Artist Painting In Sabino Canyon — Photo-Artistry by kenne
In The Beauty Created By Others
Only in the beauty created by others is their consolation, in the music of others and in others’ poems. Only others save us, even through solitude tastes like opium. The others are not hell, if you see them early, with their foreheads pure, cleansed by dreams. That is why I wonder what word should be used, “he’ or “you.” Every “he” is a betrayal of a certain “you” but in return someone else’s poem offers the fidelity of a sober dialogue.
Poetry summons us to life, to courage in the face of the growing shadow. Can you gaze calmly at the Earth like the perfect astronaut?
Our of harmless indolence, the Greece of books, and the Jerusalem of memory there suddenly appears the island of a poem, unpeopled; some new Cook will discover it one day.
Black Mountains, Arizona Geological Contrasts — Image by kenne
I was standing on the highest mountain of them all, and round about beneath me was the whole hoop of the world. And while I stood there I saw more than I can tell and I understood more than I saw; for I was seeing in a sacred manner the shapes of all things in the spirit, and the shape of all shapes as they must live together like one being. And I saw that the sacred hoop of my people was one of many hoops that made one circle, wide as daylight and as starlight, and in the center grew one mighty flowering tree to shelter all children of one mother and one father. And I saw that it was holy.
An Autumn Sunrise On Mt. Lemmon — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Signs of autumn echoes Throughout the forest As time present becomes Time past in a moment. As the aspen leaves Dance in the breeze There is only the dance — Neither moment from Nor towards.