Oscar Wilde:  “All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling.”

Charlie Chaplin:  “Why should poetry have to make sense?”

Now that never-ending winter appears to be heading out the door, I want to give the “in-law” season a proper send-off. Although I like to complain long and loud about the dark months (heck, I like to complain about everything - that’s what curmudgeons do), I will admit that we had our fair share of fun during the last dozen weeks. Somewhat begrudgingly, I will also acknowledge that a proper “thank you for leaving” is in order. So, having a bunch of pictures left over from prior outings, and with Bullwinkle’s injunction to keep words to a minimum fresh in my mind, I have prepared a parting post of pictures and poetry to signal the end of the “glad to see you in my rearview mirror” season. With a tribute like this, winter may never come back again.

What better poet could I select to epitomize winter, than Robert Frost? There may be others, but I sure wouldn’t know who they are. I probably know less about poetry than I do about art … and that’s saying something. Anyway, I do remember some of Robert Frost’s works from 10th grade English, so I have decided to use one his poems to open this pictorial review of Winter. No, it’s not “Frosty The Snowman;” it’s a much deeper effort entitled “Fire And Ice.” Assuming that it is much too late for local education authorities to yank my diploma, I give you the Ol’ P’s opus, “Kayaks And Ice” in the captions for the following nine pictures.

Some say warm water’s best for kayaks

Some say it’s ice

If you should want Ol’ P’s feedback

Warmer temps seem to suit the kayak

But if inclined to roll the dice

And give myself over to fate

I’d say that for adventure ice

Is also great

Once, twice, or thrice

Okay, that’s enough of that highbrow stuff. We are going to move on to a new form of artistic linguistics which I now claim to have invented just for this blolumn. Modest though I am, I call this new school of thought, which combines both art and poetry (oh, I’m on thin ice here!), Ol’ P Poster-oetry. Not well hidden within the following posters are rhyme schemes so simple that even an Ol’ Philosophizer can do them.

Sorry, I Was Still Under A Frosty Influence When I Made This One … I’ll Try To Lighten Things Up

Nothing Like A Limerick To Evoke The Malden Yacht Club Spirit

Since I’ve pushed the envelope by diving into both the pools of art and poetry, why don’t I jump into another one where I will be in way over my head. That would be music. It’s not that I don’t like music (I most certainly do), it’s just that you don’t want to be anywhere near me when I attempt to create music. Still, at times (like now) I feel musically inspired, though I will do my best to make this as painless as possible for you. In my youth, I enjoyed the Kingston Trio, and one of their songs that I liked most was called “The Seine.” This wasn’t an overly philosophical song, but it had a nice, heartfelt chorus that went like this:

“The Seine, the Seine, when will I again, meet her there, greet her there, on the moonlit banks of the Seine?” [I couldn’t find a YouTube video of the Kingston Trio performing this, but if you want to hear a vastly inferior and much too perky version by The Four Preps, so that you know how the chorus goes and can sing the upcoming lyrics at the top of your lungs, just click here.] Anyway, it was with that refrain running through my mind … for no apparent reason whatsoever other than I tend to be visited by voices and tunes … that I composed the captions for the following five pictures. Feel free to sing along, and really annoy your co-workers.

A ship! A ship!

 

It Makes My Heart Skip

See The Ship …

SEE THE SHIP …

Enough, Ol’ P. Please Get A Grip!

Now that I’ve ruined music for everybody, let me return to the new form of poetry for posterity, POSTER-OETRY!

Though This Is Fun For Some, I’ll Wait For All That White Stuff To Melt And Come Down To The River

Oh My, Will This Never End?

Technically, the first Sunday in March falls within the jurisdiction of winter, but you could hardly tell it from the weather that day. Or from the crowd that assembled at the mini-park. In fact, it was the long awaited appearance of a couple of long fellows (that would be Coop and Madman) that inspired this ol’ plagiarization of an American classic. Once again, the poem is in the captions.

‘longside the banks where waters flow

The Malden Yacht Club stands

This club, a hardy group are they

That, with the warmth, expands

But some are here ’fore the spring flowers

Unlike our daffo-dan

Okay, that’s it until Spring! Don’t forget to change your clocks one way or another this weekend.