The commonplace
entertains the unspeakable.
Horror yellows in vaults.
It is all recorded, all labeled
all explained or condemned.
We keep the worst atrocities close,
create libraries to warehouse
the obscene and gruesome.
We have photographed
every current ghastly act.
Pundits endlessly debate
the proverbs of ancient spiders.
Dragons guard the cribs
of our future demons.
Serpents thought read our dreams.
Slaughter demands its place in the sun.
Who then are we
to command this tide of blood
that washes so viscously
against our feet?
Abecedar baffles & confounds didn't even figure Google® helpful ~ I just kinda looked myself ~ not open-minded people questioning rational stuff ~ that until value wilts 2 year zero.
___________
NOTES:
Theodore Roethke likened poetry-forms to sieves, " . . . catching certain materials". Such an attractive sentiment about such an important human activity.
An artist friend once created an art-exhibit wherein the recipients were photographed and asked to write their opinion about his sign which read: "Art is a game with no rules", with the understanding that these too would be framed and added to the exhibit.
Robert Warlov likens 'Poetry-forms' to someone else's "Rules".
~
It makes sense that Wadandra had turned into a tree.
No one loved the forest more than she
For almost a hundred years, she made her home there
When she passed none of her people remained
Her husband and children had gone before her
People marveled when they saw her
She was photographed and revered
Showing up in an awesome way as an oak
our rounded sycamore
symmetrically sound
waiting to be drawn
photographed by many
the perfect model for a family tree
in my grandma's yard
I feel reverence and appreciation
rounded sycamore
Dear Penfold
Through the eyes of a warchild and she was me ..the world was beautiful and I trusted and respected people who were big , bigger than me ..
I would look up and see people and to me they were important and I felt safe in a beautiful place , a home of love ..
Then the dark shadow comes as it so often does for so many on our street
A little girl witnessed horrific scenes photographed upon her psyche ...A memory of hope, the little girl began a mission , a promise in a world distorted by narcissism, whom use the very likes of' " yourselves" to turn upon kindness and innocence, destroying the very fabric of human kindness...I made a promise to my friends whom all died at your very hands ...I promised to bring humankind back to help, to stop the baddies carry out their plans, and save our friends .
Forever and Ever
Amen
nature created me, defines me, emboldens me, holds me.
I am one with the stars, the oaks, the meadow and butterflies.
a tree hugger, a naturalist, I am uplifted by the outdoors.
a female Thoreau, I live in the woods gladly, feeling spirit.
surrounded by fox, squirrel, deer, raccoon, and muskrat,
I have found turtles, snakes, lizards, and ducks in Kansas
cardinals, blue jays, wrens and woodpeckers surround me.
mystical orbs are photographed by me around my dragonflies.
Two frisky kits
Enjoying each other
About the same size
Being watched by their mother
I used a telescopic lens
For I did not want to get carried away
By a super protective mother
Who might have chased me far that day
The kids had no idea
They are being photographed
I secretly named them
Minnesota and McRaft
Hubble photographed her
in her finest sapphire
and carnelian display;
a wizened sage who’s
gathered knowledge of universes
Orion takes his back seat to her luminosity.
Gowned in her elegant splendor,
Carina’s a nebulous delight,
upon Sagittarius’s Arm
a pageantry of excellence,
as she arrives at the universal ball.
I photographed a fake vase of roses
While I stood on a sidewalk doing poses.
I was patiently waiting for a bus home,
Then I realized home can be found wherever I roam.
It’s coming,
the tinsel train with its seasonal
non-tax declaring elves.
Of course they wave to us merrily,
of course we smile
push kids in front of us
as they seek Santa.
Not far now
the North Pole is at the back of the store
where Saint Nicholas keeps his secret stash
of whisky and weed.
We want to believe this is really happening
and that this magical moment
will live in a child’s-mind forever,
but no,
the kids just want to grab something
then run along more glittering tracks,
tickets held tight in small fists
on to the next promotional grotto
and another photographed event.
Nothing is lovelier than the perfect rose
Exploding with color from a single bud
A vivid red nothing surpasses, I suppose
Favorite of lovers and vain bluebloods,
Aficionados excitedly await the bloom
Master gardeners eagerly show them,
Camera at ready with a magnifying zoom
For an exquisite annual with prickly stem,
Well photographed before a coming rain
For such beauty may never again appear
It is snipped for a vase to extend its reign,
But, I suspect it will come back next year.
Written August 12, 2022
Medusa arrived like most dandelions
All over the place with a bobbly head
She was an anomaly, a work of art.
She exuded a rareness; she was unique.
I watched her fill up the dandelion patch.
She overtook her sisters and brothers.
A giant in their midst, Medusa was a catch.
I lugged strangers into my yard to see her.
She is no dandelion! Some would say.
Then what is she? They would examine her.
Some wanted to take her apart in dissection.
I sent them packing.
I stopped bringing strangers in to peer at her.
I felt I had violated her trust enough already.
The other dandelions started turning.
I photographed proof of Medusa.
On Fort Apache Indian Reservation, in Arizona, there is an old pueblo ruin called, "Kinishba", aka "Dull brown house in the middle of nowhere".
On a hill overlooking Kinishba, there is an older ruin where I enjoyed sitting to listen to the wind whispering among the pine trees as I photographed fauna going about their daily routine.
One morning, I was watching snow fall and melt on the ancient paths below, when I suddenly realised that -although water is heavy, and easily spilt - there was not one single path leading directly from the ruin to the spring at Kinishba!
Everyone knows the proverbial "straight and narrow" is the shortest distance between two points, yet every path to the spring had twists and turns for which there was no obvious reason!
One might imagine there may have been a long-gone tree, bush, rock, shrine, or some other superstition to account for those deviations but, whatever the reasons may have been, the snow made it crystal clear that people will ignore the easy straight and narrow to follow the long and winding path of their ancestors for no logical reason whatsoever, century after century after century.
Good luck to you!
The train was zooming by,
When I saw her like a veil
A mystical angel
In the heavenly sky…
She was strolling in the street;
She was immaculately neat.
It was like a dream;
I wanted to scream:
Oh! God, Oh! Beauty,
I just peripherally
Saw the most beautiful woman
On earth! She was way gorgeous than an omen,
And prettier than an April bouquet of flowers;
She smiled and laughed like no other creatures.
What a Joy! What a Beauty!
What a treat,
To have mnemonically photographed such a woman,
Who smiled like a Baby,
And who educed a warm drop of rain
From my right eye,
Which caused my heart to beat
So profusely and to switch side,
And my spleen to quiver,
And my soul to beg and twitter.
Oh! God, this one had no flaws,
No scars, no thorns, and no claws;
No tattoos, no chains, and no rings.
Her hair was her wings;
She swam through the clouds like a proud swan,
Like a mermaid in the deep blue ocean.
Copyright August 6, 2009, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several books.
The photographer did not have to tell this bride and groom to not smile.
He had not photographed such a dour newlywed couple ever in his life.
The man looked totally miserable, as did his unhappy looking wife.
They both looked angry, upset, and totally uptight.
The photographer thought this might be a dismal wedding night.
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