The final in this series of poetry at my feet -- On The Anniversary of My Death by W. s. Merwin

 

 

And so it ends...

 

For the Anniversary of My Death

BY W. S. MERWIN

Every year without knowing it I have passed the day

When the last fires will wave to me

And the silence will set out

Tireless traveler

Like the beam of a lightless star

Then I will no longer

Find myself in life as in a strange garment

Surprised at the earth

And the love of one woman

And the shamelessness of men

As today writing after three days of rain

Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease

And bowing not knowing to what

 

 

Poetic Feet Selfie 6 ~~~> Biopsy by Patricia Roth Schwartz

Not sure of all the bricks to catch my eye, why this one did, but it did. It took me to a poem where I was reminded that after news arrives, life can be familiar. Seeing the sun always helps as well.

Biopsy

After three leaden turns on no-sun, it comes;

one call splits the rest of your life off
from the whole like a calf from a glacier. Even
so the kitchen's full of light and the scent
of vanilla and apple. The dog's dancing at
the door ahead of her walk down the neighboring
road where she's got a friend, another dog whose
name you don't know. Along the ditch at the cornfield's
sere edge, where silver-bellied birds gorge on fallen
stalks, you watch the two of them mock/ growl, leap,
play/ fight, frolic, as if there were no before or after.

By Patricia Roth Schwartz

 

Poetic Feet Selfie 5 ~~~> The Angels of the Radiators by A. Poulin Jr.

The Angels of Radiators

Every night when my wife
and daughter are asleep
and I'm alone in this old house
lost in landscapes somewhere
between the points of stars,
my furnace fails like heaven.

The water that will turn
to steam and turn to heat
and rise as grace runs out.
In unlighted corners, angles
opening to blank space,
radiators, cold and white,
are silent and dead angels,
incarnate where they fell.

Every night, every winter,
I have to go down cellar,
turn the valve until the gauge
is full of water once again,
until the furnace starts
to rumble with its resurrection.
Then the house begins to move,
and through the winter night
that threatens us like Hell, by God,
the pure spirit of the fire roars
blue, veins ring, and radiators,
a whole chorus of Dominions, sing
and dance wild alleluias warm as spring.

"The Angels of the Radiators" is from Selected Poems.

As seen on The Poet Walk, Memorial Art Gallery, Rochester, NY

 

Poetic feet selfie 4 ~~> For This Thanks a poem by Sam Abrams

 

Day four. Searching the words at my feet brought me a title. The entire poem had been read that day in Rochester.

 

For This Thanks **This poem are carved into a granite band.**

heaven on our earth
hopscotch chalked on the sidewalk
dance! dear goddess hop! skip!

By Sam Abrams

 

Poetic feet selfie #3 ~~~ Our Family Tree By Joseph Cephas Holly

Our Family Tree

By Joseph Cephas Holly (1825-1855)

On the death of my sister Cecilia—the last of five members of the family, who died successively.

Our family tree is in the sear

And yellow leaf of life;

Branch after branch, year after year,

Yields to death’s pruning knife.

First, youngest born, as if ’twere meet,

The sacrifice should be,

"The last of earth," the first to meet

Th’ unknown eternity.

’Twas God who gave, ’twas He who took,

His voice let us obey,

So that in his eternal book,

Our names shine bright as day.

Source: African-American Poetry of the Nineteenth Century: An Anthology (University of Illinois Press, 1992)

 

 

 

 

A week of poetic feet selfies #2 --- what we can't know by James LaVilla-Havelin

what we can’t know

the number of the dead
the stretch of an hour
a bird’s heart
how our embrace feels to the embraced
the moment of a flower’s opening
dirt’s weight
outermost ripples of friendship and love
peace
what our hands do while we sleep
a lie’s uncurling
the depth of loss
an insect’s view
silence
morning brushing against treetops
how we are remembered

James LaVilla-Havelin, "what we can't know" from Counting. Copyright © 2010 by James LaVilla-Havelin. Used with the permission of the author.

As seen on the Poet Walk at the Memorial Art Gallery, Rochester NY

 

 

 

a week of poetic feet selfies ~~ It Wasn't The Wind by Linda Allardt

It Wasn't a The Wind by Linda Allardt Memorial Art Gallery Poet Walk

It Wasn’t The Wind

nor chasing squirrels

that brought the snow

down from the trees, but sun

before the clouds moved in.

I think of sails,

thin membranes spread

in the solar wind

Such far travel

before so slight a push,

always away from the sun

in slow acceleration, its course

an imperceptible bent past planets,

micro-impacts, the turbulence

where light meets light

between paired stars.

Stretched wide to the sun,

how far I find myself from anchor.

Linda Allardt, "It Wasn't the Wind" from Accused of Widsom (Foothills Publishing, 2004).

RevGals have me celebrating the good in the world

a lovely batch of crocus planted by my students

From The RevGals ~ ... So this week's Friday Five is courtesy of my good friends Frodo and Sam. Tell me 5 things that are good in our world. Or your world. Photos are a bonus. 

1.  Spiritual Direction ~ Trips to the Jesuit Center will keep happening, but I was prompted by my friend Robin, to try once again to have a director close to home.  This week we met for the second time.

2.  NOVA science NOW ~ Thank God that PBS freely streams their recent videos.  A 50 minute video can require 180 minutes of class time to get through as I constantly stop it to ask questions, to build upon what was shown, to listen to responses from my students.   

3.  I saw my first crocus.  Bulbs are emerging.  Birds are singing a bit more.  Sunlight bathes me earlier in the morning.  Wind chills remain.  All of this reminds me of a favored line of poetry ~

Lifeless in appearance, sluggish
dazed spring approaches

William Carlos Williams

4.  Jazz is good.  Jazz programs in our schools are good.  They inspire the future.

5.  People have dedicated their lives to feeding the hungry.  That is a good thing.   In Lansdale Manna on Main Street is doing the good work. 

A Few of My Favorite Things 4 ~ Woodpecker, a Haiku

Photo by Paul Stein

I love birds, but if forced to choose a favorite family, let me say it is the Picidae.

Maybe my next bird mosaic will be from my favorite group.  But for now I must sharpen my writing skills because I will be faced with a Haiku challenge on New Years Eve.

Woven together,

forests need undulating
flight of woodpeckers

A World War I Poem from one who was there, Wilfred Owens

from Flickr by Tim Brauhn

In college, a botany professor, who had barely survived Vietnam, handed me a book of poems by Wilfred Owens.  It included this poem ~

Dulce et Decorum est

By Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! -- An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. --
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, --
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

The Old Lie ~ a line from the Roman lyrical poet Horace's Odes (III.2.13). The line can be roughly translated into English as: "It is sweet and right to die for your country."


"

Film Noir II at the Ambler Theater

Our favorite theater, The Ambler Theater, has once again teamed up with our friend, Joanne Leva, to have an evening of poetry-noir. We will be over there and as you can see above, I have joined Mosaic Woman in being inspired by black and white and grays. The link will give you the details on the film, The Narrow Margin, which will start tomorrow night (3/30/11) at 7:30. We will be setting up before the movie and will hang around after the show to talk to the movie goers about our craft.

I only used three sheets of glass to create my four film noir starflowers. Three were old designs that spoke well to the idea and the fourth may look like one of my jazz improv pieces, but I designed it and cut out the pieces with this in mind. OK, the design was inspired by the improv pieces:


The Black glass is quite good at blocking all visible light, but the white glass was no match for this sunlight:


Mosaic Woman has been busy creating all kinds of mosaics for the event including a mirror that she just finished and is taking photographs of as I sit here completing this post.................... ...



see you in Ambler.

Poet Woman returns

When I met Mosaic Woman she was not one who made mosaics out of glass, but instead was a woman who wrote poetry. We moved 3000 miles or so to Oregon so that she could earn an MFA in creative writing. She continued writing for several years there after, but it was not something she nearly enjoyed as much as her time in the studio these days. She had to force herself to sit and write. Now she has to force herself to take breaks so that she does not end up with a repetitive stress injury from cutting glass.

But those poems were recognized by many who judge such things. Many were published in literary journals, she won contests, and even got herself a National Endowment for the Arts Grant at one point.

Winning the Montgomery County Poet Laureate award in 2000 led to her making a great friend. And those two events has led to her doing her first poetry reading in years tonight. Here are her thoughts on that and info on the event. I won't be there as it is going to be a night out with her good friend, but any local folk are surely invited to go check it out. Yes, we are letting you know kind of late.

not so lifeless

etsy shop

well, I am done with hearts for now... makes me think of the the standard.."I'm Through With Love." When I was making the icy blue heart, I nearly swerved away and directly into this project. I see it is an icy blue heart being melted by love. Maybe we all have icy blue hearts that need love. maybe my heart was never icy blue. But it sure feels warmer and less lifeless when love is around.

Ash Wednesday was looking like a busy evening... YMCA, dinner, church, some time with mosaic woman, finish work for my college class, pray... The classroom phone rang and I said, "Sure, I have the time" & "No, I don't live over that way." I got off the phone and was glad for this chance. It has been nearly two months since I went to see my friend and colleague who was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. My offer at work to deliver food was accepted and as I drove over to his house I couldn't help from wondering if he would even be up for a visit. His daughter answered the door. She said she would let him know I was there. The man came out and we chatted for over an hour. He has not holed himself up from the world. He has invited us in and I have accepted. I hope I can face illness in the same manner. He asked me questions showing he had clearly listened to me the last time we chatted. Another ember enters my heart.

Jesus cleared the Temple. I didn't even catch the connection to the storm at work till I was in front of my spiritual director. I guess sometimes you have to leave the silence to see things. Is that hope building that I may work in a more positive atmosphere?

and now for some poetry from William Carlos Williams poem Spring and All, which hangs in my classroom.

" Lifeless in appearance, sluggish dazed spring approaches"


No No No... Look down. Spring is emerging and though it is sluggish it is filled with life.