here came cummings at thirteen

ee cummings

here came cummings at thirteen

an iconoclast when ikons (in a

russian sense) for me only

could stimulate edward estlin with his

speakeasy disdain at a time when

cash and cosby still swayed liberated

my captive sensibility but wait




williams with his wheel barrow

red rain and white chickens

so much depended on joyces

confabulation of language modern

once along with living by

green stein and anderson and

papa plain faulkner southern

strange pounds petals recall

basho dragonfly cuckoo cicada




symmetry matters

© 2014 by Michael Jones

here came cummings at thirteen

Prankster Art

Is Art really the only form of expression that should not be ridiculed? I think artists especially should have a sense of humor about their art; and Art with a capital A. Self deprecation is a healthy thing, it’s what makes comics funny, the same is true of Art; all art forms. Nothing should be too ‘sacred’ to be lampooned. I say tear down the temples to rebuild them stronger. The Conceptual Art movement takes strides to accomplish this.

As they say, this is nothing new. A favorite example: Duchamp’s L.H.O.O.Q.?

Conceptual Art
Prankster Art

Why Echidna?

When I was in the first grade our teacher assigned everyone to write a story. Use your imagination, she exhorted. That got my attention, I’d always been told that I had a vivid imagination and that it was a good thing, now I would showcase my strong suit to my peers. I was one of those kids who had a brain spurt early on: I could read a bit already in Kindergarten and I had a good head for spelling; not for just your common nouns and verbs, but for more exotics like: Brontosaurus. So, to my great self pride. I had already impressed many friends and a few interested adults.I also had a thing for trivia, due to a wonderful encyclopedic “question and answer” book for youngsters, the title of which I wish I could remember today. One of the fascinating questions it asked was about egg-laying mammals; it seems there were a few, egg-laying mammals that is.

Well, when old Mrs Buckley pulled the trigger on the creativity gun I was hit squarely in the gut; and what poured out? Not blood but trivia: Echidna, I thought. The adorable ant-eating echidna along with the hilariously cobbled together duck-billed platypus were the only egg-laying mammals you could care about; and I knew their names. There was no hesitation, my story would feature an echidna named Egbert. Even at seven alliteration seemed natural. I had gleaned, at some point, the name of that obscure English king from a well thumbed almanac, another paperback which provided a treasure of trivia in my formative years, and I’d be damned if my creative stars didn’t align. EG(G)-BERT. How perfect.

Thus spilled my first creative story into the public forum. Mrs Buckley didn’t have much praise for the disjointed tale of an echidna doing whatever I had him do ( I have no memory of the actual story itself, just the character). In fact she probably thought me a bit pretentious, and rightly so. But in any case, the echidna, in all its hybrid individuality has come, for me, to embody the seedling of my love for writing and reading. So when I decided to create a blog that I could use as an outlet for my thoughts on all things creative, Echidna seemed an apt title.

With this blog I hope to share my views on film, music, literature, art, and anything else I have a mind to include. I’m leaving it open in the desire to spark more creative thought throughout the cyberverse, if you will. Enjoy, and feel free to comment for I welcome an unadulterated exchange of ideas.

Why Echidna?