Art History


Remember Art of Pouringmyartout?  Poor Art is not himself of late.  He has virtually disappeared.  No matter how much he protests, he still wants more comments for a stupendous record for one post.   So I’ve written a little ditty for him.  You may express your feelings, good or otherwise, at COMMENT HERE. Click this link and go to Art’s Comment Here post.  Thank you.

Art History

It began as a small attempt of sorts

Sitting at home in bermuda shorts

Pondering life and everything seedy

Watching men die for the rich and greedy


Quietly he left for the port of Marseilles

Drinking all night, sleeping all day.

Alone in a fresh fish bar eating beef

Two men, a midget and an Arab chief

They were a rather unpleasant sort

Demanded he give them his passport

Suddenly a throng of bad guys appeared

That was the night Art disappeared.


He awoke to a sound, an annoying patter

He knew without seeing what was the matter

Kidnapped, tied, thrown in a ship’s hold

He knew without telling, he was sold

To flesh traders in Africa, or Middle East

A slave in salt mines, or a waiter at least.


The ship sailed through storms and calm seas

Captain from Burma, the crew was Maltese

The men mutinied and helped Art to freedom

They gave him a lift to a seaport in Sweden

Alone in a bar, drinking vodka all night

He awoke the next day to a surprising sight


Soldiers were shouting, gearing up for battle

He asked a man was it Fresno or Seattle?

The soldier shrugged, he didn’t speak English

Art tried Esperanto, the kid could speak Yiddish

They were in Africa, a dangerous region

No problem for the French Foreign Legion.


Art began laughing, “there is no such thing

It was from an old movie with Hope and Bing,

Abbott and Costello, Jerry and Dean,”

He stopped his ranting and making a scene

He didn’t feel funny, he just felt trite

He simply could not get into their fight.


“I’m unfit, legally blind, too overweight,

My lungs are a problem, they always deflate

Have only one kidney, diabetic, flat feet,

Sleep apnea, reflux, allergic to beets.”


“Both knees are gone, must be replaced

Deaf in one ear, lost all sense of taste

Can’t smell, weak bladder, loose lips

Did I tell you I’m waiting for new hips?

Drank radioactive waste water for days

I’m very dangerous as plutonium decays.”


“I’m autistic, retarded, I’m mentally ill

You need a younger man, I’m over the hill

My stomach has ulcers, my bowels don’t work

I’m possessed by satan, I could go berserk

I have been in worse health, lousier shape

If I pay you, will you help me escape?”


He was promptly driven to a port in Dakar

He promised he would not drink in a bar

Hopped a freighter going to Calcutta

Senegal pirates fired shots from a cutter

Art took the helm, ran over their boat

Ran over them twice in case they could float.


The Captain pleased, offered him money

Crew was acting weird, acting kind of funny

Art sensed he was headed for trouble

He ran like hell, ran on the double

Jumped overboard, he dropped like a stone

Art sinking, would he ever see home?


Slowly he woke, his face in the sand

It took a long time for him to understand

A water geyser threw him clear of the sea

To a beach near where he wanted to be

The moral of this, all that one can say

Don’t eat beef in a fish bar in Marseilles.

7 thoughts on “Art History

    • Thank you. I hadn’t done those kind of poems since I was a teenager. I was notorious for writing those rhymes about people around me. Thanks for stopping by. Lucy

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