Totally Ekphrastic

The Van Gogh Code

If you play the last conversation
between Van Gogh and Gauguin backwards,
you will cut off both your ears.

Ah, the conspiracy in those swirling
stars! Sunflowers full of mystery!

Now, touch the canvas, his thickly
applied primary colors! Feel
his pain, his life ooze.

Christopher T. George

Oh, I am feeling totally ekphrastic tonight at 3:00 a.m. as I bounce around in my Supp-hose in the kitchen drinking scotch and water and making banana sandwiches on wheat English muffins. Bread would be better for butties but since there appears to be no bread, I will have to settle for the English muffins.

Suicide Before Breakfast

Under a starry quilt, a cow
squats on a thimble; lovers
make their bed in yellow.

Van Gogh sips absinthe,
puzzles whether to cut off his ear
or make love to Gauguin.

He uses a knife to shlock the canvas,
the bloody paint shocks
with his pain: the stars

and sunflowers mesmerize.
Will it be suicide before breakfast
or happy-ever-after?

Christopher T. George

I had an email a couple of days ago from a producer in the U.K. who is producing a program on "Great British Brands" for Channel Four. They are going to be filming June 12-16 and wanted to do a piece in which they would speak to me about my poem, "Ahh, Bisto!"

The brands they are featuring are Bisto, Hovis, Kit Kat, Pimms, and Odeon. Unfortunately she had also gathered that I lived in the United States and when I asked if they would pay for me to fly over from the US of A for the filming thereof -- cheeky me -- she replied: "I'm afraid our minimal budget would not allow us to cover an expense of that size, we could just about manage a train from Surrey, but that wouldn't really help you!"

Ahhhh, Drat!

Ahh, Bisto!

Redbridge stands by the dock on a wooden crate
that proclaims, Ahh, Bisto! Use Bisto Gravy.
As a child, he’d dreamed of being a Bisto Kid
who’d convert the world to the wonders of Bisto.
His daughter Molly hands out pamphlets to all
who’ll accept one. He must get the Word out
before the midday sun burns the pedestrians
from the streets. Meanwhile, villagers hustle
to market, tidy away their Saturday chores.
He received the Word from the mouth of Jesus,
he honors the Lord’s Word, swishes it round
his tongue as he regales all who’ll listen,
to assure them how good the Word tastes:
an elixir for the world’s ills. He yells
parables to passersby. The fishermen mend
their nets; he’s a fisher of men. Ahh, Bisto!

Christopher T. George