Category: On Nature

Dec 17

Crossing the desert

Riding home at dusk just north of Phoenix, where the mountains ease into valley and where the saguaro cacti first begin to appear on the landscape, I was captivated by their beauty as silhouettes in the waning light. They looked like crosses. I thanked God for giving me the ability to see beauty, but more so for giving me the ability to see life through a unique perspective. It takes 75 to 100 years for a saguaro to grow its first side arm. These are old cacti. I don’t know for sure, but the Indians must have considered them holy landmarks as well. Saguaro Cactus at Sunset

Source: ADP

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Oct 27

Changes

My daughter texted me that she is currently stuck on David Bowie’s song “Changes.” As many times as I’ve listened to the song, I never really listened closely to the lyrics or read them until today. What great lines — “turn and face the strange,” “so I turned to face me” and “ripples change their size but never leave the stream.” As the country slips into fall and times change along with landscape and temperatures, my daughter and I are facing more major changes in our lives. But we are “facing the strange” with faith. We are trying to remember to look at the indescribable beauty of light and color in autumn trees, to revel in cooler breezes that whisper into our skin. When the progression to something new is so evident, remember to pause for pleasure. It’s there moving in the ripples always waiting for us to see it. blog of seeds

Source: ADP

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Jan 28

Fluttering of wings above great fortune

Tooting my horn remains difficult though I know that self-promotion is crucial these days. I hide my little successes under modesty, trying to stave off a pet peeve – pride. But, my recent luck (really nothing in the scheme of things) amuses me. Yesterday an editor phoned seeking to publish one of my poems. Mind you I’ve had almost a hundred works published and it’s not The New Yorker, Ploughshares, Gettysburg Review, or even Poetry, but it is — an editor from out of state who had enough interest to call. Thank you, Gail of Kaleidoscope Magazine. You’ve given me a flicker in my recent dusking of spirit. Poets always dream of being widely read and crafting words that move others, but perhaps love and the care of another human being in need may be my greatest accomplishments while on this earth. My words may be more like the fluttering of wings above that great fortune.

Source: ADP

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Oct 11

Hugo where I go

“Be like the bird that, passing on her flight awhile on boughs too slight, feels them give way beneath her, and yet sings, knowing that she hath wings.” Victor Hugo

Be like the bird who, halting in his flight on a limb too slight, yet sings, knowing he has wings.  Victor Hugo

“Let us be like a bird for a moment perched
On a frail branch when he sings;
Though he feels it bend, yet he sings his song,
Knowing that he has wings.”  Victor Hugo
Saw a variation of this Hugo quote on a site but could not share it. So I searched for the quote elsewhere on the Internet to cut and paste. Funny thing is, I found several variations. I find it difficult as a poet to imagine having my words paraphrased or rewritten when we as poets select just the right words for a multiple of reasons after must consideration. Which version do you like the best? This brings me to the topic of translations. Great vehicles to share great words … but at what cost. Would you want your poems shared in another language if your exact words were lost?

Last thing I want to share, this comment also from someone out there on the Internetsphere,  “I think the hard part is singing even when you know you don’t have wings!” My sentiments exactly. Where Hugo, I go.

Source: ADP

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Oct 10

Hugo where I go

“Be like the bird that, passing on her flight awhile on boughs too slight, feels them give way beneath her, and yet sings, knowing that she hath wings.” Victor Hugo

Be like the bird who, halting in his flight on a limb too slight, yet sings, knowing he has wings.  Victor Hugo

“Let us be like a bird for a moment perched
On a frail branch when he sings;
Though he feels it bend, yet he sings his song,
Knowing that he has wings.”  Victor Hugo
Saw a variation of this Hugo quote on a site but could not share it. So I searched for the quote elsewhere on the Internet to cut and paste. Funny thing is, I found several variations. I find it difficult as a poet to imagine having my words paraphrased or rewritten when we as poets select just the right words for a multiple of reasons after must consideration. Which version do you like the best? This brings me to the topic of translations. Great vehicles to share great words … but at what cost. Would you want your poems shared in another language if your exact words were lost?

Last thing I want to share, this comment also from someone out there on the Internetsphere,  “I think the hard part is singing even when you know you don’t have wings!” My sentiments exactly. Where Hugo, I go.

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Sep 09

Live long and google

Live long and Google! Thanks to our innovative and happening friends at Google my day has been made (right here in the home stretch to the midnight hour)! Not sure how long the Star Trek interactive icon has been up, but I just saw it and checked it out. Great stuff, Google. Happy 45 years to all forward thinkers and dreamers. This almost tops my Star Trek find at Goodwill this week. Thanks also today to Valerie Johnson of Chicago’s best poetry magazine ever,  Poetry. How many can claim they’ve done it for 100 years, yet alone, done it right (and/or done it with poetry). Valerie made the trip to Springfield to collect a Centenarian award from the Illinois State Historical Society. Beyond 100 years, and Star Trek and Google, good folks like Valerie, surpass the stars in my books. There’s nothing better than the humble and kind. Make sure to check out the Poetry Foundation, and if you are in Chicago, the awesome new green building they are housed in (by John Ronan Architects).

 

 

Source: ADP

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Sep 08

Live long and google

Live long and Google! Thanks to our innovative and happening friends at Google my day has been made (right here in the home stretch to the midnight hour)! Not sure how long the Star Trek interactive icon has been up, but I just saw it and checked it out. Great stuff, Google. Happy 45 years to all forward thinkers and dreamers. This almost tops my Star Trek find at Goodwill this week. Thanks also today to Valerie Johnson of Chicago’s best poetry magazine ever,  Poetry. How many can claim they’ve done it for 100 years, yet alone, done it right (and/or done it with poetry). Valerie made the trip to Springfield to collect a Centenarian award from the Illinois State Historical Society. Beyond 100 years, and Star Trek and Google, good folks like Valerie, surpass the stars in my books. There’s nothing better than the humble and kind. Make sure to check out the Poetry Foundation, and if you are in Chicago, the awesome new green building they are housed in (by John Ronan Architects).

 

 

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Jun 03

The poetry of birds and fish

Years ago, I wrote a sonnet about flying in my dreams. It is titled, Flying, with the closing couplet, “To flight, to search for freedom, we fleet/While fish they wish their fins were feet.” This ties into my day. Today, with great sadness, I watched my dog attack a bird. The bird suffered. Though upset, I was intrigued by the other birds. The robins were screeching. A mourning dove sat guard for a while after the robins pecked a grackle away. A few finches and wrens came and sat on the fence to see what was going on. I wonder if birds do everything on instinct or if there exists some small kind of feelings under all those feathers. On a happier note, Springfield Poets and Writers‘ teen anthology Navigating the Maze is published and copies distributed to contributors. With SPW and Adonis Designs Press, I design and edit the publication, of which the art selected for this year’s cover is titled, Fish. It is the image that one will see on these websites. Now I must tell you, the poem makes allusion to evolution. Fish may love to swim if they too have any feelings under those scales. As a swimmer, I must also tell you that it is as glorious to swim and it is to fly in your dreams. It’s all poetry to me!

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Feb 10

Automatonphobia, Geeks and Nerds, and Sci-Ku

It began with Jeff Williams. Who is Jeff Williams? He’s a Springfield artist and musician from a popular local band NIL8. Fabulous performers, the kind that made you think, “these guys will make it far,” the group toured nationally, opening for famous bands including Smashing Pumpkins. Recently, Williams passed through my life because his work is on exhibit at Robert Morris Gallery in downtown Springfield. Williams kicked my geek meter up a notch on two fronts (or maybe it’s nerd meter). First, his art is titled Automatonphobia. Google that one! Love it, love it, love it! Second, after speaking with him about the show, he referred to himself as a nerd. This prompted an extensive search of the terms “nerd” and “geek.” What is that quote about no man in his own country? In postscript, in the ever turning synchronistic cogs of my life, I also at this time came upon a literary magazine that listed a page of Sci-Ku poetry. Having invented our own Low-Ku here in Springfield (Low-Ku — the poetry, not of nature, but of urban life and all its unpleasantness), it was delightful to find Sci-Ku. Love it, love it, love it. Not to mention the Fibonacci Sequence…plasmoids…white dwarfs…but that’s another post.

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Nov 21

Year of the raspberry

Rumor has it that the alternative English rock band The Lightning Seeds named themselves after a misheard lyric in the song Raspberry Beret by Prince: “Thunder drowns out what the lightning sees.” Inspiring poetic lyric and a wonderfully fun-poetic-mistake-for-a-band-name. This has been the year of the raspberry. My most successful crop this year was in fact a raspberry bush. The thing didn’t stop producing. I’d go to it in late morning and gather a meal, and find such peacefulness and joy in the act of gathering berries. It is a gentle, slow, and quiet process. The plant towered over me, and I felt lost in it sometimes. I marveled at the attention it took. To avoid thorns, I moved my hand slowly under and over and between the leaves and prickles. A light grasp was needed so as not to smash the fruit. Then, a gentle hand was still needed when I washed and inspected the raspberries for tiny black bugs or decay. The fiery bush has so inspired me that I penned a poem for the Springfield Watercolor Society’s first-place-ribbon painting in its fall exhibit. I titled my poem, The Hunt. Find it soon somewhere, or I’ll post it to this blog. In the meantime, check out this link to John Bradley at the NEA website and enjoy more raspberry mania. http://www.nea.gov/features/writers/writersCMS/writer.php?id=07_26

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