Words & one-liners
by Ric Masten
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FLAGS
she dresses in flags
and comes on like a Mack truck
she paints her eyelids green
and her mouth is a loudspeaker
rasping out profanity
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at cocktail parties
she is everywhere
like a sheep dog working a flock
barking
nipping at your sleeve
spilling your drink...
bestowing wet sloppy kisses
but
I have received secret messages
carefully written
from the shy quiet woman
who hides
in this bizarre gaudy castle
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AFTERWORD - When it comes to people, "What you see is what you get!" is wrong more times than not. I used to know this pushy, loud, annoying, brash woman. I tried to stay as far away from her as possible when we met on one of my tours, but she always managed to run me down and corner me. And then later, when I had returned from the road, she would send me letters that in perfect penmanship poured her heart out, describing the divorce and how terribly hurt she was.
I've also met a woman online who is an excellent poet. For quite a while we exchanged poems weekly. This dear soul's works was full of soft whimsy and empathy. We were soul mates. Then on the road we met and I found her to be a driven, high-strung, dominating personality. But you know what? Her behavior didn't really bother me that much because I already knew her mind and loving soul from our many exchanges on the internet. No, when it comes to people what you see is not what necessarily you get.
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TOO MANY KISSES
You don't throw rocks...you blow kisses
You don't throw rocks -- you blow kisses
Don't throw rocks -- you blow kisses
Sticks and stones used to break my back.
Now just because my skin is black
You blow kisses Jack,
Too many kisses.
You bring me wine -- bring me water.
bring me wine bring me water
Filled my glass a hundred times.
Act like you're guilty of some crime
You bring water Jim,
Too much water.
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You say you're blind to my color.
Stone blind to my color.
You claim that you are color blind
And then you talk about it all the time.
You see color Jim!
Too much color!
You're asking me to be your lover.
Asking me to be your lover.
I feel your arms hold me so tight
But Jack, I think if I were white
You'd find another
Brown skin lover.
You don't throw rocks -- you blow kisses.
Don't throw rocks -- you blow kisses.
When you threw stones at this man
At least he knows just where he stands
But you blow kisses Jim
Too many god damn kisses!
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AFTERWORD - I performed the above song lyric to a freshman Sociology class in Sacramento City College. This, in the late nineteen sixties. The racial make up of this particular class was about one third white, one third black and one third Hispanic and Asian.
As soon as I finished reading TOO MANY KISSES a white kid jumped up and addressed the black students, "Aren't you offended that this honky has taken the position of a black man in his song lyric?"
What followed taught me much about the kind of poetry I write. A young black student stood up and responded to the pointed question in this way.
"Mr. Masten was not taking the position of a black in his song lyric. He was telling us what his observer observed him doing in the presence of black people." The student went on to say, "I have an observer also, we all do, and in Mr. Masten's song lyric his observer was communicating with my observer and this kind of communication rises above the things that separate us such as race, gender, age, etc. Mr. Masten's kind of poetry is simply his observer attempting to communicate with our observers."
And thinking about this incident years later I realized that this is true of about 80% of everything I have written. When my observer catches me in some odd or stupid action, a report will always be handed in at the end of the day and the subject matter of these reports often becomes the theme of the next thing I write.
I frequently find myself wondering what ever became of that bright young man. Somehow, I just know he went far in his chosen profession.
THE LAST PERIOD
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The last period...
back when I turned forty
I came dribbling out of the locker room
ready to start the second half
glancing up at the scoreboard
I saw that we were behind
7 to 84
and it came to me then
we ain't gonna win
and considering the score
I began to be damn glad
this particular game
wouldn' t go on forever
but don't take this to mean
I was ready for the showers
take it to mean I planned to play
one helluva second half
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now, I told this to some kids
in the court next to mine
and they laughed
but I don't think they understood
how could they
playing in the first quarter
only one point behind
these days
well into the last period
I have discovered
that winning the game
Is not what is important
what is important though
IS
that I look good while losing
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AFTERWORD - I wrote the first part of this one right after I turned 40. Then I added the last two verses when I turned 50 beginning it with the line "Deep into Autumn" Now I'm "Well into Winter" and the last lines still ring true.
I'm trying to look good while losing even with my wife in Westland Rehab with a broken hip and wrist and me with problems "down there" where a urologist will take a biopsy to see if the lump is malignant. And I must admit the older I get the more difficult the "Looking Good" punch line becomes. And I guess that is why Bette Davis said, "Growing old ain't for sissies!"
Ric Masten's weekly
WORDS & ONE-LINERS
http://www.ric-masten.net
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