make way on the path
stepping creeping lime grows close
foot of goliath
—
in honor of international haiku poem day
why not take a stab at it?
—
“poetry is news brought to the mountains by a unicorn and an echo.”
-czeslaw milosz
—
scio woods, ann arbor, michigan, usa – spring 2020
Poetry reaffirms our common humanity by revealing to us that individuals, everywhere in the world, share the same questions and feelings. Poetry is the mainstay of oral tradition and, over centuries, can communicate the innermost values of diverse cultures.
In celebrating World Poetry Day, March 21, UNESCO recognizes the unique ability of poetry to capture the creative spirit of the human mind.
A decision to proclaim March 21 as World Poetry Day was adopted during UNESCO’s 30th session held in Paris in 1999.
One of the main objectives of the Day is to support linguistic diversity through poetic expression and to offer endangered languages the opportunity to be heard within their communities.
The observance of World Poetry Day is also meant to encourage a return to the oral tradition of poetry recitals, to promote the teaching of poetry, to restore a dialogue between poetry and the other arts such as theatre, dance, music and painting, to support small publishers and create an attractive image of poetry in the media, so that the art of poetry will no longer be considered an outdated form of art, but one which enables society as a whole to regain and assert its identity. As poetry continues to bring people together across continents, all are invited to join in.
—
“poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.”
-robert frost
—
credits: photo: UN Photo/Mark Garten, UNESCO
one of my dreams this year
is to learn to make bread from scratch
I look forward to
the peace, the poetry, the adventure.
the crust.
—
“peace goes into the making of a poem as flour goes into the making of bread.”
-pablo neruda
—
image credit: lamag.com
Poetry is pure white.
It emerges from water covered with drops,
is wrinkled, all in a heap.
It has to be spread out, the skin of this planet,
has to be ironed out, the sea’s whiteness;
and the hands keep moving, moving,
the holy surfaces are smoothed out,
and that is how things are accomplished.
Every day, hands are creating the world,
fire is married to steel,
and canvas, linen, and cotton come back
from the skirmishings of the laundries,
and out of light a dove is born –
pure innocence returns out of the swirl.
—
–in praise of ironing by Pablo Neruda, translated by Alastair Reid
sunday in october
the farmer, in the pride of sea-worn acres,
showed me his honey mill, the honey-gate.
late afternoon was busy on the land,
the sun was a warm gauzy providence.
–
the honey mill, the honey-gate. and then,
near by, the bees. they came in from the fields,
the sun behind them, from the fields and trees,
like soft banners, waving from the sea.
–
he told me of their thousands, their ways,
of pounds of honey in the homely apiaries.
the stores were almost full, in autumn air,
against the coming chill, and the long cold.
–
he was about ready to rob them now,
the combs. he’d leave them just enough to keep them.
I thought it a rather subtle point point he made,
wishing providence would be as sure of us.
-richard eberhart
—
image credit: danny1970
“the exact day I became a poet was april 1, 1965,
the day I bought my first typewriter.”
-august wilson
—
in honor of poetry month.
mine was the day I learned to hold a pencil
and found a scrap of paper to scribble on.
—
image credit: daskeyboard
a poem begins with a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong,
a homesickness, a lovesickness.
—
happy birthday, robert frost – born march 1874
—
image credit: maurice shapiro – woodland sketch
fairies wintering
—
“Frost grows on the window glass,
forming whorl patterns of lovely translucent geometry.
Breathe on the glass, and you give frost more ammunition.
Now it can build castles and cities and whole ice continents with your breath’s vapor.
In a few blinks you can almost see the winter fairies moving in . . .
But first, you hear the crackle of their wings.”
― vera nazarian, the perpetual calendar of inspiration
“i simply do not distinguish between work and play.”
-mary oliver
—
r.i.p. mary oliver, one of my favorite poets – i agree.
—
image credit: alice boughton,
Teachers and kindergarten students
Warm-toned Gelatin Silver Print unmounted 1910 USA
lucky encounter
of a piece of summer’s art –
when crossing paths
with a melted ice cream heart.
—
“besides being a useful adjunct to courtship,
ice-cream is often employed to feed poets upon.”
~”A Few Casual Remarks on Ice-Cream,” Puck, 1881
