Poetry | Becoming is Superior to Being

Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Tag

Messages On The Wall 2 comments

Street Art — Photo-Artistry by kenne

messages on the wall
what you read
may not be
what you see

messages left behind
by those having
something to say
in pictures or words

messages of anger
messages of love
messages to the world
never pointless

sometimes
I think
sometimes
I don’t

I got the words
I got the pictures
I got the messages
I got the blame

soon to be
torn down, or
painted over
by censors

tomorrow new thoughts
will create new messages
rescue me before I
fall into despair

— kenne

Posted July 10, 2020 by kenneturner in Abstract Art, Capturing the Moment, Existential Moment, Information, New Orleans, Photo-Artistry, Poetry, Tucson Arizona

Tagged with Abstract Art, Messages, Photo-Artistry, Poetry, street art

Be patient toward all that is unsolved . . . 1 comment

Marine Blue-2846-72 Marine Blue, Mt. Lemmon (July 4, 2017) — Image by kenne

“Be patient toward all that
is unsolved in your heart
and try to love the questions themselves,
like locked rooms and like books that are
now written in a very foreign tongue.
Do not now seek the answers,
which cannot be given you because
you would not be able to live them.
And the point is, to live everything.
Live the questions now.
Perhaps you will then gradually,
without noticing it, live along
some distant day into the answer.”

— Rainer Maria Rilke

Posted July 9, 2020 by kenneturner in Butterflies, Capturing the Moment, Information, Mt. Lemmon, Photography, Poetry, Rainer Maria Rilke, Tucson Arizona

Tagged with Capturing the Moment, Marine Blue, Mt Lemmon, Poetry, Rainer Maria Rilke, Tucson Arizona

Some Trees 1 comment

Aspen Loop, hiking, Mt. Lemmon Aspen Loop On Mt. Lemmon (08/02/13) — Image by kenne

These are amazing: each
Joining a neighbor, as though speech
Were a still performance.
Arranging by chance

To meet as far this morning
From the world as agreeing
With it, you and I
Are suddenly what the trees try

To tell us we are:
That their merely being there
Means something; that soon
We may touch, love, explain.

And glad not to have invented
Such comeliness, we are surrounded:
A silence already filled with noises,
A canvas on which emerges

A chorus of smiles, a winter morning.
Placed in a puzzling light, and moving,
Our days put on such reticence
These accents seem their own defense.

— John Ashbery

“Written in 1948 when Ashbery was only 21 and a senior at Harvard College, this brief lyric has everything that his later, much longer, poems will advance. It is a love poem that never mentions love directly, but a feeling of being in love infuses the way the speaker sees, feels, and thinks about everything. It makes him feel both small and big, a tiny piece of a greater universe, but nonetheless connected to a world full of mystery and grandeur. A sense of the universe comes from gazing up at those huge trees from the ground while in love and remembering the immensity of that experience of feeling and thinking.” Source: Publishers Weekley

Posted July 9, 2020 by kenneturner in Aspen Trail, Information, John Ashbery, Mt. Lemmon, Photography, Poetry, Tucson Arizona

Tagged with Aspen Loop, John Ashbery, Mt Lemmon, Poetry, Santa Catalina Mountains, Tucson Arizona

Sheltered In Place Art 1 comment

Desk Lamp-Art-72 Sheltered In Place Art — Photo-Artistry by kenne

one day in the future
I will start a writing
“Once upon a time in
COVID-19 America.”

I will write about
how the pandemic
without warning
changed how we live —

how we make use of time
more time reading poetry
more time writing poetry
more time listening to music.

less time to be with friends
hiking the mountain trails
less time traveling to
vacation with family.

the pandemic lingers on
a time of more and less
a time when nature reminds
us of the need to work together.

over the last three months
I take more still-life
and landscape photos more
of our home surroundings.

— kenne

Posted July 8, 2020 by kenneturner in Information, Pandemic, Photo-Artistry, Poetry, Tucson Arizona

Tagged with Pandemic, Photo-Artistry, Poetry, Tucson Arizona

I, Too 3 comments

Alabama2006-11-13-25Lincoln web-Edit Lincoln, Alabama (Old Downtown Lincoln Station By The Railroad Tracks) — Photo-Artistry by kenne

When my brother and I were in elementary school
we lived with my grandparents in Lincoln, Alabama.

My grandparents had sold the farm and moved into town.
Grandfather bought a two-pump gas station out on the Highway.

All the years since the person I remember most was Dacey Bell.
She was a young black woman who would help take care of us.

We loved Dacey Bell, and she loved us, therefore making it difficult
For us to understand why she was not allowed to eat with us.

We would ask why, but never got a clear answer — it just was.
Then one day, Dacey Bell stopped coming to be with us.

Again we would ask why — “Where had Dacey Bell gone?”
We were told Detroit, she had gone to work in Detriot.

Years later when I first read Langston Hughes’s poem, “I Too,”
The line that stood out was, “They send me to eat in the kitchen.”

. . . again I thought of Dacey Bell

— kenne

I, Too, Sing America by Langston Hughes

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well, And grow strong.

Tomorrow, I’ll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody’ll dare Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.

Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed–

I, too, am America.

Posted July 5, 2020 by kenneturner in Black & White Photography, Capturing the Moment, Existential Moment, Information, Lincoln, Alabama

Tagged with Alabama, Dacey Bell, Langston Hughes, Lincoln, Photo-Artistry, Poetry

I Saw A Hummingbird As Big As The Sky 1 comment

Anna’s Hummingbird — Image by kenne

I saw a Peacock, with a fiery tail,
I saw a Blazing Comet, drop down hail,
I saw a Cloud, with Ivy circled round,
I saw a sturdy Oak, creep on the ground,
I saw a Ant swallow up a Whale,
I saw a raging Sea, brim full of Ale,
I saw a Venice Glass, Sixteen foot deep,
I saw a well, full of mens tears that weep,
I saw their eyes, all in a flame of fire,
I saw a House, as big as the Moon and higher,
I saw the Sun, even in the midst of night,
I saw the man, that saw this wondrous sight.

— Anonymous (400 Year-Old Nonsense Poem)

Posted July 4, 2020 by kenneturner in Arizona, Capturing the Moment, Information, Photography, Poetry, Tucson Arizona

Tagged with Anna's Hummingbird, Anonymous, Photography, Poetry, Tucson Arizona

Smoke And Haze In The Foothills 3 comments

Smoke & Haze-art-72 Smoke and Haze In the Catalina Foothills — Photo-Artistry by kenne

We must make the most of life’s ups and down

when downs seem to overwhelm

do everything to lift up life through images

revealing its most brilliants.

— kenne

Posted July 3, 2020 by kenneturner in Art, Bighorn Fire, Catalina Foothills, Information, Photo-Artistry, Poetry, Santa Catalina Mountains, Tucson Arizona

Tagged with Bighorn Fire, Catalina Foothills, Photo-Artistry, Poetry, Santa Catalina Mountains, Smoke and Haze, Tucson Arizona

Girl Scouts Learn About Nature Leave a comment

Girl Scouts In Sabino Canyon (11/12/14)

One girl looks

at my guide

another

at her own —

so much to learn.

Together

we share

nature’s beauty.

Never too early

or late to start —

some by

asking questions,

others speaking

without a voice.

— kenne

Posted July 2, 2020 by kenneturner in Black & White Photography, Capturing the Moment, Existential Moment, Information, Photography, Poetry, Sabino Canyon Recreation Area, Tucson Arizona

Tagged with B&W Photography, Girl Scouts, Poetry, Sabino Canyon

Rufous Hummingbird 2 comments

Rufous Hummingbird-72 Rufous Hummingbird — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Oh little bird, little bird

Come fly by my head

So I can hear your wings

Churn the air around me.

— kenne

Posted June 30, 2020 by kenneturner in Arizona, Capturing the Moment, Hummingbirds, Information, Photo-Artistry, Poetry, Tucson Arizona

Tagged with Photo-Artistry, Poetry, Rufous Hummingbird, Tucson Arizona

The Poet Is Sighing 1 comment

Jackson Square N.O. Dec 2014-2-Art-72 A Jackson Square Morning — Photo-Artistry by kenne

The fog begins to lift
cobblestones still wet
from a passing shower —
the poet is sighing.

Cathedral bells ring
pigeons flying off
leaving their home —
the poet is sighing.

I can lose myself
in the French Quarter
in its endless embrace —
the poet is sighing.

Deep shadows in
alleys behind iron gates
guarding tropical courtyards —
the poet is sighing.

A lone musician
plays a jazz tune
not seen, but heard —
the poet is sighing.

Artists make their way
down to the square where
they hang their painting —
the poet is signing.

Morning life in the square
repeats again and again
the movement of generations —
the poet is signing.

A child of the mist
catches my attention
in my camera’s eye —
the poet is signing.

We bookmark each moment
looking at you again,
Renaissance and me —
the poet is signing.

— kenne

Posted June 28, 2020 by kenneturner in Art, Existential Moment, Information, Jazz, New Orleans, Photo-Artistry, Poetry

Tagged with Existential Moment, Foggy Morning, Jackson Square, Jazz, Morning, New Orleans, Photo-Artistry, Poetry

Butterfly Royalty Leave a comment

Monarch Butterfly-Edit-1-art-72 Butterfly Royalty — Photo-Artistry by kenne

I say it’s a monarch

you say it’s a queen.

Either way,

both are beautiful

and butterfly royalty.

— kenne

Posted June 28, 2020 by kenneturner in Art, Butterflies, Information, Monarch Butterfly, Photo-Artistry, Poetry, Queen Butterfly, Tucson Arizona

Tagged with Butter Royalty, Debate, Monarch Butterfly, Photo-Artistry, Poetry, Queen Butterfly, Tucson Arizona

Bighorn Fire 4 comments

Bighorn Fire — Photo-Artistry by kenne

The Bighorn Fire

is burning up

my mountain

all my tears

won’t put it out.

— kenne

Posted June 26, 2020 by kenneturner in Bighorn Fire, Information, Mt. Lemmon, Photo-Artistry, Poetry, Tucson Arizona

Tagged with Bighorn Fire, Mt Lemmon, Photo-Artistry, Poetry, Tucson Arizona

Becoming is Superior to Being I come closest to succeeding by sharing.

Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Tag

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These are amazing: each Joining a neighbor, as though speech Were a still performance. Arranging by chance

To meet as far this morning From the world as agreeing With it, you and I Are suddenly what the trees try

To tell us we are: That their merely being there Means something; that soon We may touch, love, explain.

And glad not to have invented Such comeliness, we are surrounded: A silence already filled with noises, A canvas on which emerges

A chorus of smiles, a winter morning. Placed in a puzzling light, and moving, Our days put on such reticence These accents seem their own defense.

Share this:

Like this:

one day in the future I will start a writing “Once upon a time in COVID-19 America.”

I will write about how the pandemic without warning changed how we live —

how we make use of time more time reading poetry more time writing poetry more time listening to music.

less time to be with friends hiking the mountain trails less time traveling to vacation with family.

the pandemic lingers on a time of more and less a time when nature reminds us of the need to work together.

over the last three months I take more still-life and landscape photos more of our home surroundings.

Share this:

Like this:

When my brother and I were in elementary school we lived with my grandparents in Lincoln, Alabama.

My grandparents had sold the farm and moved into town. Grandfather bought a two-pump gas station out on the Highway.

All the years since the person I remember most was Dacey Bell. She was a young black woman who would help take care of us.

We loved Dacey Bell, and she loved us, therefore making it difficult For us to understand why she was not allowed to eat with us.

We would ask why, but never got a clear answer — it just was. Then one day, Dacey Bell stopped coming to be with us.

Again we would ask why — “Where had Dacey Bell gone?” We were told Detroit, she had gone to work in Detriot.

Years later when I first read Langston Hughes’s poem, “I Too,” The line that stood out was, “They send me to eat in the kitchen.”

. . . again I thought of Dacey Bell

I, Too, Sing America by Langston Hughes

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh, And eat well, And grow strong.

Tomorrow, I’ll be at the table When company comes. Nobody’ll dare Say to me, “Eat in the kitchen,” Then.

Besides, They’ll see how beautiful I am And be ashamed–

I, too, am America.

Share this:

Like this:

Share this:

Like this:

We must make the most of life’s ups and down

when downs seem to overwhelm

do everything to lift up life through images

revealing its most brilliants.

Share this:

Like this:

One girl looks

at my guide

another

at her own —

so much to learn.

Together

we share

nature’s beauty.

Never too early

or late to start —

some by

asking questions,

others speaking

without a voice.

Share this:

Like this:

Oh little bird, little bird

Come fly by my head

So I can hear your wings

Churn the air around me.

Share this:

Like this:

The fog begins to lift cobblestones still wet from a passing shower — the poet is sighing.

Cathedral bells ring pigeons flying off leaving their home — the poet is sighing.

I can lose myself in the French Quarter in its endless embrace — the poet is sighing.

Deep shadows in alleys behind iron gates guarding tropical courtyards — the poet is sighing.

A lone musician plays a jazz tune not seen, but heard — the poet is sighing.

Artists make their way down to the square where they hang their painting — the poet is signing.

Morning life in the square repeats again and again the movement of generations — the poet is signing.

A child of the mist catches my attention in my camera’s eye — the poet is signing.

We bookmark each moment looking at you again, Renaissance and me — the poet is signing.

Share this:

Like this:

I say it’s a monarch

you say it’s a queen.

These are amazing: each
Joining a neighbor, as though speech
Were a still performance.
Arranging by chance

To meet as far this morning
From the world as agreeing
With it, you and I
Are suddenly what the trees try

To tell us we are:
That their merely being there
Means something; that soon
We may touch, love, explain.

And glad not to have invented
Such comeliness, we are surrounded:
A silence already filled with noises,
A canvas on which emerges

A chorus of smiles, a winter morning.
Placed in a puzzling light, and moving,
Our days put on such reticence
These accents seem their own defense.

one day in the future
I will start a writing
“Once upon a time in
COVID-19 America.”

I will write about
how the pandemic
without warning
changed how we live —

how we make use of time
more time reading poetry
more time writing poetry
more time listening to music.

less time to be with friends
hiking the mountain trails
less time traveling to
vacation with family.

the pandemic lingers on
a time of more and less
a time when nature reminds
us of the need to work together.

over the last three months
I take more still-life
and landscape photos more
of our home surroundings.

When my brother and I were in elementary school
we lived with my grandparents in Lincoln, Alabama.

My grandparents had sold the farm and moved into town.
Grandfather bought a two-pump gas station out on the Highway.

All the years since the person I remember most was Dacey Bell.
She was a young black woman who would help take care of us.

We loved Dacey Bell, and she loved us, therefore making it difficult
For us to understand why she was not allowed to eat with us.

We would ask why, but never got a clear answer — it just was.
Then one day, Dacey Bell stopped coming to be with us.

Again we would ask why — “Where had Dacey Bell gone?”
We were told Detroit, she had gone to work in Detriot.

Years later when I first read Langston Hughes’s poem, “I Too,”
The line that stood out was, “They send me to eat in the kitchen.”

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well, And grow strong.

Tomorrow, I’ll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody’ll dare Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.

Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed–

The fog begins to lift
cobblestones still wet
from a passing shower —
the poet is sighing.

Cathedral bells ring
pigeons flying off
leaving their home —
the poet is sighing.

I can lose myself
in the French Quarter
in its endless embrace —
the poet is sighing.

Deep shadows in
alleys behind iron gates
guarding tropical courtyards —
the poet is sighing.

A lone musician
plays a jazz tune
not seen, but heard —
the poet is sighing.

Artists make their way
down to the square where
they hang their painting —
the poet is signing.

Morning life in the square
repeats again and again
the movement of generations —
the poet is signing.

A child of the mist
catches my attention
in my camera’s eye —
the poet is signing.

We bookmark each moment
looking at you again,
Renaissance and me —
the poet is signing.