More from Art Davis

This poem by Arthur H. Davis is submitted here by his permission. At the end of his poem, he hand-wrote, "Too Long?" Our writers' group unanimously said it was just right.

Art is a gentle soul who is as proper as one can be and still be warm and human. He also wrote at the bottom, "This is from my Dark Side twin." We knew it was from the Art who stays up late, alert to his wife's "every sigh, every move . . . ."

His imaginative mind plays in those dark hours of the night in place of "unfettered sleep." And my 43 year old son would love where the 92 year old Art takes his creativity. Both love a variety of music, including this one!

Flatulence --- Excuse me!

Flatulence? Yes, the passing of gas,
is one of the gifts of growing older.
Everyone faces some
degree of embarrassment
in their daily rounds,
but, the passing seems to increase
as those "Golden Years" approach.

It has been suggested
that the elderly are a
prime cause of Earth's warming,
so they immediately write to AARP
to contact their friends in Washington
that we the elderly might be
exonerated.

Most of the Congressional people
are quite elderly, so must
be careful no legislation is voted
upon, regarding the elderly
on this matter.
If and when they do sit
in those chairs of power,
they probably face similar dilemma.

I often wonder if it affects their vote?

One of the problems, if you care,
if you were brought up in a relatively
civilized environment,
is the suppressing of these
tuba-like emissions.

Now "tuba-like" isn't everyone's gift.
There are those among us who emulate
the oboe or the flugelhorn,
a bit higher pitched.
The clarinet?---I don't think so.
The thrum of cello, a possibility.
Drums, particularly the timpani
could typify pressure, but,
I do perhaps, venture too deeply
into instruments of the classic realm.

Flats and flatulence have nothing in common.

Living among a predominantly aging
group, I've often thought of going to my
buddies to see if a quintet of us could
try some ensemble work.
We'd be known as the
Fanny-Fare Five.

Such an idea was voted down sans
debate and I should have been
aware the idea would be doomed.
Of necessity, all rehearsals would have
to be held outside!
A foul idea if ever one.

At the height of my exuberance
for such an experiment,
I had already selected
Hold that Tiger
for our first endeavor,
and as my detractors ambled away,
buns swaying to the cadence
of the amble,
my selection was vindicated.

To retrain or cover this predicament,
most find it, more times than not,
difficult to do.
Pressure makes it almost impossible
to avoid the embarrassment
because fate ordained
someone always be nearby.

In the process, if you are
in the proximity of the player,
you might detect
an apoplectic behavior,
or the flatulentee furtively looking
about to determine if someone
is tuning in to this gaseous concert,
the while searching spastically
for a secluded space.

If I may insert a word of warning
to the reader,
Summer is at hand.
Should you be grilling,
or working around an open fire
and a bit of flatulence seems imminent,
don't turn your back to the fire!
To do so, you run a very high risk
of getting hot, very cross buns.

In closing, I modestly confess
my contributions to this common bane.
At my age, I am well aware
the social consequences,
but, when in territory wholly devoid
of my friends, or fellow citizens,
the happening is in a more carefree
mode of gratitude
and I march uninhibited
to French horn virtuosity.

(Copyright: Arthur H. Davis, 1/17/09, 2/9/09, 2/27/09, 3/3/09)