Words. Image. Connecting.
An imperfect pursuit, it is true,
to seek out perfection in you,
especially as I . . .
I know how and why
I’m no better, if only you knew!
Of course, it is easy to note,
and to find others whom you can quote,
that perfection’s not . . . mine,
but that’s all well and fine,
as long as we’re in the same boat!
Written in response to Writing 201’s Day 4 poetry prompts—imperfect, limerick, enjambment
Fields absorb and translate
sunlight’s spectra into Wildflower.
Clear skies, speaking in Blue,
make empty promises of certain rain.
Thinking of drought while writing a response to the prompting three words: absorb, certain, empty.
Skin? What kind of skin? The translucent, permeable, that barely protects? The skin of the fruit that blushes when ripe, then bruises when handled too eagerly? The skin we call our own that longs for touch, and sometimes armor?
What about words we weigh, say, covering feelings like stretched parchment or brittle papyrus?
We skin our knee and remember our mortality. We hurt someone’s feelings, and find our reckless, fleckless faultlines, our skin-over-bone awareness.
The skin of the mirror is wrinkled by warped time. Oh, time, time, what kind of skin is that? It lets too much through—consequence’s harsh rays.
Oh, time, the skin of all things! Even our planet is subject! Its gracious, spacious, vulnerable circle of turning, tuning itself to the orchestra of darkness and light—lyrical spherical cycles!
Written in response to Writing 201’s Day 3 poetry prompt—skin, prose poem, internal rhyme.
A gift of equation
Beyond mere numbers
Endings with values
Fraught with challenge
Giving proofs to ponder
Hallowed awe and wonder,
Infinite rewritings on chalkboard
Just in time for erasure
Knowing more beyond its dust,
Like ghost numbers on the floor
Mingling with tiles
Not of marble, but slate
Offering sure footing’s
Place to stand brave,
Quiet at erased solution,
Ready to write anew,
Satisfied by search’s
Translation into questions,
Unknowns and knowns,
With or without final answers,
X, Y or Z.
A-Z poem written in response to Writing 201’s Day 2 prompting assignment—gift, acrostic, simile.
Window widow watch
the world—how it all appears
Written in response to Writing 201’s Day 1 prompt—screen, haiku, alliteration.
The nasty heat purred
as it rolled in the blazing sun,
forcing the grasses to kneel.
How many of my short poems have been in response, it seems, to the drought here in California. This one is also in response to the three words that appear in the title . . . and heat? Yes, heat. This week some parts of inland California experienced temperatures in the 100s (106F /41C ).
In a review of the 1993 film titled VISIONS OF LIGHT: THE ART OF CINEMATOGRAPHY (1993) Jerry Saravia wrote:
“What I learned was how important it was for cameramen to make their movie stars from the past look as beautiful as possible . . . to be perfectly lit . . . and actresses, like Marlene Dietrich, would insist on certain cinematographers for the right look.”
During a recent close up photographic challenge, I experimented with a spoon which, though scratched, could look flawless.
One thing for sure, photo challenges give an excuse to purposefully experiment and to enjoy seeing how others interpret and respond to the same prompt.
and dunes . . .
beneath our feet.
How much time did it take for these dunes to grow? Imagine just a little sand at a time arriving on wind-blown mist off the ocean!
where it’s found and held like a treasure.
may look insignificant from a distance.
However. . . seen close up,
you notice its one-of-a-kind sculptural aspects.
For a few years I’ve collected what I call “treeshells”. I collect them photographically when they’re still attached to the tree, and later when they appear beneath the tree and at my feet.
Here’s a close-up of one section:
Each one is sculpturally interesting enough for an individual photograph. At the same time, it’s interesting to experiment with grouping them in display case.
I wish to thank my artist friend Michele, who very much encouraged me to continue this quietly-pursued interest.
In addition, I was energized to take these photos and set up this post after exchanging comments with the artistic jewelry maker Gunilla Redelius at her Galeriaredelius post describing her own recent interest in tree bark.
This is the drought-tolerant and native California Pepper tree, a messy tree, always shedding leaves, twigs, peppers and curly bark. I probably wouldn’t have planted it myself, but how glad I am it’s here! This one is about 50 feet high and provides a gazebo-like shelter beneath it’s wide-canopy.
If you post any image of tree bark, please let include a link in the comments—I am curious to see different varieties.
While seeing the new close-up views of distant Pluto, I’m at the same time thinking of the amazing access we have to views of our planet Earth like never before.
If our home planet doesn’t inspire wonder, set aside news headlines and enjoy seeing another perspective.
That’s what I enjoy about Earth View from Google Earth. Every time you open a new tab, up pops a satellite image of someplace on planet earth. You can try to guess where or what it is and feel the wonder. The variety of things you’ll see is endless.
Unfortunately, you might find yourself opening up too many tabs!!
Here’s some screen saves:
If you click on the right hand corner icon where the name of the place is written, you’ll be taken to Google Earth where you can zoom in and out to see yet more! Example:
Do you know any other sites that offer unique views of our planet or other wonders?
Thoughts of ice (during a heat wave) may have influenced how I picked this subject for a close up study yesterday.
The nature of ice required that I keep modifying my plans.
Plan A: photograph cracks in ice cubes (close up)
Plan B: photograph condensation on the glass
Plan C: capture more ever-changing variants as the ice melts
Lesson: a reminding exercise in letting go—not holding so close to any plan or measure of what I envision my subject to be. Enjoy the bonus of the unexpected!
The remaining water will reflect
another tedious day of relentless blue,
a waste of every cloud’s invitation
to bring relief.
Another poem referring to the drought here in my home state, California, and in many places worldwide.
Written in response to a prompt of three words (appearing in the title).
Noticing and responding anew to one’s surroundings when given a prompting word or concept reminds me of writing poetry.
Part of this week’s photo challenge was to consider dividing lines.
How often do we see the line that divides
as a cut across our straight-head point of view,
while missing how it connects both sides?
I shot these photos from the back seat of a car. Low-light, bumpy roads, and shooting through windshield glass challenged my focus! Nonetheless, they work with this week’s prompt and with the words that came along in the process.
Posted in response to the prompt half and half.
Not boring, just dark;
not lonely, just alone.
Written in response to the prompting three words in the title.
I looked for a photo of a singular moon, a lone star or planet, but instead chose this recent photo of Venus and Jupiter, that offers a visual thought prompt regarding the concept of “alone” (as in each planet so alone, though appearing so near to one another).
The line “Not boring, just dark” may suggest how in these days of ubiquitous backlit screens, a dark screen could evoke a sense of “nothingness” or dead-battery boredom, when it in fact it’s “just dark”—something people were accustomed to and comfortable with (especially in the days before artificial lighting).
Posing queries to the moon
in algorithmic poetry,
while finding measured points on a map
comparing distance in mind and minute
to addresses posted as equations
as we squint with new-moon pupils
at crescent key unlocking the sky,
awaiting its fullness.
This week’s prompting word is symbol. My sense of time, place and passing is all carried symbolically by the moon.
When you read or hear “he slammed the door and left” what kind of door do you see?
Is it wooden, approximately one meter (yard) wide, by two meters high?
That’s about what I imagined . . . initially.
Then I stepped outside to the parking lot.
Aloof, the moon,
rising full and whole,
though in its ever-temporary station.
Written in response to the prompting three words that appear in the title.
Where does this poem carry your thoughts?
Obedient to Nature’s call,
a raspy wind sweeps the landscape,
takes its breath away,
turns grasses from green to gold
in somber remembrance of rain.
Written in response to two prompts—the three words that appear in the title, and this week’s photo challenge, Muse, in which we’re asked to consider and show a subject we keep returning to. Besides lines and shadow, I most often return to leaves. I never tire of the surprise I find in their variety—their shape, color, movement and what they “say” about time and season. Leaves are my favorite muse.
I took this photo in my home state, California, still in its drought.
Desperate for rain,
there’s a hush awaiting
Written in response to a prompt—the three words that appear in the title.
Light slips in through windows
without leaving itself behind.
Our lives pass through time’s windows,
trailed by light of memory
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