.
– Greetings, the big one says (less patiently perturbed, and everyone says Greetings again, though the big one is only continuing). Which was a very kind thing, because days –
What was a very kind thing? asks the little one. Did I miss the very kind thing?
Saying Greetings. Because days don’t like getting fallen upon (staring at stage hand, who almost lets curtain drop). They get tossed around as it is.
You said it didn’t hurt itself, or the day, says the little one.
I did, says the big one. It didn’t.
Uh! says the day (slumping).
I don’t think, says the big one (raising one eyebrow, feeling the day’s forehead).
But some things can hurt the day, says the little one (nodding).
Ye–es, says the big one (checking the day's pulse).
Like? asks the little one.
Oh ... hurricanes.
Hmm, says the little one.
Chilblains ... (fanning the day with handbill from back pocket).
Chest pains, says the little one. I get chest pains when I –
Me too! says the day (stirring).
– eat too many air gulps. I imagine days eat lots of those, too (rapidly inhaling), being under pressure to tick off minutes and micro-minutes and molecules (burping loudly).
Yes, says the day (forcing a feeble burp, wincing). Migraine.
Benzocaine, says the little one.
To continue, says the big one (almost resigned). No more inter –
Freight train, says the little one.
– ruptions!
The big one continues, and so does the little one, and the day wanes.
Which means, says the little one (coming forward), that it – ha, my mistake! Which means the day got dimmer and dimmer. While the little one got brighter and bright –
Tur, says the day (not entirely waned out). Turrr, what time it is?
You mean what time is it, says the big one (less resigned).
Yes, what time is it, says the day (squinting into the dusk).
I’ll tell you what time it is, says the little one. It’s time to tell you – (taking a big breath) –
It fell upon a day! says the big one (high-pitched, out of character).
And I, says the little one (higher-pitched, extended, then normal again) – am it. I fell upon a day (turning in slow motion under spotlights), without hurting myself or the day.
What! says the big one.
And we’ll return tomorrow morning, says the little one, when the day shines bright –
What, what, what! says the big one.
Tur, mumbles the day (opening one red eye, closing it).
– once more, says the little one.
(lights go down)
– C U R T A I N F A L L S –
.
(all come forward, bowing)
Inhumane, rasps the big one to the little one.
Looks like rain, rasps the little one back.
The day mumbles (something, anything, as stagehand drags the day away).
Looks like rain, rasps the little one back.
The day mumbles (something, anything, as stagehand drags the day away).
The End.
(until tomorrow – Is Friday Payday?)
Note: The day was not harmed during this Howell-N-Fun production, nor was anything else, including time.
rain comes in three sizes : wet, wetter, wettest
to-do list
From of a collection of snowball poems you can read here. Snowballs are a form of poetry that begins with a single-letter word and builds from there, with each consecutive word having an added letter. If you’ve tried this, you know the challenges, and find ways of making it work. With Z perpetually at the end of the English alphabet, this snowball gives Z, at last, its due.
From of a collection of snowball poems you can read here. Snowballs are a form of poetry that begins with a single-letter word and builds from there, with each consecutive word having an added letter. If you’ve tried this, you know the challenges, and find ways of making it work. With Z perpetually at the end of the English alphabet, this snowball gives Z, at last, its due.
bee in flight over my house
TRIANGLE CIRCLE SQUARE
A story for the year 20-whatever
(or the end of the age, depending).
One day Triangle comes over to Square’s house (it might have been the other way around) and before Tri gets a word in edgeways, Square says, “If only we could be one, you know? Like that cosmic oneness you used to hear about, that nobody could really get, which they left for more progressive —”
“You mean regressive,” says Tri, who speaks three words at a time, usually in opposition.
.
“Digressive,” says Square, accusingly.
“Oppressive, you mean,” says Tri.
“Oneness,” says Square, switching to his skyward-gaze mode. “Eek-wall-it-tee. Per-feck-shee-own.”
“In-Eee-Way,” says Tri (who would have inhaled had Tri been a smoker ...) “You are delusional,” (... and blown it out at this point).
Enter: Circle, who says, “Hi.”
Square says, “Impressive.”
“Possessive,” says Tri, giving Square the look. “You moron.”
“I get your point,” says Circle, turning to Tri.
“Don’t say it—” says Tri to Square.
But Square says it. “If only we could be one, you know?”
Circle smiles at them both, and says, "Bye."
DISCLAIMER: The author is not responsible for vain interpretations of this piece. Peace.
One day Triangle comes over to Square’s house (it might have been the other way around) and before Tri gets a word in edgeways, Square says, “If only we could be one, you know? Like that cosmic oneness you used to hear about, that nobody could really get, which they left for more progressive —”
“You mean regressive,” says Tri, who speaks three words at a time, usually in opposition.
.
“Digressive,” says Square, accusingly.
“Oppressive, you mean,” says Tri.
“Oneness,” says Square, switching to his skyward-gaze mode. “Eek-wall-it-tee. Per-feck-shee-own.”
“In-Eee-Way,” says Tri (who would have inhaled had Tri been a smoker ...) “You are delusional,” (... and blown it out at this point).
Enter: Circle, who says, “Hi.”
Square says, “Impressive.”
“Possessive,” says Tri, giving Square the look. “You moron.”
“I get your point,” says Circle, turning to Tri.
“Don’t say it—” says Tri to Square.
But Square says it. “If only we could be one, you know?”
Circle smiles at them both, and says, "Bye."
DISCLAIMER: The author is not responsible for vain interpretations of this piece. Peace.
image & text © 2021 by Troy Howell / graphite on copy paper
Snailtrail
Look behind you, Sun told Snail,
You leave a silver trace.
Path of life, said Snail to Sun,
I’ll none of it efface.
Enlightenment! said Sun to Snail,
You have arrived at last!
Your storyline, your legacy,
Upon the stone is scratched.
Smear it around a little bit,
Said Moon, on rising late.
Backtrack magic, make a mess,
Confuse them — stage it right.
But Snail had gone to where he would,
Enlightenment or muck.
And what seems silver in the sun
By dawn may turn to dust.
— Troy Howell
photo taken "as was," including sun rays
transit story
facing west, I go
traveling, unraveling,
till there becomes clear
and here stays behind,
left beneath the vacant couch
(with cat’s colored yarn)
while above, frame-bound,
one portrait, dated and signed,
stares and stares and stares
haikus & image © 2020 Troy Howell
fun with anatomical diagrams (look, swallow, mind)
Happy/Sad — your choice.
SHORT WORKS WILL BE ADDED OCCASIONALLY — PLEASE VISIT AGAIN
