Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Tag

Sabino Creek — Ash From The Bighorn Fire   1 comment

Sabino Creek — Ash From The Bighorn Fire — Image by kenne

It happens that I get tired
of revolutionary cafes
and peacock poets
of narcissistic reflexives
and the songs of the deaf.

It happens that I am terrified
by this hardened generation
that rushes out in search of absolutes
fashions names and blasphemies,
doctrinizes on the pros and cons
of armed struggle,
and meditates, with a beer in its hand
and a sour cry on its lips
on the cadavers of others

Who are  we?
Those same parishioners perhaps
who come and go indifferent
along the streets
on the Day of the Dead
with our hands full
of death’s-head cakes
and our hearts in ashes.

— from Day of the Dead In June by Lucha Corpi

Rainy Morning In The Canyon   Leave a comment

Rainy Morning in Sabino Canyon — Photo-Artistry by kenne

          Rain
          Sybilline heiress

     Droplight
     Lightning water

          air prison
          heart sugarcane

     Song crystal
     word song

          a promise
          a lie

     in drops of sand
     hidden.

— Lucha Corpi

Feeling High   Leave a comment

Purple Sunset — Photo-Artistry by kenne

About the time

I’m feeling high

I start acting funny

But don’t know why

 

Today becomes the day after today

Or is it the end of time

Only to be floating in

An ocean of deathless life

  

Feeling gratitude for God’s gift

Awaking the soul

Becoming void as I was

When I was not yet

  

“Turn from gazing after.”

To kiss the sky

Devoid of all

Foreign images

 

Only to be

Born again

From inside the outside

Looking in

 

Jimi had a spell

On his brain

Purple in color

Inspired by a Haze

 

Deluded by doubt

“Am I happy or in misery?”

To be answered not in the words

But the color of the font

— kenne

Katelyn Is Seventeen Today   1 comment

Katelyn Turner (03/15/14) — Photo-Artistry by kenne

The Eyes Tell You

Little girls have a mysterious power,

But not all can feel it – when she does,

You can see it in her eyes.

As she matures, she’s driven

To climb the tower of perfection,

Always resisting her indifference.

Her enigmatic power is needed

To stir the artist inside,

To triumph over the unenlightened.

In her way, she will find something new,

Something never before encountered

Placing art in a world void of feeling.

Inventive, she will act,

Sometimes seeking out failure

To turn it into a triumph.

Once her power is transformed

By the magical virtue of art,

Loving and understanding become simpler.

                         # # # # #

Now that they return home, I ponder —

Children and grandchildren 

are the beautiful mysteries 

that drive our emotions 

stirring each moment we share, 

not knowing if the same emotions 

transcend each communication in the moment,

ending in emotional question marks.

— kenne (07/07/14)

 

 

Kenne David, Katelyn and Kenne (07/06/14)

Southern Dogface Butterfly Art   Leave a comment

Southern Dogface — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Therefore am I still
     A lover of the meadows and the woods,
     And mountains; and of all that we behold
     From this green earth; of all the mighty world
     Of eye and ear, — both what they half-create,
     And what perceive; well pleased to recognize
     In nature and the language of the sense,
     The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
     The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
     Of all my moral being.

— from Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour by William Wordsworth 

 

Cholitas Woman Going To See Her Granddaughter   3 comments

Cholitas Woman — Images by kenne

It’s a short boat ride
connecting two peninsulas
in Lake Titicaca.

Wrapped in a woolen shawl
she proudly holds her
velvet bowler hat.

Her family waits
in the plaza next to
an Inca God statue

where family members
line up for picture taking
with grandma holding baby.

Until a decade ago
Cholitas women were
banned from public places.

— kenne

Rafting On The Tuichi River   2 comments

BoliviaBalsa Wood Rafting On The Tuichi River In The Bolivian Amazon (8/21/19) — Image by kenne

The fog was beginning to lift,
one hour after breaking camp
on our first full day on the river.

I’m sitting in front with my camera,
Matt paddling behind me as Padro
stands in the rear, steering the raft.

Except for our companion balsa raft,
the river is our’s, stopping only for
fishing and exploring the jungle line.

Padro has promised us that we will
see a jaguar at least once during
time in the Amazon on the Tuichi River.

— kenne

Texas Crescent Butterfly   Leave a comment

Texas Crescent Butterfly — Image by kenne

I like writing about where I am,
where I happen to be sitting,
the humidity or the clouds,
the scene outside the window—
a pink tree in bloom,
a neighbor walking his small, nervous dog.
And if I am drinking
a cup of tea at the time
or a small glass of whiskey,
I will find a line to put it on.

— from In the Room of a Thousand Miles by Billy Collins

Bike Rack In Black and White   1 comment

Bike Rack, Granville Island, Vancouver (08/30/09) — Image by kenne

To live is so startling
it leaves little time
for anything else.

— Emily Dickinson

To The Moon   Leave a comment

To the Moon

Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth,
And ever-changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Imagine . . .   Leave a comment

Imagine . . .

pictures not seen
words not read
voices not heard
skins not touched

. . . now, imagine seeing the future.

Imagine . . .

artists not painting
poets not writing
singers not singing
lovers not embracing

 . . . now, imagine seeing the future.

Imagine . . .

a rush of wind coming down
from the mountaintop –
if you listen,
you can foretell the future

 . . . now, imagine seeing the future.

Imagine . . .

staring at a canvass
brush in hand
listen to yourself
you will paint the future

 . . . now, imagine seeing the future.

Imagine!

— kenne

Nature Is Imagination Itself   Leave a comment

Joshua Tree — Image by kenne

“The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes
of others only a green thing that stands in the way.
Some see nature all ridicule and deformity…
and some scarce see nature at all.
But to the eyes of the man of imagination,
nature is imagination itself.”

— William Blake

A Clear Midnight   2 comments

A Full Moon Night In The Sonoran Desert — Photo-Artistry by kenne

A Clear Midnight

This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best.
Night, sleep, death and the stars.

— Walt Whitman

Waste Land   Leave a comment

Waste Land — Image by kenne

The Waste Land: Five Limericks

I

In April one seldom feels cheerful;
Dry stones, sun and dust make me fearful;
Clairvoyantes distress me,
Commuters depress me–
Met Stetson and gave him an earful.

II

She sat on a mighty fine chair,
Sparks flew as she tidied her hair;
She asks many questions,
I make few suggestions–
Bad as Albert and Lil–what a pair!

III

The Thames runs, bones rattle, rats creep;
Tiresias fancies a peep–
A typist is laid,
A record is played–
Wei la la. After this it gets deep.

IV

A Phoenician named Phlebas forgot
About birds and his business–the lot,
Which is no surprise,
Since he’d met his demise
And been left in the ocean to rot.

V

No water. Dry rocks and dry throats,
Then thunder, a shower of quotes
From the Sanskrit and Dante.
Da. Damyata. Shantih.
I hope you’ll make sense of the notes.

— Wendy Cope

(The author was inspired by T. S. Eliot’s, The Waste Land.)

 

The Tucson Mountains — Truth Never Dies   3 comments

Tucson Mountains — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Truth Never Dies

Truth never dies. The ages come and go.
    The mountains wear away, the stars retire.
Destruction lays earth’s mighty cities low;
    And empires, states and dynasties expire;
But caught and handed onward by the wise,
    Truth never dies.

Though unreceived and scoffed at through the years,
    Though made the butt of ridicule and jest,
Though held aloft for mockery and jeers,
    Denied by those of transient power possessed,
Insulted by the insolence of lies,
    Truth never dies.

It answers not. It does not take offense,
    But with a mighty silence bides its time.
As some great cliff that braves the elements
    And lifts through all the storms its head sublime,
It ever stands, uplifted by the wise,
    And never dies.

As rests the Sphinx amid Egyptian sands;
    As looms on high the snowy peak and crest;
As firm and patient as Gibraltar stands,
    So truth, unwearied, waits the era blest
When men shall turn to it with great surprise.
    Truth never dies.

— Anonymous

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