Since this is National Poetry Month and some of you are still in quarantine, I thought I would share again a little verse. This piece originally appeared last year on SERENDIPITY.
A Viral Verse, by Rich Paschall
It’s time to hunker in your Bunker.
But don’t sequester next to Lester.
He might have the virus.
He’s been sitting close to Iris.
And stay away from Bill,
He thinks he’s got a chill.
And you will have a pain
If you’re listening to Jane.
Jim has not been cool,
Had a party at his school.
And just to add a bonus,
He invited his friend Jonas.
They had a lot of folks,
Telling many dirty jokes.
He picked up a quick a kiss
From his handsome buddy Chris.
Some have not been seen,
Must be in the quarantine.
We will say it quick,
We hope they are not sick.
Others are at the store,
And invited several more.
They didn’t hear or care,
They shouldn’t be out there.
May we just repeat,
To keep at least six feet.
Still, there’s some resistance,
About keeping a good distance.
Heed the advice of your physician,
Not some wealthy politician.
I read so slowly,
Falling behind in everything.
My friends are on the next book;
I’m still on Chapter 2.
They say it is about hate, sex, war,
The downfall of society.
I thought it was about love, childhood,
Playing games.
Maybe they taught something
The day I was absent.
Books, creative commons license
Old friends are no longer close to me.
I thought they were standing still.
Now I meet new people.
Should I move on anyway?
Why do they run when
Walking is much easier?
They are calling for me to catch up.
I can’t turn the pages that fast.
This year it will be five years since a Hall of Fame teacher came back from retirement for a special tribute. I share this story and poem again because April is National Poetry Month. By the way, this teacher is still doing just fine. Be sure to click on “View original post” at the bottom to head over to SERENDIPITY for the rest of the story and the poem.
There are a lot of dedicated teachers. Many find a good school and stay with it for decades. Most of us can recall a teacher like this. The fortunate ones will encounter several as they go through school. I had such a teacher.
It is rare that over 20 years after a teacher retires, her legacy lives on. At my parish and high school, current administrators frequently hear from alumni the stories of a teacher they never met. “Mrs. Kittler was the best teacher I ever had,” many remark. The praises have not stopped long after the teacher retired and moved away.
Photo Credit: St. Benedict HS archive
Laurette Kittler started out with a brief foray into acting and seemed to have a promising future. She decided to follow another passion however, and went into teaching. In the spring of 1959, St. Benedict High School asked her…
When my grandmother passed away many years ago, we had a wake here in Chicago and again two days later in her hometown of Martin, Tennessee. In between her remains were flown to Memphis and then driven up to Martin. We took the long drive to Martin from Chicago to attend the wake and then the burial next to my grandfather. Shortly after my return home, I wrote the following.
I
Grandma (left)
You flew home.
We drove –
Across long, lonely Sunday highways.
The sky glared down at us
Through hazy eyes.
The air was filled with static
And thoughts of bears and bird dogs.
The road led us past sights
No longer familiar.
Time has no sympathy for trips like these.
Still, we must go home again.
II
You waited peacefully.
We came in our Sunday best.
Friends and relatives gathered
From places you’d been years earlier.
Some held vague remembrances
Of family experiences.
Some wore faces no longer familiar.
Time gives no comfort at occasions like these.
Still, we will come home again.
III
You led the way.
As always, we followed.
Slowly you took us
Across streets wet with morning rain.
The air was heavy
With memories we couldn’t express.
The clouds had gone but
The mist stayed in our eyes.
On a hilltop you joined
Friends and relatives who left years earlier.
Although carved in stone,
Some held names no longer familiar.
Time moves on toward days like these,
When we’ll all go home again.
April is National Poetry Month. I hasten to point out that this was written for SERENDIPITY a few years ago so that you don’t think I am advocating that you run down to the local coffee house for a poetry reading. Be sure to click on “View original post” at the bottom to head over to SERENDIPITY to view original poems.
There seems to be a day, a week or even a month for just about everything. It is quite interesting the types of things for which mayors, governors and even presidents are willing to present a proclamation. Did you miss One Cent Day April 1st? No joke, it is a day to commemorate the history of the penny. I guess it is not worth much anymore.
Certainly you did not miss out on the fact that April 1 is also Sourdough Bread Day. No Foolin’! The stuff has been around a long time. I guess it deserves an entire day, especially when you consider some of the other things that get a day. Perhaps I should make a point to buy some, or not.
Poetry gets all of April. That’s seems fair when you consider the vast amount of poetry in the world that most students try to avoid reading. Maybe…
As April is National Poetry Month, I offer you a new poem. Be sure to click “View original post” at the bottom to head over to SERENDIPITY for the rest of this timely verse.
It’s time to hunker in your Bunker.
But don’t sequester next to Lester.
He might have the virus.
He’s been sitting close to Iris.
And stay away from Bill,
He thinks he’s got a chill.
And you will have a pain
If you’re listening to Jane.
Jim has not been cool,
Had a party at his school.
And just to add a bonus,
He invited his friend Jonas.
They had a lot of folks,
Telling many dirty jokes.
He picked up a quick a kiss
From his handsome buddy Chris.
Some have not been seen,
Must be in the quarantine.
We will say it quick,
We hope they are not sick.
Others are at the store,
And invited several more.
They didn’t hear or care,
They shouldn’t be out there.
May we just repeat,
To keep at least six feet.
I was caught
In the crush of Christmas shopping,
Fighting the crowds
And always stopping,
To find the right gift
That I can give to you
But nothing seems right.
What shall I do?
The weather is snowing.
The street lights are glowing.
Everyone is knowing,
That Christmas is near.
The crowd is in a hurry.
The people all scurry,
As they battle the flurry and
Shouts of good cheer.
But I have a task
That is not like the rest.
I must choose a gift.
It must be the best.
I’ll search everywhere.
Do what I can do.
The cost doesn’t matter,
Because it’s for you.
The Christmas Bells are ringing.
The snow begins clinging.
Choirs will be singing
Of heaven above.
As soft music plays,
On this Christmas Day,
I know I will say,
That my gift is Love.
Copyright Michael F. Teolis music and Richard Paschall lyrics.
It is not “visions of sugar plums” that are dancing in my head, but rather visions of royalty checks. Will this be the year someone sets this to music and makes us rich? Dream on.
A Hit for Christmas
O Christmas tree
I need a hit for Christmas
To turn the season green.
A snappy little holiday tune
Is really what I mean.
If I could just find somewhere
In my memory tonight
A verse, a phrase, some words of joy
To the world I would write.
“What is my theme?” I wonder
As I wander here and there.
Christmas songs make lots of cash
And why should I not share
In monies green and silver
But oh what shall I say?
After all I’m thinking now,
“What’s not been said of Christmas Day?”
I’ll write a Christmas Jingle.
Bells of joy will sound –
A song about Kris Kringle
Or snow upon the ground.
I’ll make a little silver.
Bells of joys will play –
A check, a smile, a royalty
With every Christmas Day.
As each and every memory
Was sailing past tonight,
I had to grab the good ones
And to add the music right.
I’m dreaming of best sellers
That every year will rock
Around the Christmas tree
And down every single block.
We then need the musicians
For piano and for bass.
We’ll add a little drummer.
Boy, we’ll really rock the place.
The perfect words and music?
I ask what do you hear.
What I hear are record deals
If we can sound sincere.
I’ll write a Christmas Jingle.
Bells play all the way.
A tune that you will download –
On CD’s that you will play.
I’ll have a greener season
And know just what to say –
“A check, a smile, a royalty
With every Christmas Day.”
I was caught
In the crush of Christmas shopping,
Fighting the crowds
And always stopping,
To find the right gift
That I can give to you
But nothing seems right.
What shall I do?
The weather is snowing.
The street lights are glowing.
Everyone is knowing,
That Christmas is near.
The crowd is in a hurry.
The people all scurry,
As they battle the flurry and
Shouts of good cheer.
But I have a task
That is not like the rest.
I must choose a gift.
It must be the best.
I’ll search everywhere.
Do what I can do.
The cost doesn’t matter,
Because it’s for you.
The Christmas Bells are ringing.
The snow begins clinging.
Choirs will be singing
Of heaven above.
As soft music plays,
On this Christmas Day,
I know I will say,
That my gift is Love.
Copyright Michael F. Teolis music and Richard Paschall lyrics.
It is likely I would not have gone to see a local opera company had I not already been familiar with the work of the poet, Gavin Geoffrey Dillard. After all, I have seen plenty of opera at the Lyric Opera of Chicago and plenty of local theater. But this has an intriguing premise that was too good to pass up.
I first encountered Mr. Dillard in the late 1980’s. I was looking for a book of poetry that was well reviewed and actually contacted him at the publisher. I found earlier works as well as later and even exchanged correspondence with the author. His poetic style is unique, varied and always interesting.
Originally the librettist, John De Los Santos, had proposed an opera based on Dillard’s autobiography, In The Flesh. Dillard countered with the idea of an older poet with a bit of writer’s block, and a younger one who becomes his muse. The idea came to him as he had been in correspondence with a younger fan/poet over a certain length of time. They exchanged poems just as the characters of the opera do. The opera, however, is not a telling of that, but rather uniquely original.
De Los Santos constructed the work in 5 sections. A couple of collections of older works of Dillard provided the voice of the muse/younger poet, while more recent works provided the basis of the older poets words. De Los Santos advised that he was able to put the pieces together in just five months. You will find that remarkable if you are lucky enough to catch the show.
Director / choreographer / librettist John De Los Santos approached composer Clint Borzoni for the music. At first he was unsure of the project, but got rolling as the words suggested to him the music. He has crafted a work that would be challenging to the seasoned professional.
Dillard with Kistler (left) and Wilson (right)
The two young men who provide an entire full length opera in the Chicago production are up to the challenge. Jonathan Wilson plays the poet while Nathan James Kistler is his muse. They are always engaged and engaging. The time moves quickly when performers keep your attention on the storyline. Like any good opera, the company projects the words above the performance area. This is particularly helpful with the unique work of Dillard.
The story is aided with the interpretive dance of Jay Espano and Christopher Young at various moments throughout. For their purposes a larger stage would have been helpful, but they manage well nonetheless.
Thompson Street Opera Company’s production at the Broadway Theater at the Pride Arts Center is the second production of the opera. It premiered at the Ashville Lyric Opera in May 2018.
Finally, don’t be put off (or turned on) by the Opera Company notice that there is full male nudity in the show. It lasts about 3 seconds on a darkened performance area and the lights go out quickly. If you see anything at all (I didn’t), then I suggest you have probably seen such things before.
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