Bull Riding — Image by kenne
This bull means business
Not an artificial ride
An all-business dude
— kenne
Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category
Bull Riding 1 comment
This bull means business
Tracks In The Snow Leave a comment
Tracks In The Snow — Image by Katie Turner Bailey
Delicate frigid flakes layer and repeat
As tracks trace a path of adventurous feet
Soon to be melted by warming rays…
Fading away with winter’s dreary days
— Theresa Ann Moore
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Checker White Butterfly 1 comment
Checker White Butterfly — Image by kenne
One Day Butterfly
Aren’t we all one-day butterflies,
not aware of time.
Searching for partners or honey
until Death kisses us.
Then in his arms, tenderly rocked,
waiting for a new chance
to fly away again
and join the dance
of the one-day butterfly
— Mary Emily Bradley
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Homeless 4 comments
Hut In Southern Arizona — Image by kenne
Homeless;
– Down by the muddy Mississippi
Skinny as a rail,
Sleeping under the old Eads bridge
Feeling low, dirty, and frail –
Homeless;
– With less than two coins
In both pockets,
Empty eyes
Look through sunken sockets –
Homeless;
– So many people walk right on by
I wonder how many care,
They all keep moving
Even though they stare –
Homeless;
– Lost a job
Lost a home,
Lost a family
Lost all hope –
Homeless;
– Where will I go from here
What should I do,
I’m so thankful when the weather’s fair
And the skies are blue –
Homeless;
– Don’t know the day nor season
And, yea, it sure gets cold at night,
I’ve got an old sleeping bag
I’ll be alright –
Homeless;
– There’s so many of us out here
Without a home,
Even so
I feel so very alone –
Homeless;
– It’s a tough situation
Not pretty, just true,
And at any time
It could happen to you –
Homeless;
– Hey buddy…
Could you spare a dime,
And say a prayer for us
… sometime –
– I’m just homeless, not less human…
— Smoky Hoss
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A Poem By The People 3 comments
Amanda Gorman — Source: Cultured Magazine
Congratulations to Amanda Gorman, the National Youth Poet Laureate of the United States,
who will deliver a poem at the presidential inauguration on January 20th.
— kenne
There’s a poem in this place—
a poem in America
a poet in every American
who rewrites this nation, who tells
a story worthy of being told on this minnow of an earth
to breathe hope into a palimpsest of time—
a poet in every American
who sees that our poem penned
doesn’t mean our poem’s end.
— from In This Place (An American Lyric) by Amanda Gorman
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‘Hope is a slave; Despair is a freeman.’ 1 comment
Male Cardinal in Sabino Canyon, An Early Sign of Spring — Images by kenne
The Freeman
‘Hope is a slave; Despair is a freeman.’
A VAGABOND between the East and West,
Careless I greet the scourging and the rod;
I fear no terror any man may bring,
Nor any god.
The clankless chains that bound me I have rent,
No more a slave to Hope I cringe or cry;
Captives to Fate men rear their prison walls,
But free am I.
I tread where arrows press upon my path,
I smile to see the danger and the dart;
My breast is bared to meet the slings of Hate,
But not my heart.
I face the thunder and I face the rain,
I lift my head, defiance far I fling, —
My feet are set, I face the autumn as
I face the spring.
Around me on the battlefields of life,
I see men fight and fail and crouch in prayer;
Aloft I stand unfettered, for I know
The freedom of despair.
— Ellen Glasgow
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Who Killed Cock Robin? Leave a comment
American Robin — Image by kenne
Who killed Cock Robin?
I, said the Sparrow,
with my bow and arrow,
I killed Cock Robin.
Who saw him die?
I, said the Magpie,
with my little teeny eye,
I saw him die.
Who caught his blood?
I, said the Duck,
it was just my luck,
I caught his blood.
Who’ll make the shroud?
I, said the Beetle,
with my thread and needle,
I’ll make the shroud.
Who’ll dig his grave?
I, said the pheasant,
it wasn’t very pleasant,
I’ll dig his grave.
Who’ll be the parson?
I, said the Rook,
with my little book,
I’ll be the parson.
Who’ll be the clerk?
I, said the Lark,
if it’s not in the dark,
I’ll be the clerk.
Who’ll carry the link?
I, said the Linnet,
I’ll fetch it in a minute,
I’ll carry the link.
Who’ll be chief mourner?
I, said the Dove,
I mourn for my love,
I’ll be chief mourner.
Who’ll carry the coffin?
I, said the Kite,
if it’s not through the night,
I’ll carry the coffin.
Who’ll bear the pall?
I, said the Crow,
with the cock and the bow,
I’ll bear the pall.
Who’ll sing a psalm?
I, said the Thrush,
as she sat on a bush,
I’ll sing a psalm.
Who’ll toll the bell?
I, said the Bull,
because I can pull,
I’ll toll the bell.
All the birds of the air
fell a-sighing and a-sobbing,
when they heard the bell toll
for poor Cock Robin.
— English Nursery Rhyme
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January Sunrise, Tanuri Ridge 2 comments
January Sunrise, Tanuri Ridge — Image by kenne
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
— from Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot
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Sanderling Wading Birds 1 comment
Sanderling Wading Birds — Photo-Artistry by kenne
It is possible to walk along the shore
run from the incoming waves
or if you prefer to wade in the water
splashing and kicking as the waves
move in and out not distracting
the sanderlings, or are they sandpipers
wading and probing as loud,
squawking seagulls fly overhead
only to be decorated from above.
— kenne
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Empty Pot, Empty Bottle — And In Conclusion Leave a comment
“Empty Pot, Empty Bottle” — Dos XX Amber Still Life by kenne
A Word About Transitions
Moreover is not a good way to start a poem
though many begin somewhere in the middle.
Secondly does not belong
at the opening of your second stanza.
Furthermore is to be avoided
no matter how long the poem.
Aforementioned is rarely found
in poems at all, and for good reason.
Most steer clear of notwithstanding,
and the same goes for
nevertheless, however,
as a consequence, in any event,
subsequently,
and as we have seen in the previous chapters.
The appearance of finally
in your final stanza will be of no help.
All of which suggests (another no-no)
that poems don’t need to tell us where we are
or what is soon to come.
For example, the white bowl of lemons
on a table by a window
can go anywhere all by itself
and, in conclusion, so can
seven elephants standing in the rain.
— Billy Collins
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Sonoran Street Leave a comment
Sonoran Street — Image by kenne
The picture was there
in my mind,
it always had been
to capture it
I must first find it.
Suddenly,
the scene was set
repeating
what was now scripted.
— kenne
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I Dream of A Quiet Man 1 comment
Fiddleneck Wildflowers — Photo-Artistry by kenne
I dream of a quiet man
who explains nothing and defends
nothing, but only knows
where the rarest wildflowers
are blooming, and who goes,
and finds that he is smiling
not by his own will.
―
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Climate Change 10 comments
Climate Change — Abstract Art by kenne
black and gray
drowns
out the blue
oceans
full of plastic
poison
in our water
virus
in the air
deserts
are dryer
water
in the streets
glasers
are melting
forests
are burning
times
are changing
— kenne
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Stones Leave a comment
Stones — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Stones
I bring them from the mountains,
from the sea, from the edge
of streams and look at them,
heft them, hold them hard
while they keep holding themselves
harder. Is it because
they haven’t had to change
their surfaces in our time
though, in theirs, they’ve suffered
the blunt demands of ice
and water and wind and god
knows fire, been cracked and frozen,
thawed, made molten again
and again have started over
grinding and being ground
from monument to boulder,
to rock, to river stone,
to gravel, to pebbles, to sand,
to slurries of grit, to dust?
— David Wagoner
(Source: Terrain.org)
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Phainopepla In Sabino Canyon 2 comments
Phainopepla In Sabino Canyon — Image by kenne
Sabino black prince
Perches high so to be seen
Singing to be heard.
— kenne
