My mother, the therapist, healer and poet, wrote her Valentine’s post today, complete with Podcast!

Of course, the proud son is even more excited because he set up her podcast for her, and taught her how to do crazy things like uploading mp3s to ftp!

Check out poet Cynthia Blomquist Gustavson’s Valentine’s Day Podcast!

What You Need to Know

Visit cynthiagustavson.com/podcast for her podcast! You can also syndicate it there!

If I could only have a dog
Not a frog on a log in a bog,

I would take walks three thousand times a day…
“Just to stay away,” you say?
Maybe, but more to just be sure
That my feet can still be demure.

If my knees don’t knock together
I’ll walk for miles and miles –
The best thing about the dog I wish I had
He just walks around, all smiles.

“He walks around and smiles,” you say?
“And doesn’t need to run?”
No, he’s a walking dog,
Because he finds it much more fun…
(more…)

Fritters Frida (and Mr. Bush later on)

If I could be anywhere with Fritters Frida,
I’d choose to be at the tower of Pisa
Leaning over to the left a little
Eating my deep fried jibble…

She would take me to the moon
In the grease pies she’d spoon
One by one, each greasy morsel
Down my gullet, and down my torso…

She’s a nice appearing lady
She looks not a little crazy
But she’s rather strange
When you get in the range
Of a mountain of deep-fried pastry!

Oh, what a commotion we’ve caused with our goo
The goo that came from our delickable food!
Fried up little fritters with apples and spice
Little fried muffins with cocoa-cake rice…

Fritters Frida is just fixin’ to grin
‘Cause she got whiff of that custardy maple thing
And we dream together, she and I
Of slinging deep fried custard in the president’s eye…

Oh, did I say something political,
That’s because Fritters Frida is critical
Of people who eat fried bread and creme tortes
But can’t stand up and speak in their shorts.

So if your shorts are too tight and you don’t have the cream
In your muffin or donut, you might as well scream.
Mr. Bush might hear you, and maybe he’ll fear you,
Or at the least, he’ll want to cover you with beans…

Mr. Cannibal President would eat you for dinner
And give you the reason :: you’re just a sinner
So spit in his eye, and fry up your pie
You’ll certainly come up the winner.

Well, Ms. Frida Fritter and I
We are sitting here in our pile of cookie pie
Thinking about the days gone by
And thinking about things we could fry.

My final idea is one that Bush had,
(Or maybe Bush had it because of his dad)
There’s a way to fry people without the greased lard
It’s much less difficult — much less hard…

You nuke ‘em with microwaves zapped from your thing
That has seven nozzles and is labeled “Here’s to spring”
They say it’ll only cook the outside of you brown,
But you never know, when Mr. Bush is around.

Well, Ms. Frida Fritter and I,
We are happy here in our fritter pie…
You see, Mrs. Fritter was fried…
So I thought, why not I?
And then I ended this thing with a sigh.

Kent Gustavson, Nov. 2005.

(For a more serious satire of flesh cooking weapons that the United States are developing, go to kentgustavson.com/cook)

I saw this thing in the woods today,
It wasn’t quite purple or pink or gray,
I wasn’t sure if I should greet it,
Surely my greeting wouldn’t please it…

I had been trotting through the autumn sun,
Rather oblivious to everyone,
When suddenly I spied
A young boy running by…

“Where are you running to, so fast,”
I asked the lad as he ran past…
“I have a date with the elefan-tun-tous,”
He said with no trace of boo hoos…

I tailed the boy as he footed it;
It could be interesting, couldn’t it?!
As we came to a clearing, I started to fearing,
For there were the elefan-tun-touses leering!

I stayed on the path as the boy approached the beast,
I thought he would certainly make the creature’s next feast,
But I was quite wrong, for the animal bent down,
He bent down all the way to the ground…

He hunkered down to the level of him,
And the boy climbed on up on the creatures great skin,
And the creature reared up with just a little jump,
Careful to keep the boy on his lump.

I was surprised, and I’m sure that I drooled,
For the elefan-ton-tous looked at me like a fool.
The boy layed himself down on the striped wrinkled skin,
In the sun, with straw in his mouth, and a grin.

I stood there and wished that I’d had the guts to try,
To approach the great beast, and ride up near the sky.
But alas, I am here, down on these two feet.
I guess I’ll finish my walk on the street.

But then the beast lumbered along,
Towards the path on which I was walking upon,
He trumpeted, and jumped up and down,
He danced a jig and did the splits on the ground.

I was so tickled, I laughed out loud.
Funny that such a creature could be such a clown!
I hopped up on the big fellows back, up near the sky,
And we’re still there, Mr. Elefan-ton-tous, the boy and I.

Now I didn’t tell you this tale to learn any lessons,
But if you wanted one, I suppose you could get one:
Don’t fear beastly creatures just because they’re not clean,
Instead ask them questions, and feed them green beans…

If they want to eat you, stay far from their mouths,
If they want to cook you, you better leave town…
But if they are nice, they will be your best friends,
And maybe they’ll let you ride near the sky once again!

(Kent Gustavson, October 30, 2005)