Southwest Window — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Colors give life
to that without
motion —
but what is existence
without motion,
locked in time
forever!
— kenne
Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category
Southwest Window Leave a comment
Earth, Sky and Tumacácori Leave a comment
“Earth, Sky and Tumacácori” — Photo Artistry by kenne
A priestly man
once traveled
the desert southwest
mounted a horse
armed only with love
a force without
a presidio of soldiers
connecting with people
of many tribes
building adobe missions
each opened to the morning sun
located within walking distance
understanding the desert paradox.
— kenne
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Lonely Little Cloud Leave a comment
Lonely Little Cloud — Image by kenne
Lonely little cloud
Over the Catalinas
Soon to disappear.
— kenne
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Mexican Jay 1 comment
Mexican Jay On The Green Mountain Trail, Santa Catalina Mountains (May 17, 2019) — Image by kenne
Mountain clouds moved on
Jays calling one another
The wind settles down.
— kenne
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The Right Place — The Secret Is Out! 2 comments
The Right Place — Photo-Artistry by kenne
How will you know when
you are in the right place?
The secret is out!
. . . in a place where
each question
contains the answer.
You will know
that place
when you have
the right feeling —
The secret is out!
Or is it?
What to do
when the feeling
is missing?
. . . sadly,
your place
is not the right place.
kenne
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Aging — At The Pond’s Edge Leave a comment
At the Pond’s Edge — Photo-Artistry by kenne
The current issue of The New Yorker has an article on aging that begins:
“Aging, like bankruptcy in Hemingway’s description, happens two ways,
slowly and then all at once.” This quote in the article brought to mind the poem,
“Affirmation” by Donald Hall who passed away last year at 89.
To grow old is to lose everything.
Aging, everybody knows it.
Even when we are young,
we glimpse it sometimes, and nod our heads
when a grandfather dies.
Then we row for years on the midsummer
pond, ignorant and content. But a marriage,
that began without harm, scatters
into debris on the shore,
and a friend from school drops
cold on a rocky strand.
If a new love carries us
past middle age, our wife will die
at her strongest and most beautiful.
New women come and go. All go.
The pretty lover who announces
that she is temporary
is temporary. The bold woman,
middle-aged against our old age,
sinks under an anxiety she cannot withstand.
Another friend of decades estranges himself
in words that pollute thirty years.
Let us stifle under mud at the pond’s edge
and affirm that it is fitting
and delicious to lose everything.
— Donald Hall
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Pine Leaf Milkweed Pod 1 comment
Pine Leaf Milkweed Pod — Photo-Artistry by kenne
“Artists high rank, in fact sole social summits
which the tempest of politics can not reach.”
— from Beowulf Canto 43
