In the moment of the Eye, when the storm catches its breath - when the air becomes as still and settled as death – we wander remains of tree limbs and pine cones, the power of the unknown more present than not, then head for shelter as the wind kicks in and tightens its knot
They Are From There
They are, to me, indecipherable as language, but beautiful, too, barely legible in the pen swoops capturing landscape and loss, the ancient land beneath them barely there, yet remembered like breathing, like singing, like writing poems by candlelight for someone else to read later
for #ds106 with this poem by Mahmoud Darwish as inspiration https://blogs.transparent.com/arabic/arabic-poem-%D8%A3%D9%8E%D9%86%D9%8E%D8%A7-%D9%85%D9%90%D9%86%D9%92-%D9%87%D9%8F%D9%86%D9%8E%D8%A7%D9%83%D9%8E-by-mahmoud-darwish/
My friend, Murph, was a drummer, extraordinaire - his back-beat, precise, like magic in the air
Calligram for #ds106 Daily Create https://flic.kr/p/2rxgbCZ
'tis the season for neither rhyme nor reason — no, wait — I rhymed that line that time — oh darn, and there I go again — forgive me, my friend, and allow me to make amends — oops, well, I suppose it's a songwriter's curse, and what's worse is that I actually tried — no, wait, hold that: I lied
for #ds106 Daily Create
It's hard to hold on beneath the barrage of bad news; but hope filters through
for #ds106
Go up into the gaps. If you can find them; they shift and vanish too. Stalk the gaps. Squeak into a gap in the soil, turn, and unlock-more than a maple- a universe. This is how you spend this afternoon, and tomorrow morning, and tomorrow afternoon. Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you. ― Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
Gap
there, beneath where you once removed the river rock, and tossed it to the trees, an outline remains, a pocket for rains
smooth sands by gravity's fingers; and in your mind, the rock's still there; it's the gap that disappears
for #ds106
even a teacher a poet a photographer (an) entity of landscapes explorer father / writer collaborator / musician himself (a) dog, unknown; a songwriter
a dada cut-up poem for #ds106 Daily Create
Deception, then: this morning's quiet is anything but, as I listen more closely, to hear:
the high frequency hum of the fridge the punctuated sound of the sump pump the whooshing of dehumidifier, cycling on/off the singing of birds through an open window the long sigh of the dog stretching on the couch the lone car, decelerating, a voice on radio the daily newspaper landing on driveway
I sit, sip and write
for #DS106 Daily Create
Inked words stumble on the page
What I mean to say is that a poem takes shape different on paper than a screen —
I am forever in revision in the words in-between
for #ds106 Daily Create (handwritten poem) https://flic.kr/p/2rhm1cK
Heaven Help Us: There Are Rivers In The Sky - Signs Of Life - Atmosphere Belonging
Book Spine Poetry for #ds106