Three Ravens Of Christmas — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Ravens high on a snow-covered tree
Carrying on a winter conversation
Shaking snow on passersby.
What fun for them and those watching
Sharing the spirit of a new-fallen snow
Passing clouds and a nipping wind
Add mystery to a wintery scene.
Night, and I travelling.
An open door by the wayside,
Throwing out a shaft of warm yellow light.
A whiff of peat-smoke;
A gleam of delf on the dresser within;
A woman’s voice crooning, as if to a child.
I pass on into the darkness.
After a day of rain in the Tucson basin and snow on Mt. Lemmon, Tom, John, Jim and I hiked the Wildhorse Trail in the Saguaro National Park-East.
Click Here To See More Wildhorse Trail Images by kenne
Some critic tried to put me down —
“Your poems lack the Basic Truth of Tao”
And I recall the old-times
Who were poor and didn’t care.
I have to laugh at him,
He misses the point entirely,
Men like that
Ought to stick to making money.
She cares about the environment She questions the conditions She seeks knowledge She answers the questions She is a problem solver She accepts the facts She shares her world She sees limitless horizons She lives in the moment She is a naturalist.
“I am in the midst of ‘trying’ to memorize a poem . . .
‘Final Soliloquy of the Interior Paramour’ by Wallace Stevens . . .
never mind why . . .
although the exercise was triggered by a piece by
George Steiner in which he wrote:
‘The danger is that the text or music will lose what physics
calls its ‘critical mass,’ its implosive powers within
the echo chambers of the self.'”
Tom was aware that what is committed to memory
and susceptible to recall constitutes “The Blast of The Self,”
an intensity of outward attention — interest, curiosity,
a healthy obsession was a motivation stronger
even than love or hatred or fear.
— kenne
Final Soliloquy of the Interior Paramour
Light the first light of evening, as in a room
In which we rest and, for small reason, think The world imagined is the ultimate good.
This is, therefore, the intensest rendezvous. It is in that thought that we collect ourselves, Out of all the indifferences, into one thing:
Within a single thing, a single shawl Wrapped tightly round us, since we are poor, a warmth, A light, a power, the miraculous influence.
Here, now, we forget each other and ourselves. We feel the obscurity of an order, a whole, A knowledge, that which arranged the rendezvous.
Within its vital boundary, in the mind. We say God and the imagination are one… How high that highest candle lights the dark.
Out of this same light, out of the central mind, We make a dwelling in the evening air, In which being there together is enough.
Three Ravens Of Christmas — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Mountain Cabin — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Stumped in Time — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Saying Goodbye to Fall On Mt. Lemmon — Photo-artistry by kenne
Naturalist — Image by kenne
An Aspen Fall — Photo-Artistry by kenne
