Archive for the ‘Song at Sunset’ Category
A Mouth Harp Sunset Song On Blackett’s Ridge — Image by kenne
Mouth Harp Song for the Sunset
Bend me a note,
low in the canyon wind—
sun’s going down,
day’s at its end.
Fire on the ridge,
stone cut against the sky,
harp keeps singing,
light says goodbye.
Oh, the shadows fall,
long and wide—
carry that tune
to the other side.
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“Walking in Sallow Waters” — Computer Painting of a Western Sandpiper Along the Sea of Cortés Shoreline by kenne
Sandpiper
He flies only to scurry along another
reach of surf where he
pricks the cold for prey smaller
than grains of prose. The freedom
to guess right is his autobiography, and as oracle
of the about-to-happen he prefers
the edges of day, dawn and sunset, and rainy hours
that never climb to noon.
He does not weary—his errands do not cease,
and his flight is a diary snapped open,
snapped shut, taking in no sweep
of mountain. Master of the hidden, witness
to the nameless, feasting on careers even
more unheralded than his own,
he cocks his wings
and darts with haphazard courage,
his virtuoso pause obvious to everyone
and secret.
— Michael Cadnum
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Illustrious the Sky (August 15-16, 2015) — Images by kenne
Splendor of ended day floating and filling me,
Hour prophetic, hour resuming the past,
Inflating my throat, you divine average,
You earth and life till the last ray gleams I sing.
Open mouth of my soul uttering gladness,
Eyes of my soul seeing perfection,
Natural life of me faithfully praising things,
Corroborating forever the triumph of things.
Illustrious every one!
Illustrious what we name space, sphere of unnumber’d
spirits,
Illustrious the mystery of motion in all beings,
even the tiniest insect,
Illustrious the attribute of speech, the senses, the body,
Illustrious the passing light—illustrious the pale reflection
on the new moon in the western sky,
Illustrious whatever I see or hear or touch, to the last.
— from Song at Sunset by Walt Whitman
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