imagism

 

 

 

 

 

 “so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water…”

 

~ William Carlos Williams

(excerpt from The Red Wheelbarrow)

 

 

 

 

 

Last chapter

35382320383_903828d5e1_o

20562080551_e9beb18906_o

35765914980_40932d7f06_o

36503006266_d0e0fb6244_o

36493498995_5e8fbe7371_o-2

DSC_5009

35680238403_8fb4a84812_o

36134071952_7b11d877b7_o

DSC_4656

 

Summer sings its long song, and all the notes are green.
But there’s a click, somewhere in the middle
of the month, as we reach the turning point, the apex,
a Ferris wheel, cars tipping and tilting over the top,
and we see September up ahead, school and schedules
returning. And there’s the first night you step outside
and hear the katydids arguing, six more weeks
to frost, and you know you can make it through to fall.
Dark now at eight, nights finally cooling off for sleep,
no more twisting in damp sheets, hearing mosquitoes’
thirsty whines. Lakes of chicory and Queen Anne’s lace
mirror the sky’s high cirrus. Evenings grow chilly,
time for old sweaters and sweatpants, lying in the hammock
squinting to read in the quick-coming dusk.
A few fireflies punctuate the night’s black text,
and the moonlight is so thick, you could swim in it
until you reach the other side.

~ Barbara Crooker

at this table

 

DSC_6342

DSC_3344

31726266362_b70ba78358_okitch-table-winter

30850092740_4ce973d0fb_ogames.jpg

DSC_6267

DSC_8564

Perhaps the World Ends Here
~ Joy Harjo

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

a lot of history on this table
every scratch and water stain has its own story

DSC_6307

winter solstice

DSC_1356

30944996033_0c28c8964c_o

Remember, the time of year
when the future appears
like a blank sheet of paper
a clean calendar, a new chance.
On thick white snow

you vow fresh footprints
then watch them go
with the wind’s hearty gust.
So fill your glass. Here’s to us. Promises
made to be broken, made to last.

~ Jackie Kay

**********

Whatever is beautiful,
Whatever is meaningful,
Whatever brings you happiness…
May it be yours this Holiday Season
and throughout the coming year.

a pause

25606664293_a61654a73e_o

25961644570_1c06b70efe_o

This is not a season
but a pause
between one future & another,
a day after a day,
a breathing space before death,
a breathing, the rain

throwing itself down out of the
bluegrey sky, clear joy.

– Margaret Atwood
(from “Rain”)

Happy National Poetry Month!