Chamblee54

PG woke up slowly. It was the first saturday after a week on the new assignment. Saturday is different when you are busy the rest of the week.
The night before had produced a meme poem for trifecta. It was fun. The process of creating these text images gets better the more you do. Last night, the dog pictures were re-edited so the text didn’t cover the paws. This product for this morning features gray letters. Black and white is so harsh, both in race relations as well as graphics.
“The Shepherd” was written by William Blake. It is not known if Allen Ginsberg tripped out over this poem. Some say the Shepherd is really Jesus. PG thinks this is tmi. The text for this production is courtesy of Project Gutenberg.
There were yard sale ads all over the neighborhood. There were balloons rising from the mailbox three doors down, and cars parked everywhere. PG decided it was his neighborly duty to go visit.
It turns out the man of the house had passed away, and his wife was in a retirement home. PG did not know any of this. He asked if the lady was in an old folks home, and was told that this was an offensive expression. Some times you learn two things every day.
When mister and missus moved into the house in 1966, PG was the first person from the neighborhood to talk to them. They did not run away in horror. There was a privacy fence in the back yard, next to the creek where PG played as a kid. When you are younger, the concept of private property is not obvious.

In 1948, Allen Ginsberg was staying in Harlem. Things were not going well in his life. One night, he read “Ah, Sunflower,” by William Blake. He thought the voice of Mr. Blake was reading the poem for him. Later, something similar happened with “The Sick Rose.” Here is a tmi version of the story.
Sixty odd years later, PG is trying to recreate this incident. Instead of reading the work, PG is posting the lines at the feet of dogs. Instead of a Harlem building, with fancy brickwork, PG is in a Brookhaven house. The house was built in 1954. The sky above is the same, both for Harlem and Brookhaven.
Perhaps the strangest bit of synchronicity involves the first paragraph of this text. PG had finished with the meme poem. The third game of the world series was on the tv, seen on a mirror behind the monitor. As PG typed the words “The Sick Rose,” a St. Louis player hit a ground ball. The fielder threw the ball to home plate, and a runner was tagged out. The catcher threw the ball to third base, and the ball got behind the baseman. The runner started to run, and got tripped by the third baseman. Even though he was tagged by the catcher, the umpire ruled that his being tripped made him safe. Is this as weird as hearing the voice of a dead English poet in a Harlem apartment?
Mr. Blake liked to illustrate his own work. Here is what he did for “The Sick Rose.” Whether using dogs is an improvement is a matter for smart people to decide. The text of these poems is copied from the Gutenberg Project. They are happy to get donations.