TURLOCK

WHERE THE HELL IS TURLOCK, AND WHY THE HELL WOULD I WANT TO READ A LONG-ASS POEM ABOUT A GHETTO VALLEY TOWN?

Digging through my garage looking for that lost poem I found an old journal that contains the long unfinished poem, TURLOCK. It's been at least a couple of years since I added to this thing. The entries are not dated. The last one is about Vern Olson, the old man plummer I met while working at the Cheese Wheel. He died in late 2004. So, it's been at least that long since scratching any lines. Regardless, it has been pretty cool to look it over. There's some pretty good stuff in it. Lots more to go. It isn't even close to being done. Here's a sneak peak....

TURLOCK
unfinished

WEST SIDE:

I. Lantana

– a fireworks shrub –

a million clusters of color

Vibrant bursts / explosions

and ever blooming – yellow, orange, and red

backed by a deep green leaf

and swarmed by butterflies

– small orange and gray flutters

reflecting the sun –

American Coppers

with their own little butterfly lives,

their own simple butterfly universe

– The Camara Universe –

– The Planet Ingelsheim –

Taking their nectar

finding love

Leaving their homeland unscathed

Fiery and overgrown

Passing it

one would nearly need to step

into the gutter

– The sidewalk was swallowed

– consumed –

Like the others

this universe was expanding –

filling up the tired West Side space.

We would stand at the pungent shrub for hours as kids. It grew out away from the side of the shed on Vermont Street. We would be sent out with clippers and trash cans to cut it back, but we were always sidetracked by the butterflies. There were thousands of small Coppers on the bush. We would scoop the butterflies into our hands, let them flutter about in our cupped palms and let them go. Sometimes we would shake our hands about to daze them, then laugh as they swaggered away like a drunk after last call – no longer smooth, their flight was topsy-turvy.

FROM THE ARCHIVE

OK, how long have I been writing? Ah, HELL'S BELLS, too f-ing long! I remember scratching out a poem in high school about some cloud or something and the girl in the row next to me looked over and asked, "What are you doing?" I looked at her and replied in a matter-of-fact manner, "Writing you a poem." She rolled her eyes at me. Her name was Becky.....something. I remember calling her Becky Thatcher, after that cute little vixen that stole Tom Sawyer's heart. Not that this high school Becky in the next row over stole my heart, but she was cute (if I remember correctly....it's been a long-ass time!)

The poem was bad. But I will allow that it contained a certain level of energy that emitted a sense of obsession - like Tom S tried to express to the love of his life. I guess within the poem can be seen a suggestion of unrest and need for adventure like what was provided in the novel as well. Had Mark Twain wrote the poem, though, it probably would have come off better then it did. Twain had wit and wisdom....I was a wanna-be joker with very little work ethic and no drive. I remember this poem. But, it is lost. I can't find it. So, I dig deeper.

The following is the earliest poem I ever wrote (that I know of, or that I can remember). Fifth grade, Osborne Elementary, Turlock, California...

Motorcycle

2/26/80

White, red

Fast, dirty, jumpy

Fun to ride

dirt bike

How's that for freakin' POETRY???!!!

NEW DOODLE SCRIBBLES ON PAPER

I can't explain my current need to doodle. I am not sure why the scribble has become a part of the product, just as I can not explain my obsession with spirals from years ago (although that ancient symbol continues to show up time and again on the paper). It is what it is, and while I am coloring I am in a happy state. I feel connected. So why fight it?

I can't remember where I got the drawing tablet, but I carry it around with me with a tin of oil crayons. Gracie sometimes joins in the fun (see Disneyland from Sheraton).

Title: 2554126 Shoes?
Origin: Feet are not my favorite. Anyone who knows me knows that I like boobs the best. The naked foot to me is lacking. The piece it is lacking is an object of affection. Some would call it a shoe fetish....I just think the foot needs to be covered.




Title: CD Cover Sample
Origin: Paul Lucckesi asked if I would draw something up for the '08 BHS Jazz CD cover. This is my first attempt. Don't know if I like it.



Title: 2554126 K GOLD
Origin: Jack & The Beanstalk.






Title: Disneyland From The Sheraton
Origin: For the first time in years we stayed at a hotel other than one of the resort hotels. I had forgotten what a nice view the Sheraton offers. Gracie and I worked on this one together.


Title: WHALE
Origin: Who the hell knows...???






Title: Vermilion / Silver Grey / 2554126 Blue
Origin: Sometimes I like to make a squiggle line then fill in the shapes with color. No hidden meaning here. In fact, you ain't gonna fine any complex meaning in any of my work. Symbolism, message, theme....all that takes time. I like to work fast. If a drawing isn't finished in 5 minutes then I start getting cranky.


Title: Untitled or I guess I could call it: Bug and Candle
Origin: It just happened. I have no idea.




Title: 2 Questions
Origin: After visiting a bunch of galleries in LA I went back to the hotel and thought about how all my favorite pieces of the day were made of lines, either scribbles, or patchworks, or something. This is what came from my meditation.


Title: Hippo (Maybe?)
Origin: Again, me and Grace playing with color crayons and me experimenting with spontaneous line formation. Simple. This one is my favorite.

NUDE ART UCLA

What better way to follow an Easter post in which I proclaim my mystic beliefs then to lay down some lines in adoration of the female form, as seen on the campus of UCLA. I visited the university for the first time a couple weeks ago with a couple of my co-horts. We were on a mission to scope out art and the UCLA sculpture garden gave it up. What impressed me most was the vast variety of forms found throughout the area. By "forms" I don't mean just the female form, although there was a fantastic selection to see. I mean contemporary, modern, abstract, classic, coo-coo, weird, stunning, and everything in between. There is a D. Butterfield horse (Pensive, 1996), a spinning steel number by George Rickey(Two Lines Oblique Down (Variation III) 1970-74), a bunch of Matisse's, the list goes on.

The real gems are found in the Rolfe Courtyard. 11 bronze beauties by Venice, CA sculpture, Robert Graham (the same dude who made the Roosevelt Memorial in DC). These forms - now I am talking about the female form - are part of a collection called, Study For Duke Ellington Memorial. Dazzling, completely realistic, and NUDE these statues have been the subject of praise, outrage, controversy, vandalism, and admiration. I think they are beautiful. More than anything else, these figures portray WOMAN: Stoic, stable, powerful, alluring, sexy, lovely, worthy of complete respect.

That UCLA would be bold enough display this collection makes me wonder if the powers-that-be at Fresno State would have the juevos to do the same. Fresno does have a sculpture garden of sorts. Their "PEACE GARDEN" is speckled with sculptures of peace activists: Gandhi, MLK, Chavez. But, there is nothing to match the Graham collection. In front of the Music building there is a sculpture of three topless dancing youths. A nice piece, but lacking in the level of emotion found in the Graham nudes. The valley is too conservative. They support the arts, but take no chances. Too bad.

I was so impressed I went back and scribbled a tribute.
And don't even get me started on the Gaston Lachaise sculture, Standing Woman, 1932! Good Lord! My goodness, she would tear me up!

CANDY IN THE MORNING!

I wore my Jesus shirt today. It is a black t-shirt with a white guitar pick on the chest that reads, PICK JESUS. I figured it was my EASTER BEST, so on it went. No one thought I was funny when I said I almost took a sharpie pen and added an apostrophe S and the word NOSE to the silkscreen....Pick Jesus's Nose. So I represented my Faith based beliefs today. Christ is Risen! Truly Risen! I have lost count of how many times people have looked at me with a puzzled look in their eyes and asked, "You're Christian?" I laugh and answer, "Well, sure. Can't you tell by the way I live?" They never know how to respond.

I love Easter even more then I love Christmas. There isn't the same volume of gifts at Easter as there is when we celebrate the miraculous conception and birth of the infant Christ. The Easter Bunny doesn't have the elves and the sleigh to prep and deliver gifts like Santa has. So, even though the gifts are fewer, the candy is better! Reese's Eggs are better then Reese's Trees, and the See's Butter Eggs are decadent. Gracie LOVES EASTER! The Easter Bunny delivers her basket right in her crib! The candy is just waiting to be eaten when she wakes up at 7 AM! So it was this morning! I grabbed my camera and Grace squeezed her eyes shut and said, "CHEEEEEZ!" The chocolate coated her teeth and melted in her hands. Mmmmmm!

SPRING BREAK 2008

Work let out and right away it was off to the HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH - Disneyland! Oh, the plans I had to find a balance between the DARK RIDES of FANTASY LAND and time in my journal. Time was when I could travel and keep a travel journal. I would unwind at night with observations and poems and doodles / I would soak a brew and reflect. I packed my usual bag: book, journal, pens, iPod, stamps, address book (I could NEVER forget the POSTCARDS!). I had it all. But, come nightfall, it was all I could do to read a chapter in the final year of HARRY POTTER. I'm getting old, and Grace keeps me going, and when she naps....I GOTTA NAP! That is just the way it is. I wouldn't change a thing. AND, what a GREAT TIME WE HAD! Good times! All the Fantasy Land rides, Monsters Inc., Bug Land attractions, Finding NEMO, Pirates, and , of course, the Haunted Mansion.

So even though no one got a postcard, it was a rewarding experience. And fear not, I was able to draw one doodle and scratch one line of verse.....not sure if it will be a poem or a ROCK SONG....or anything at all!

UNTITLED/UNFINISHED
by -papaT 3.17.08

Every old man I see
is Hunter S. T.
with gold medallion and chain
A safari hat / pills for pain

Hmm...looking at it, it ain't much. In fact it ain't very good. But, who cares?! IT'S SPRING BREAK!

AGAIN BEGIN WITH A POEM

Just shy of a year since my last post and I can't help but wonder why. Well there are many reason, but none that really hold water. How long does it take to post? Not much. The biggest reason is that I am in a ROCK BAND! We haven't gigged yet, but we have been busy busting out original tunes, tinkering in the studio, and getting ready for some summer JAMS! Still, I guess I coulda posted some poems, or some art, or some commentary, or whatever. But, I didn't. It is what it is.

Anyway, just got a letter from j-dog. Enclosed was a short note and a poem. I share the poem with you now. SHINNYO BOOKS released j-dog's first book of poems some time back. It is entitled Q & A. This poem is new and was not in the collection. ENJOY!

HELLO AGAIN
by David Joseph Persons 3.9.08

I pulled my old bicycle
down from the rafters,
knocked the cobwebs from
the spokes and pumped
up the tires with the
wood handled pump
A quick shine,
a squeeze of the brakes,
a few drops of oil on
the chain
and I was ready to roll

My legs felt like
leaden weights,
my butt had
forgotten the feel
of the leather
saddle
But the same breeze
still blew across
my face and the
same feeling of
loosed liberty quickened
my heart as I headed
out of town - east,
towards the country,
toward the rolling
foothills of the
Sierras

On that old bicycle
I used to do a lot
of thinking
about life,
circumstances,
nature
and God
We had a lot of
conversations
God and I,
we had a system -
I'd complain about
something or other,
He'd listen,
laugh,
and tell me to quit
being such a baby
I'd pedal and bitch
He'd laugh then say,
"Hey, look at this!"
And a red tailed hawk would
take off from its
barbed-wire perch
He always amazed me like that,
with something special
for me on my bike
And whatever had been bugging me
soon didn't seem
that important
But the jackrabbits did,
and the kestrels,
the flocks of ducks and geese

So now I'm at it again
same bike,
same country roads
But it's been a while,
a long while
I'm not sure if the system
is still in place
I pedal along in silence
trying to muster up the
courage to say something,
anything,
feeling like I should just
turn my bike around and
go back home
when I hear a sound
A sound like laughter
faint at first
then louder
then no mistaking
a clear ringing laughter
"You big baby! Come on.
I haven't gone anywhere! I've
been waiting for you! I've got
something I want to show you.
Here, look at his!"