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Don’t be surprised to find a set of pipes in your hand and an overwhelming urge to blow. After a year’s hiatus, maybe more, I’m ready to start blah-blah-blogging again, and happily many things have changed since I followed a half goat-half man into the woods at my old website www.elainestirling.com and didn’t know what to say next.

I still don’t know what to say next, and you know what? It doesn’t matter. Because during that hiatus, enough wonderful, crazy things happened to persuade me that goal-setting and visualizing, all those “process” things aren’t what they are cracked up to be. Also, our world is blessed with a writer named Tom Robbins who sits at his desk five days a week, creating the world’s most extraordinary novels without knowing what he’s going to say.

That I happen to be reading the part of Jitterbug Perfume where a satyr enters the story is the kind of superimposition I want to explore here at Oceantics. This will be a space about having fun while adding to the store of personal power we were born with, and learned to push away for a gazillion reasons that all come down to one. I will include poetry, my own, because I have learned to love the craft, and because the Latin origin of the word satire means “poetic medley” or . . . get this, a dish filled with various fruits.

“What’s for dessert?”

“Satire, dear.”

“Lovely. Pass the custard sauce, will you?”

Of course I know that the world doesn’t need more blogsays (blog+essay, plural), but I also believe that the world we think we live in doesn’t know what it needs, so every little bit of ourselves that we reclaim helps. And with that, I shall leave you with a tasty bit of rhyme and hopes that you will enjoy Oceantics as much as I intend to enjoy playing here.

Great Big Buffet

I brewed a pot of worry

on a phosphorescent stove

with potatoes of calamity

from Farmer Beaton’s grove.


I stirred a heap of troubles

so they wouldn’t overboil

but stirrin’ made me weary

and my life became a toil.


I thought I’d be appeasin’

with my ear pressed to the ground

but all I heard was wheezin’

where’s the reason to be found?


Your democrats, your publicans,

the liberals and cons

they’re soundin’ all the same to me

a-gurglin’ in their ponds.


Whoever wins there’ll be a heap

of aggravated fish

a-snappin’ at the chance

to overturn the supper dish.


These stones and votes I will not cast

but not for lack of carin’

this soup I stir is made of love

I’ve added peace for sharin’.


If you would bring the lightening

another bring the pone

we’ll have ourselves a heap of fun

continuing this poem


that’s made up of humanity

the whole darned human race

we’ll toss out animosity

and bow our heads for grace:


Dear Lord, thank you for

this great big buffet with

room and plenty for all.


© Elaine Stirling, 2012