Sit-a-while

on swinging porch

where tin-dippers and

sweet water

in cool touches

meet lips

from hand dug wells.

Morning painting:

On Golden Pond

~ Joe Miller

Morning poetry:
Downstream, below a bend

in the woods

the fisherman

looks to the sun, first

as to know where shadows cast
Easing behind a tree

sitting on a root

relaxing, blending pulses

watching the water

riding the rhythm of the stream

creatures hatching, falling from bushes

rising from bottom cocoons

tiny shells of transformation

winged wonders risking flight

needing sex

food

celebrating life

all, too, brief
Ah, the Caddisfly

which color body for this light

the dry fly, the wizardry of tying friend

the match of nature

made

elk hair recycled

into first course

appetizing
Wait, make not previous mistakes

be sure in choice

before wading in

noiselessly, stepping upon slippery path

the journey begins

moving left across the brook

anticipation grows

taking in three-sixty-view, satisfied

the fisherman begins...

a gentle cast

conducting baton of age

begins the reach

of master’s hand made

leader

practice for the coming

erotic flashes in knee-deep water

rushing, riffling, making foam, the food-train

where fly must go
Visualizing around the bend

where beauty feeds

conserving energy in soft water,

eddy on the right in memory

rotating just below the largest stone

plunging eternity
Knowing how in present light with water high

riparians in the way

one chance to hit the circle for the day

the edifice, the sacrifice, the effort

all consuming

confidence in play

please

make no mistakes today
Stealthily skirting the bend, the fisherman,

minimalist, he is

sporting no Orvis of Bernays'

finds his footing in the shade

current tickling cooling feet

smiles

captivated in upstream painting

he, too, cocooned in greenery

going left was right

the only choice

for flight

of the fly
The beauty’s there!

having late breakfast

being alone and satisfied

no danger lurks

sips, time, sips, time, sips some more

adroitly taking plenty from the sexual ecstasy

blazing blue, a rainbow of sliver, reflecting, dancing

in fisherman’s eyes

the prize
At home, content, having spent years in pool

wise beyond the other fools

surviving all their fancy tools

one cast must do, be true
The fisherman wipes his drool

eases out of bubbling stream

breathes deeply

sits upon a mossy stool

in bewilderment of ages spent

in drowning pools of discontent

and lets it go
One cast would do.

Morning news: an observation; when speaking, Scaramucci, new WH comm. director, can't take the energy out of his hands, fingers curled back at himself, a give-away to not being free in expression.
Morning theatre:

"Nobel Prize-winning playwright Samuel Beckett wrote the screenplay for only one film and made his only trip to the U.S. to shoot it. It's a short silent film called "Film," released in 1965 and starring Buster Keaton. "Film" has now come out on DVD along with a documentary called "Notfilm," by film restorer Ross Lipman about the making of "Film." Classical music critic Lloyd Schwartz is a passionate admirer of both Beckett and Keaton. Here's his review."
~ Terry Gross, "Fresh Air" http://www.npr.org/2017/07/18/537916519/film-and-notfilm-showcase-the-co...

We all know the image of the tragic clown. From the beginning of silent movies, the great comedians - Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Harold Lloyd - seem to understand the inextricable connection between hilarity and pathos. Yet by the 1950s, audiences seemed surprised when veteran comic actors began playing serious roles. This trend seems to have started in 1955, when Arnold Stang, beloved for his cheeky puncturing of the ego of Milton Berle on Berle's weekly comedy show and the what-a-chunk-of-chocolate commercial, gave a heartbreaking performance as drug addict Frank Sinatra's loyal sidekick in "The Man With The Golden Arm."

A year later, Ed Wynn, known as The Perfect Fool, appeared in the original TV version of Rod Serling's "Requiem For A Heavyweight." And soon, Jackie Gleason, Red Buttons - who won an Oscar - and Berle himself were also proving they could act. In 1964, Buster Keaton was offered the most serious role of his career. Samuel Beckett was working on his only screenplay, a short film called "Film" depicting a character who, like a cockroach, seems terrified of being seen. Beckett calls this character O for being the object of E, the eye of the camera, that's obsessive like following him. Beckett first wanted Chaplin but finally turned to Keaton, whose great stone face and hapless-but-intrepid character have often been compared to Beckett.

Last week, we talked about being vulnerable: Olivier said that when we were just about to corpse--theatre term for laughing out loud at yourself or other actors (think Tim Conway and Harvey Korman breaking up)--we were there, being in the moment, open to the audience, acting without pretense and no matter how much young actors may desire to play leading tragic roles, comedians rein as the work demands the most vulnerability of all theatrical pursuits, and as inferred above, the greatest master the two.

As a young man, awed; I recall my first reading of "Waiting for Godot," not understanding its complexity nor its importance to the lexicon of modern theatre; been a long time since then and was delighted when I heard this on Fresh Air this week.

In the meantime, a clip of "Godot" by Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart:

Morning music:

“A day spent without the sight or sound of beauty, the contemplation of mystery, or the search of truth is a poverty-stricken day; and a succession of such days is fatal to human life.”
~ Lewis Mumford

The stage set, the script is yours!