"I personally am not interested in people trying to pigeonhole me."
-Patti Smith

"I personally am not interested in people trying to pigeonhole me."
-Patti Smith

MOTHS 

Adrift in the liberating, late light
of August, delicate, frivolous,
they make their way to my front porch
and flutter near the glassed-in bulb,
translucent as a thought suddenly
wondered aloud, illumining the air
that’s thick with honeysuckle and dusk.You and I are doing our best
at conversation, keeping it light, steering clear
of what we’d like to say.
You leave, and the night becomes
cluttered with moths, some tattered,
their dumbly curious filaments
startling against my cheek. How quickly,
instinctively, I brush them away.
Dazed, they cling to the outer darkness
like pale reminders of ourselves.
Others seem to want so desperately
to get inside. Months later, I’ll find
the woolens, snug in their resting places,
full of missing pieces.

(By Jennifer O’Grady)

MOTHS

Adrift in the liberating, late light
of August, delicate, frivolous,
they make their way to my front porch
and flutter near the glassed-in bulb,
translucent as a thought suddenly
wondered aloud, illumining the air
that’s thick with honeysuckle and dusk.
You and I are doing our best
at conversation, keeping it light, steering clear
of what we’d like to say.

You leave, and the night becomes
cluttered with moths, some tattered,
their dumbly curious filaments
startling against my cheek. How quickly,
instinctively, I brush them away.
Dazed, they cling to the outer darkness
like pale reminders of ourselves.
Others seem to want so desperately
to get inside. Months later, I’ll find
the woolens, snug in their resting places,
full of missing pieces.

(By Jennifer O’Grady)

Crows in a a Strong Wind

Off go the crows from the roof.
The crows can’t hold on.
They might as well
Be perched on an oil slick.

Such an awkward dance,
These gentlemen
In their spottled-black coats.
Such a tipsy dance,

As if they didn’t know where they were.
Such a humorous dance,
As they try to set things right,
As the wind reduces them.

Such a sorrowful dance.
How embarrassing is love
When it goes wrong

In front of everyone.

(By Cornelius Eady)

Twelfth Song of Thunder 
(Navajo Tradition - anonymous)

The voice that beautifies the land!
The voice above,
The voice of thunder
Within the dark cloud
Again and again it sounds,
The voice that beautifies the land.
The voice that beautifies the land!
The voice below,
The voice of the grasshopper
Among the plants
Again and again it sounds,
The voice that beautifies the land. 

(Skies overhead; iphone 5)

Twelfth Song of Thunder
(Navajo Tradition - anonymous)

The voice that beautifies the land!
The voice above,
The voice of thunder
Within the dark cloud
Again and again it sounds,
The voice that beautifies the land.

The voice that beautifies the land!
The voice below,
The voice of the grasshopper
Among the plants
Again and again it sounds,
The voice that beautifies the land.

(Skies overhead; iphone 5)

As a storm rolls in

profp:

how many syllables
is “rumbling”?

if i want to haiku/senryu
i need to count.

i suppose it doesn’t matter.

when thunder rumbles and rolls
it goes on as long as it needs,
filling the space with the sound
of its energy.

and so should we
not count our moments,
but rather
rumble and
roll as
long as need be
in order to fill our space
with breath.

(storm on the prairie section road; photo mine; iphone 4s)

Verily I say unto thee, thy answer must be in the form of a question.  

(Prophet Love’s weekly installment)

Verily I say unto thee, thy answer must be in the form of a question.

(Prophet Love’s weekly installment)

“Hope abides; therefore I abide.
Countless frustrations have not cowed me.
I am still alive, vibrant with life.
The black cloud will disappear,
The morning sun will appear once again
In all its supernal glory.” 
― Sri Chinmoy

(photo - my personal collection)

“Hope abides; therefore I abide.
Countless frustrations have not cowed me.
I am still alive, vibrant with life.
The black cloud will disappear,
The morning sun will appear once again
In all its supernal glory.”

― Sri Chinmoy

(photo - my personal collection)