POETRY
Following is a little section reserved for poetry.
The reader new to archaeology/anthropology and history might be surprised to find that there is quite a body of poetry present in our related fields. Some is fun, and some is very serious. The WAS has for a long time had fun with a poetic character called: "Karl Sandblast." He is an intrepid soul trying everything to get his material published. But we have also published some serious pieces as well. Poetry has a knack of getting to the heart of the human condition better than any other method. So, we will add it to our web site knap sack along with whisk broom, trowel, grapefruit knife, ruler, notes, etc.
If any readers would like to contribute, don't hesitate to send it in. Serious or fun; all is great. Maybe we can find some poetry gems dancing around in our sifting screen?
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Following is a little poem "A Prayer For Those With a Virus" run in a series of my columns on the subject of Ozarks Folk Medicine. Perhaps this would qualify some way in the specialized field of medical anthropology (just barely...ha!). And with the flu shot problem, the reader might find of particular interest:
A Prayer For Those With a Virus
I first noticed a little tickle,
That got me in a pickle.
A problem with my noseolla,
That's totally out of controlla.
Yes, the drippin' from my sneezer
Has totally fouled up my wheezer.
And I am using tissues by the boxes
And sneezing right out of my sockses
I ache and I tend to moan,
To relieve the misery with a groan.
I'm mad at this thing called "viral,"
That's got me in a downward spiral
Not only that but my
fever is roarin'
And to friends and relatives I'm borein'
So, God I fervently ask
That you perform a much needed task.
Please stop this infernal curse...
So I don't have to call on the nurse.
And I ask in the name of Jesus.
That you heal my stupid wheezes!
(column by RM Jan. 13, '04, Opinion Page, Branson (MO) Daily News).
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Following is a verse from the WAS Newsletter No. 7, May 28, 1973 - It has been re-published a couple of times.
Unusual Doctors
Will the patient live? I doubt it.
I doubt it, I really do.
For, you see, the Dr. is weird,
He must be missing some sort of screw.
His medical tools are strange,
And I fear for the patient's life.
Instead of a razor sharp scalpel,
He's using a grapefruit knife!
And the nurse, a coed, in dirty jeans,
Who would otherwise look sorta nifty...
Just handed the Doc a paper sack,
Shouting...."We found it in square R-50!"
But, nevertheless, the Dr. works on...
He's dedicated, you'll have to know.
For, after all, his patient died...
Some 5,000 years ago!
Yes, someone finally told me,
Or I would have scratched my head all day.
This man is an archaeologist...
A Doctor in an ancient way.
RM
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This poem was first published in the Springfield, Mo. News Leader, May 1972...and re-printed in our W.A.S. Newsletter No. 7, May 28th, 1973...then, subsequently published in the Branson Mo. Daily News, n.d.
A Road in the Hills
There is a road in the hills marked "History,"
That winds through the valleys of the past.
It is an interesting trail by the river and dale,
A path that is made to last.
See what you will, the good and the bad,
Along this storied way,
People, places, events and things,
They all have something to say.
Learn as you travel this winding path,
It leads to a land called "Now,"
Where your travel experience will be needed
To help with the problems of how.
Pick from the patches called "Scholarship,"
Tasty fruit by the side.
But caution is the word for knowledge
And beware of a sign marked "Pride."
Follow the map of the Creator,
And see behind the scene,
The final authoritative source,
The ultimate superior Being.
Go enjoy the road in the hills
That winds through the valleys of the past.
It is an interesting trail by the river and dale,
A path that is made to last.
RM
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This one is from the same newsletter as above.
Time has passed with jet like speed,
and here I sit and wonder -
Where the blazes did I find that point -
the one I forgot to number?!?!?
RM
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USING ONE'S HEAD
BY
KARL SANDBLAST
If the hammer of life keeps banging
Upon the anvil of your head....
Remember the following wisdom
From the mouth of the wise man who said:
"Hammers keep on hammering, true,
But anvils are built of more steel.
So, you might as well go clanging along,
No matter how you feel.
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Note: The above was published in two newspapers and also the WAS Newsletter.
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A Blessing and a Curse
Bless you comma, curse you comma
Study you all my life.
Whether or not to use you comma
That is what causes the strife!
Oh, you little devil comma
You've got me all abash.
For .15 cents I'd stretch out your tail
And switch to the laudable dash!
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The above has also been republished several times.
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Ode to the Gawdknowswhatserwhos
Civilization goes chugging along
a terrible machine to hear
a'clinkin' and a 'clangin'
and stripping an occasional gear.
And from inside the contraption come
the cries of the Gawdknowswhatserwhos,
the strnagest bunch of passengers
that one could ever choose.
The sound of the thing and its vocal crew
is an awful noise to hear,
It rattles the dishes on the kitchen shelf
and fractures the drum of the ear.
There are some who try and oil it
in the standard spots and ways
yet, it just keeps on a'creakin'
and goes on for days and days.
But, if only the wind from this blusterin'
mess could be harnessed for old-fashioned toil,
we'd have us a purrin' machine of a world -
and could ditch the ear plugs and oil!
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The above was published in the WAS Newsletter
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Much more serious.....
The Night Light of Hope
Suspended as a pale golden globe in the cobalt sky is the moon, the night light of hope.
This object of fascination and dreams has been placed in the Heaven by God to reflect the rays of the cheery sun...temporarily out of sight when the curtain of
night has been drawn.
Charmingly, this glowing orb - not too bright to disturb our rest, or too dim to be forgotten - always reminds us, even in our own darkest hour, that brightness, warmth, eternal light and hope are alwsys present.
Inagine, our very own night light of hope! Free! What a thoughtful God He is! What an amazing gift!
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Out of the Prune Pits!
Cheer up dear friend; please keep the faith.
Out of the prune pits while there's time!
Why waller in the dreery dregs old chap?
Why stay in the slithery slime?
As disgusted as you may be kind heart...
fight on the ancient fight!
You must always battle the prune pits of life...
and keep striving for the blessed Light!
Hang tough disgruntled, beautiful soul,
or the prune pits of life will get ye.
They'll try and drag you to the depths ofheck...
to their stinkin' mess so feelthy.
So, keep hangin' on, keep climbin' up.
Keep battlin' with all ye'r might.
Don't let the prune pits win out ole' pal...
Just give 'em one heck of a fight!
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Partly Lucky
"Bleth my thol!" the ole' gent said
as he sneezed and lost his choppers.
"But, I'm thil in luck.." he added with a smile,
"...for I only loth my toppers!"
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The above three were probably run in the WAS Newsletter, but what level they appeared is something lost in time.
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Art
Art is many things...
Pattern, composition-design .
Art is colorful...
balanced, shaded, toned, intense and subdued.
Art is ancient...
historical, new and futuristic
Art is...
pleasing, debateable, confusing, impossible, despised, loved and cherished.
Art is exploration...
research, experimentation and analysis.
Art is...
visual, and it is non-visual.
It is ink, oil and film.
It is movement of body, sound, words, materials...the very art of life itself.
Art is the fine expression of one's self in a creative, aesthetic way.
Art is many things.
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The above appeared in the WAS Newsletter
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