Geronimo's Bones

They say somebody stole Geronimo's bones
Some over-privileged fat boys
Who never seem to leave well enough alone
Secret society frat boys
I hear that the family's hot on the track
The bones of their own they intend to take back
By hook or by crook, they will use any tack
Returning the chief to his home

'Tain't done yet, okay?

What're dey doin' dere?

I took my sons out for a wallk
Along the old main street,
When coming 'round the corner
Two doggies we did meet.
The doggies were entangled,
And much to my dismay,
My children voiced the question
That still haunts me to this day.

What're dose doggies doin', Daddy?
What're dey doin' dere?
Dose doggies sure look funny, Daddy.
What're dose doggies doin', Daddy?
What're dey doin' dere?

They waited for my answer
And I had to wonder why
We'd ever gone and told them
You should never ever lie.
And while I scratched my head
And slowly counted up to ten,
The kids grew most impatient
And they asked me once again.

What're dose doggies doin', Daddy?
What're dey doin' dere?
Dose doggies sure look funny, Daddy.
What're dose doggies doin', Daddy?
What're dey doin' dere?

Well, I mumbled some excuses.
Didn't know what else to do.
And that's how matters stood
Until our field trip to the zoo.
A turtle on a turtle
Made enthusiastic noise,
Which elicited this question
From two curious little boys.

What're dose turtles doin', Daddy?
What're dey doin' dere?
Dose turtles sure look funny, Daddy.
What're dose turtles doin', Daddy?
What're dey doin' dere?

Oh, what're dose doggies doin', Daddy?
What're dey doin' dere?
Dose doggies sure look funny, Daddy.
What're dose doggies doin', Daddy?
What're dey doin' dere?

(To a Succubus) An Ode is Owed

Your every curve
Makes me to swerve,
And though you know
I live to serve,
I pray I do not
Lose my nerve
Ere I attain
What I deserve.

For I am sure
That your allure
Will leave me gasping
On the floor.
Eternity
Outside your door
I'll wait, and ever
Beg for more.

I take no thought
Of what is what,
Considering
It can't be bought.
I'll gladly do
As I was taught,
In hopes this fair one
Can be caught.

What's for breakfast?

Tomato juice
Maybe a couple slices of raisin bread
Maybe a half a bagel instead
Handful of pills
To cure my ills
Coffee black
I feel the lack
Of sugar

Can you tell I'm not feeling especially inspired today?

Meet The Cats

(Click any picture for a larger image) Bella The Cat takes a nap Bella and Nicholas share the sofa Sparky sure likes her catnip Allen peruses his important papers Snickers, a former big fuzzy cat

What Canu never says (with apologies to Traesha)

So many things I'm like to say
Expressing heartfelt joy.
I'll loudly shout "hurrah, hurray!"
Or Jabberwocky's "frabjous day!"
Or maybe e'en "callooh, callay!"
When ladies with me toy.

But...

Except in jest, there is a phrase
I'll never speak to you.
Though demon rips my flesh in strips
I simply cannot come to grips,
Nor let these sounds escape my lips
To utter a "whoo hoo!"

Please...give till it hurts

The God Blob cometh
And cometh right soon
Bubbling like the contents
Of an old spittoon

This is Canu Baraksson for Rick-itis. You know, friends, a lot of people suffer from this dread ailment, people that you may pass on the street every day. Yes, they look as though they've got it all together...suave, sophisticated, even handsome...yet they can't string two words together to save their souls. Your generous donations now could make all the difference. Please...give till it hurts. Send your pledge now to:

The Rick-itis Foundation
c/o Canu Baraksson
The Dark Hall of Barak
Mernac Underworld

First Kiss

I'd be more than a bit remiss
If I'd forgotten my first kiss.
The first time I did so indulge
To you I'll surely now divulge.

'Twas on a hill where flowers grew,
Pale green their leaves and gold their hue.
Beside the hill a tiny rill
Babbled ever, never still.

Around about us rose a mist.
No eye beheld our joyous tryst,
Nor saw what from it did ensue,
And I'll not say with who, with who.
No, I'll not say with who.

Quont's Question 25: You're kidding, right?

If perhaps I had more time
I could put this into rhyme
But I've many things to do
No leisure now to rhyme a screw

So...it's kind of a toss-up. A large and not especially comfortable rock covered with caterpillars in the woods? On the top of a mountain, the chosen spot which we discovered afterward was atop an anthill? On the hay bales in the second floor of the barn where the black cat provided a most attentive audience? I could go on, but like I said, I'm currently a bit short of time.

Quont's Question 24: 2008 Resolutions

I've taken on many and many a task,
More than I'm able, should you ask.
To tell you straight, no haw, no hem:
I don't know when I'll finish them.
For days contain a finite number
Of hours, and there's need to slumber.
I think it would be most sublime
If I might somehow gain some time.

I'll ask my father, the Dark Lord
If me, his son, he will reward
By making sure the suns stand still
(A task requiring mighty skill.)
If he will do it, then I know
The length of days will surely grow.
Then all my tasks complete I might
Ere Mernac day fades into night.

Meantime, my scribe is trying (again) to give up the loathsome habit of inhaling the smoke of burning tobacco leaves...and hoping it works this time. May the Thirteen Fathers give him success.

Quont's Question 23: How will you be spending the holidays?

Upon the eve of Christmas we shall go and cut the tree,
And drag it to the living room and set it up with glee.
The glass and paper ornaments, the gleaming silver balls
Will all be hung the twigs among until we've decked our halls.

The family all will gather round, including cats and dog.
I'll read the Dylan Thomas book; they'll sip at their eggnog.
And though they're grown, the boys will head for bed because they know
That Santa never visits until up the stairs they go.

And we shall have a jolly time, and we shall have our love,
And we shall have a blessing shining on us from above.
It's a feeling worth most everything that we shall ever own.
There'll be laughter, light, and music when our boys come home.

(and then I expect we'll just kick back and relax the rest of the week until it's time to get really wasted New Year's Eve.)

Quont's Questions 22: What does your name mean?

What a fascinating question. I've always been intrigued by the origins and meanings of words, and think I might have made a passable etymologist if I had put my mind to it.

In any case, let's consider my Mernac persona first. "Canu" come from the Welsh word meaning "to sing," which I considered highly appropriate. "Baraksson" should be self evident; break it down into its components..."Barak's" and "son." You might refer then to me as "the Singing Son of Barak," but that sounds a bit too stage-y, don't you think?

My scribe/artist's name is "Morgan." This also is Welsh, and it means "one who comes from the sea." There's a certain harmony (or possibly just inevitability) in that as well; his mother tells him that she named him for a Welsh pirate. In all honesty though, considering his preferences at the beach, she should have called him "one who walks the sands." Peace.

Lucia's Art-Blogging Question 3

What do you fear?

This is in response to my sister Lucia's third art-blogging prompt, entitled "What do you fear?". I fear this man intensely for his ignorance, his pig-headedness, and his cavalier disregard for nearly all that is right. My biggest fear is that I will wake up on the morning of January 20, 2009, to discover that he is still there.



If you care to see the full-sized version of this image, simply click the pic to the right and a new browser window will open. Have a great day, and keep on singing.



Canu

Lucia's Artblogging Questions #2

If you were asked what you came into this world to do, how would you answer?

This is in response to my sister Lucia's second art-blogging prompt, entitled "If you were asked what you came into this world to do, how would you answer?". I really didn't need to think twice about this one; it is a question I have answered many times over the years.



If you care to see the full-sized version of this image, simply click the pic to the right and a new browser window will open. Have a great day, and keep on singing.



Canu

Favorite cartoon characters? Oh, come on...

My Uncle Quont's begun to dote
On days that long have passed.
I feel I really must take note,
And fear he's sinking fast.

How long before he will imbibe
The juice of many prunes?
For now he wants us to describe
Our favorite of cartoons!

Now many years ago, you bet,
Though I am shamed to say.
I'd sit before the t-v set
And waste a Saturday.

But nowadays the cartoon shows
Pale imitations are.
They can't compete at all with those
When Mickey was a star.

And so I seldom watch the stuff,
Nor view their merry capers.
I get my chuckles right enough
Within the funny papers.

I do have a few favorites among the plethora of printed cartoons; some of them, alas, no longer running. These would include: Calvin & Hobbes, Bloom County (somewhat adequately replaced by "Opus"), and "Doonesbury". It's at least remotely possible that this is a political statement. So be it.

Quont's Questions: What is your favorite song?

Quont's Question 20: What is your favorite song?

My favorite song is "Changes" by Phil Ochs. If you're unfamiliar with it, there is a short video clip of Phil below, though not the entire song unfortunately.

If you want to hear the entire song, go here. The young man plays it fairly well, though he is not the singer Phil was.

Phil took his own life in 1976, a victim of depression and alcoholism. During his career, which spanned the '60s and early '70s, he wrote some of the most poignant and evocative songs ever to arise from the peace-and-protest folk scene. I miss him.

I am a(n)...

This is in response to my sister Lucia's first art-blogging prompt, entitled "I am a(n)...". Some people will already have seen this image, I know, but I don't think I can improve on it (and secretly am rather proud of the way it turned out).



If you care to see the full-sized version of this image, simply click the pic to the right and a new browser window will open. Have a great day, and keep on fooling around.



Canu

Quont's Question 18: Inspired

The times when I'm extremely tired
Are often when I'm most inspired.
Exhaustion seems to work for me;
That, and coffee or strong tea.

I get each night, I do confess,
Four hours' sleep, no more, no less.
I sit until the hours wee,
Bathed in the light of my P-C.

Ideas do come and ideas go.
They flicker, flit, and sometimes glow.
I grasp them as I sit enrapt,
And clasp the few that I have trapped.

Sooner or later one will shine,
Declare itself devoutly mine,
And show the path to move along
To write a story or a song.

By gleaming moon or shimmering star,
These my Muses were and are.

A Ticklish Situation

This question leaves me in a pickle.
Do you think I'd be fun to tickle?
Ticklish is as ticklish does.
I sometimes wasn't, sometimes was.
Much depends upon my mood.
At times it makes me come unglued.
Other times I'll calmly sit
And tell you that you're full of it.
"Full of what?" you ask. Who knows?
Perhaps what fed this lovely rose.
Tickle the rose and sure as you're born
Your fingertips will find the thorn.

By the way, my uncle Quont's Castrati are very, very ticklish. If you don't believe me, try it yourself. They'd love for someone to stop by and give them some test tickles.

By the Fathers! Quont hath asked yet another question!

Question 15 in the Never-ending Saga: What Drives Me Crazy

What things are most likely to to drive this one crazy
Or bonkers or stark raving mad?
Air fresheners scented with essence of daisy
When they're out of season.
There's really no reason.
This may sound like treason,
But I don't find them pleasin'
They smell most remarkably bad.

What things are most likely to drive this one crazy
Or whacko or way round the bend?
If my audience doesn't remember to praise me
I've got certain standards
They should wave my banners
(And not throw ba-nan-ers;
That's awfully bad manners.)
At least have the grace to pretend.

What things are most likely to drive this one crazy
Or nutty or over the edge?
Punctuation uncalled for; now that one just slays me.
What they've done to the tale:
Why, the narrative's pale.
And the story lacks breath.
It's been "comma'd" to death.
I'll, never, do, that, I, do, pledge,