One thing though: my frustration runs deep.
With dozens of books now in the hopper and in various stages of dress and undress, I set a blazing pace at the keyboard and may soon have to buy more floppy disks to keep up with the deadlines. Sleep would be a welcome friend as well.
While in Europe, however, I did manage to keep my promise to Becky that I would not write a single word during this anniversary excursion. I let go of writing completely, but since my return in August I note that I have had one new book released, have written four more book proposals, and have half a dozen others scheduled for release later this year. I've also written nearly 80 published essays and some fifty poems.
Among these verses--some of which I consider my best work to date--I've also reflected on some of the lighter moments of Europe . . . including our visit to the Louvre--a destination that has become nearly singularly defined by the mass pilgrimage to see a tiny Da Vinci portrait, otherwise known as the Mona Lisa. But I personally found the mass-appeal laughable and just had to write about it. If you've been there and witnessed the pull . . . you'll understand this bit of light verse.
Mona Lisa in the Louvre
We wait in line
We
do our time
By
centimeters move
Humanity
That’s
come to see
The
Mona Lisa in the Louvre
You feel the pinch
As
inch-by-inch
The
line snakes in a groove
Dreaming awhile
You
smile her smile
Like
Mona Lisa in the Louvre
Then at the last
You
hasten past
Great
works of art and prove
That you don’t care
What
else is there
But
Mona Lisa in the Louvre
One final push
And
then you rush
A
chaos in commove
To glimpse in mass
Da
Vinci’s caste
His
Mona Lisa in the Louvre
Yes there is art
Back
at the start
But
none of them behoove
The hours of wait
Right
from the gate
As
Mona Lisa in the Louvre
