Dark clouds slipping
through the cold gray skies of Spring;
Winter lingers on.
poetry
Dawn Haiku
Pastel skies of
Lavender, pink and tangerine
paint the morning.
haiku on spring
My ears warm to
the sweet sounds of Spring as
songbirds return.
haiku on self-deception
The butterfly
believes it’s flying, still trapp’d
in its cocoon
haiku on Autumn
Autumn paths remain
buried as Antigone’s wind shakes
the leaves from the trees.
haiku on poverty
An old man stands,
only holes for his pockets,
begging for more.
Speaking in Tongues
SPEAKING IN TONGUES
(based on 1 Corinthians 13:1 NIV)
“blah blah blah
blah blah blah blah blah
blah blah blahblah,
blah blah blah blah blah,
blah blah blahblah blah
blahblah blah blah
blah blahblah blahblah.”
So,
blah!
haiku end of Winter
One last lonely leaf
Fragile, ravaged by Winter
Barely hanging on
haiku on morning drive time
Morning horizon
Bright red, like rush hour brake lights
Warning in the sky
Night Rain
Night Rain
Splashes and Rivulets.
The rain dances then flows
washing, cleansing the
streets and sidewalks
by lamplight
while the city sleeps.
The sins of Winter
washed into the gutter and
time moves slowly.
I stare impatient
by the window
waiting for repentant Spring.
LOL 2
Another poem – this one’s about laughter itself.
Laughs Like Potato Chips
Laughs are like
potato chips
you can’t eat just one
Ha is not as infections as haha
or hahahahaha…
You can’t have tee without the hee
or teeheeheehee
It’s harder to grin
from one side of the mouth
easier with both
If you laugh without sound
you’re in very much danger
so wheeze, grunt, snort or chuckle
laugh until your weak in the knees
If the belly stopped after one shake
when it shakes with laughter
you would die
lots of laughs
are better than one
and laughing out loud
is better than death
LOL
There is a long proud history of bawdy humor in literature of all types including poetry. I’ve decided it’s time I give it a go at low brow humor.
Body Music
Farting is the sound
of the body’s marching band.
Its trumpeting brass,
thunderous drums, and
the delicate squeak of the clarinet.
Gaseous humors
released from within,
expelled with force or
slipping out through the cracks
in a hissing wind.
Grand multi-sensory experience –
whether earthquaking, embarrassingly obvious
or silent and deadly;
a bowel-shaking satisfaction
will always make you smile.
Polite society is no place for me.
Let the face bunch up in laughter
and let the ears tingle.
LET IT RIP! (and of course)
pass the nose-plugs please.
for more laughs….
http://mentalfloss.com/article/52419/11-literary-fart-jokes
Inspiration In Unlikely Places
My ears tingle from
the klatter and klang
Sturm und Drang…..
orchestra of rust
….. in…..
A concert hall of corrugated steel
over block walls
under a steel frame roof
blown by the wind
in a symphony of sound,
a joyful noise unto the Lord
The abandoned temple of industry
a holy shroud
baptized by peeling paint
once wet… shiny… new…
now cracked and broken
hardened by life
dry… damaged…
decay from neglect
a slow discard of memories
….. soon forgotten…..
Now the doors are thrown open
“Free Admission!”
“Welcoming All Worshipers!”
a gathering of misfits, undesirables and homeless,
insects, rodents and birds…
the garden within.
The heart finds redemption
in this arcane recital,
hallowed and profane
within the unsuspecting shell
… of shadows and shades.
the forgotten valentine
THE FORGOTTEN VALENTINE
Hearts and candy
Baked goods, cards and flowers
A saints holiday,
… the saint would not recognize.
Pagan cupids,
fleshy child-like innocents
with winking mischief,
ready with arrows and bow
to slay the expectant heart.
…… while other hearts
go unfulfilled
longing for companionship
like dry ground longs for rain.
… and winged cupid’s
in their flawed judgement
fly by… mocking
… saving their arrows
for the select few
and not the ones in need.
Laundromat
LAUNDROMAT
Chattering women
gossip pretentiously
each is right… each is self-assured of her rightness
even if they do speak in the tongues of angels
ignorance and distance.
I, huddled in the far corner by the door
recently propped open by a newcomer
transporting her laundry from car to machine
unaware of her effect on others
Cold winter air flooding around me
chilled to the bone
impatiently waiting
unable to escape
trapped in my domestic duty.
In 07minutes I will be able to carry
the cold, damp, freshly-washed garments and
deposit them into a warm dryer
to tumble and fluff then fold
and afterwards,
finally, leaving for the quiet solitude of home.
How cold is it?
WINTERS COLD
Winters cold lunges
clasping onto the unwary passerby
winters icy grip claws furiously
looking for any weakness
The traveler, wrapped in soft cloth
armor of futility
shuddering and struggling to keep out
the frigid beast
Winters cold, unrelenting in its search
finding exposed skin
like a wild animal, shakes it’s prey
tearing and biting the blood-filled shell of life
The traveler….. gasping, heart beating rapidly
slowly stiffening as the last vestiges
of warmth reluctantly flee
the beast boldly triumphant
….. until…..
The traveler ducks into an open door
homes welcoming hearth & warm familial remedy
the winter beast rears up wounded and repelled by warmth,
releases its hold then roars into the night
searching for a new victim
[in memory of the bitter cold of almost two weeks ago when temperatures here in Akron, Ohio literally rivaled those of Antarctica especially when factoring in windchill]
a wonderful video
Award-winning writer and photographer Teju Cole talks about – and reads from – his work of photography and texts, ‘Blind Spot’, which sprung from a period of semi-blindness: “So this is a book about the limitations of vision… when we’re looking at the world, there’s so much that we’re missing.”
new untitled poem
(untitled) 1/29/19 1AM
… with bigoted clam-shelled-shut heart
pinched accusation and fervent digit all gesticulation…
… their unctuous moral fortitude, no reverence for creation
razes the standard none can achieve
happy to fail, happy to fall
into the boiling cauldron of righteousness…
… reason lost.
Who will avail the good, decent, compassionate
and forgiving soil?
… planting seeds to each grow its own kind
fruit bearing and fruitless
watered by streams of untethered acceptance.
Virtues are best left in deep shadows
where they are not exposed to the light of…
… haughty self-aggrandizement,
bleached by self-promotion or discolored by false humility…
… left in the heavy darkness when eyes close
and sound fades to sleep…
… perchance to dream.
… on… the macro verse….
I’ve long been fascinated with macro photography. It’s so hard to do it right. And I’m usually too lazy to carry a tripod around so I’ve never really bothered. But lately, as my previous post shows. I’ve started getting into the so-called groove of close-up and macro imaging. I still don’t use a tripod – all handheld – so the number of useable images are limited.
This morning was a beautiful frosty December morning and I decided to go to a local park close to downtown and only about 5 minutes from my apartment. Here are two of the images I was able to use from this morning along with two new haiku. Hope you enjoy them.
Frosty mornings
Inhale a crispy frozen breath
I gasp, in love
Whiplash wind storm
When I am lost you bend me back
See what’s behind
The music moment is provided by the Tindersticks. Their song FROZEN from their recent album – The Something Rain.
… on… a thousand fading stars….
Night comes darkly
Bringer of dreams and nightmares
Floating in space
Flash of excitement
A thousand stars fading from view
Dreamers wake to light
Your music moment is by Mazzy Star – FADE INTO YOU
from their 1993 album So Tonight That I Might See.
… on… knock, knock….
Behind caged bars
restless heart, fearful mind
murmurs of change
This image is one of the not-so-hidden spaces in downtown Akron. Just on the other side of this building is South Main St. And it is adjacent to the Akron Civic Theater. This entire area has been under a slow renovation for several years. Just behind me is the popular LOCK 4 of the canal which runs through this area. It is already repurposed as a wonderful outdoor entertainment space with live jazz, blues and gospel over the warmer months. When I peered though the windows on South Main and between the bars through the cracks in the plywood I did see construction lighting and various clean-up tools as if this structure is under renovation. I just hope they don’t tear it down like they’ve done other historic buildings downtown.
Your musical moment to help digest this post is provided by FORQ (yep it’s pronounced fork). The track is titled THE HARD WAY from their self-titled album.
… on… lessons in rust….
Hello again everyone. As many of you know I have a preoccupation with the subject of rust in my photos. More than a few of my photos feature rust in some form. Today is no different. I’ve been thinking about why I find rust to be such a dynamic subject. Part of it is (as I’ve written on my previous blog) the Wabi-Sabi aesthetic; Finding beauty in the imperfect, the flawed and discarded. But it also goes beyond that. I think rust has many lessons to teach us. No only about the inevitable end of all things but also how we can come to terms with the inevitable end. Rust is strong. It’s strength does not lie in speed, or the forceful blow to its subject. Rust is gentle. It does not seek to hide – it is visible in its destruction. Rust takes it’s time; the object of its affection is coaxed into its corrosive embrace.
You and me like all things must end. It is the nature of things. We are mortal. That means we will not live forever no matter how hard we try to extend the time we have. I don’t care how fit you are, how free of disease you have been, your physical fitness, or your emotional health. You will die. In fact, you might say you are already dying. And that’s okay. There is beauty in the process. What? Yes, there is beauty in the process of dying = it’s all in how you look at it. You can approach it with grace and appreciation for the time you have and the inevitable end or you can fight it every single step of the way. I once heard a woman say, “I do not plan to grow old gracefully, I plan to fight it every step of the way”. I’ve always found that viewpoint rather tragic. But that is the prevailing viewpoint in western society. In fact the exception in western culture is that you must fight it and with medical and technological advances you can fight aging, disease etc. But that is all a delusion. In the west we have become masters of delusion and self-deception.
Why do we find Autumn to be one of the most beautiful times of the year? Autumn is the season of dying. The leaves on trees are the most colorful just before they die and fall to the ground. And this change seems to happen rather fast but the change actually started at the point the leaf first came out and reached maturity on its branch back in the Spring. Our lives are the same way. It’s not just the newborn and young that are beautiful. Beauty is enhanced through experiences that are both good and bad. Rust is like that; it is one of those experiences that may seem to hasten the demise of something but it does not know that. It just is. It is a part of nature. A part of life experience just like disease, physical and emotional discomfort. Those things exist to add to our beauty.
You find me
Slowly you Change my life
I love you
**************
I feel your presence
your corrosion adds beauty
glory of Autumn
**************
Your rough embrace
Enhances my life through change
I welcome you
**************
The color of love
Textures the smooth beauty of life
Open arms tremble
**************
Sing a song of rust
A slow ballad of decay
Autumns dying love
***************
Sound of slow scraping
Crippled dry dusty fingers
Wabi-Sabi world
****************
Illusions of age
You teach strength through weakness
Beauty in Frailty
Your music moment provided by a band I recently discovered and had to buy all their albums – Do Make Say Think – A TENDER HISTORY IN RUST from their album You, You’re A History In Rust.
Album version
Alternate version
****Hey! if you have short form poem or haiku about rust and the ideas I’ve written about, please feel free to post in your comment. 😉
… on… autumn compositions….
Dream a little dream
Live a large life full of love
Die with grace and peace
New blooms in spring
a carnival of life takes flight
Autumn sees it die
Grace to suffer
One season flows into another
Life without end
*****todays music moment features Syd Arthur. This English band from Canterbury are often described as psychedelic jazz but I think it’s got more of a progressive rock feel. The band’s name is from Hermann Hesse’s 1922 novel – Siddhartha. Phonetically similar to Siddhartha the changed spelling to Syd Arthur is a nod to the bands primary influences of Syd Barrett and Arthur Lee. This track is INTO ETERNITY from their 4th album APRICITY. Enjoy.
… on… structuring the dawn….
Eyes dim with sleep
Waking from dreams, slowly open
Structuring the dawn
Night blurs into day
Colors and shapes come into focus
Morning clings to light
***The following music moment is from one of my favorite new albums A COMMON TRUTH by Saltland – which is the genius of Canadian composer and musician Rebecca Foon. Her previous projects include the groups Esmerine and Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra – all on Constellation Records.
Saltland – LIGHT OF MERCY
… on… 3 new haiku attempts….
Squirrel sky highways
wires crossed to connect
away from the road
Autumn breathes In Moods
Warm days, cool nights and waterfalls
Time dreaming TWIN PEAKS
Driving brings limits
Destinations form in the soul
Spirits need no roads
… on… signs of autumn….
Leaves are Falling
Swimsuits exchanged for flannels
Signs of Autumn
I’ve been a fan of composer, musician Jia Peng Fang (Chinese: 賈鵬芳)
for years. He’s from China and plays a traditional folk instrument called the Erhu (Chinese: 二胡). I find the mournful sound soothing as the Summer drifts quietly and slowly into the sunset and Autumn rises in the cool crisp morning. May this new season bring many blessings to all who read this.
***fyi – Artist website is very interesting with great pictures, videos etc – but only language options are Chinese or Japanese – however, you don’t need to understand the spoke/written language to understand the language of beautiful music – so check it out.
… on… wisdom….
Maya Angelou has been one of my favorite poets for quite a long time. I recently came across these videos of her expressing wisdom that we can all put into practice.
and two of her poems…
… on… a river of love….
There’s a river of love that runs through all time
But there’s a river of grief that floods through our lives
It starts when a heart is broken into
By the thief of belief in anything that’s true
But there’s a river of love that runs through all time
There’s a river of love that runs through all time
But there’s a river of tears that flows through our eyes
We fight through the night for freedom as it fades
Into a jail where we fail everytime we make a break
But there’s a river of love that runs through all time
I had to run before I knew how to crawl
The first step was hard
But I have had trouble with them all
But now the night grows darker
And the day grows dim
Cause I know I never will see you again
And I almost made you happy
There’s a river of love that runs through all time
But there’s a river of fire that burns with no light
The flame is the pain of dreams gone up in smoke
From the lies we deny and breathe until we choke
There’s a river of love that runs through all time
~T-Bone Burnett
… on… windows & walls….
Sometimes life is ALL walls & windows… no doors.
But it is still life.
And in my confinement I found contentment.
Quietly sitting in the center
To weak to climb the walls
I found a shovel and started to dig instead.
My contentment brought enlightenment
and opportunity… my sight was more
than any window could afford.
~ mobius faith (Akron,OH 8/5/17
… on…swallows play….
Field For Swallows Play
Where have all the swallows gone?
wings clipped
caged spirits
songs silenced
ghosts of freedom
murmurations
of grace and dignity
gone gone gone
hiding in dark shelters
feathers tremble
hearts quiver
waiting for the noisy,
angry hunter to leave
fire burns the fields
arrogance tears down shelters
bringer of death
the enslaver comes with a mocking grin
noisily waving a flag
… on… the wasteland….
“What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”
~ T.S. Eliot
WASTELAND #1
... on being and becoming ... 