Some time ago

There will be no Christmas poem this year,
appearances not to the contrary.
Friends rebelled against this separatist cheer.
No Jewish joyous nor Muslim merry,
no agnostic ironics such as happy happy.
Careless friends can reside in caring less;
ignorant ones flail in a theological mess.
And I? Well I am looking forward to spring,
wishing you also rebirth and renewal.

Brudda's Day

Father's, Mother's, Sis? That's it. Brother's Day!
Why wouldn't there be such a lovely thing?
To celebrate what we shared, we can play.
Look, here are some things in recall I sing.

Hand-me-down blue jeans that never did fit;
my clean car coat borrowed now dirty back;
the fire cracker you handed me lit;
my underwear you pulled up my young crack!

Movies you took me but didn't wait up.
The brush offs made that you were much older,
like you were The Bro and I a lost pup.
With your friends to me you were way colder.

Now bygones are bygones--I these forgives,
to give you this Day and send such missives.

What is art?

Art provides a direct sense of pleasure.
We see skill and virtue in creation.
Its genetic style is part its treasure.
Its fresh- and newness awake elation.

Art critiques and kudos do generate.
Mimesis we experience as real.
Its highlight not from life we venerate.
Its thingness-maker the two now we seal.

Art can strongly our emotions incite.
We can with heart and head with it noodle.
Its debt to tradition it gets so right.
It's now Experience more than doodle.

But think that art's in my eye, the holder?
I just like or don't as I grow older.
___
* Inspired by a review of Denis Dutton’s 2009 book, "The Art Instinct" http://www.thenewatlantis.com/publications/portrait-of-the-artist-as-a-caveman.

Unique-self description in 170 characters or less

Left-handed male Chinese-American phenomenologist in Italy with health records in six languages defying doctors' diets and six decades--yes, I eat  cheese and salami.