Saturday, May 31, 2008


"...the sound of the voice
decaying in the atmosphere to an inaudible flat,
the membranes of sound like wineskins, emptied..."

From "And of the Words Afterwards" by Oni Buchanan

Place picture here

"... The wild old man in the bear suit parted his lips

& out came a snatch of extinct birdsong. ..."

From "Inner Life" by Srikanth Reddy


As I left the airplane late Friday, the tarmac-furnace of Texas summer was a welcome change from the other kind of annealing provided by the past week's work.

Glad to be back, and while there's more work this weekend I see a respite ahead.

Thanks for your comments and visits -- will be stopping by your sites soon!

Sunday, May 25, 2008


"...when I try to imagine a faultless love
Or the life to come, what I hear is the murmur
Of underground streams, what I see is a limestone landscape."

From "In Praise of Limestone" by W. H. Auden


Limestone: just one of the things I'll miss when I head out on a business trip tomorrow morning. See all y'all soon.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Cabin fever

"...wanting the moment contained in the axe blow
in clear air..."

From "Scribble" by Barry McKinnon


Won't be posting much for the next two weeks -- more of the ongoing Big Work Project contributing to my general cabin/cubicle fever.

But I will stop by your blogs, and I am really delighted you've stopped by mine. Looking forward to getting out from under, and in general out, out, outside enough!

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Saturday, May 17, 2008


"...this is a strange, unlikely tethering,
a furious grafting of the quick and the slow..."

From "Poor Angels" by Edward Hirsch

Friday, May 16, 2008

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Pastel roses

if a bear crosses my path now?
What if the bees find me? ..."

From "Younger Woman Shopping for a Blouse" by Laura Kasischke


Yes, as Amber noted, I'm working too much...oh well. More pics sooner than later...

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Gravestone and wildflowers

"...Nothing was remembered, nothing forgotten.
When we awoke, wagons were passing on the warm summer pavements..."

From "Words for Departure" (scroll down to see the poem) by Louise Bogan


And something more.

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Hog-tied post

to the god of smoke and the god of stench
and the god of this man’s thoughts
to become the wind and blow this fire

From "A Splinter Becoming a Burning Plank" by Curtis Bauer


Long days (a large work project looming), some sore throat-y thing, and random acts of other work pressure mean nothing fresh until this weekend...but I am glad you've stopped by.

Monday, May 05, 2008

Windy day, DYC*, and bee

(Another that's best large -- clix on the pix, please!)

"...Who am I now, gone crystalline with waiting, listening
for what I still have never heard in my language?"

From "Souvenir" by Daniel Hall, in a chapter on the ghazal by Agha Shahid Ali


* See what the asterisk'd TLA means here.

Sunday, May 04, 2008

Love bugs

(Best seen large -- do click on the pic.)

"...the heart goes out to the end of the rope
it has been throwing into abyss after abyss, and a singing shimmers
from every color the morning has risen into. ..."

From "Dragonflies Mating" by Robert Hass

Saturday, May 03, 2008

Among the warblers

"...a pinch of cactus bloom, a scent of sage,
a strong, perplexing drink: Birdsong
at the first sip. ..."

From "Sotol" by John Balaban

For an additional take on the place where the poem was found, see here.

Friday, May 02, 2008


"...Do you wish to come with me?
You know how in a landscape you see distances?
We can blur that. ..."

From "The Guardian Angel of Not Feeling" by Jorie Graham


Surrounded by sabbage meowing kats...but despite the press of paws, happy that tomorrow, at long last, I'll get outside to see what I can see. (Although the pic above was from a tiny bit of wandering I did this past Thursday, I wasn't Outside Enough for my taste.)

Thursday, May 01, 2008

Redbird, headstone

"...It is a red bird that seeks out his choir
Among the choirs of wind and wet and wing.
A torrent will fall from him when he finds.
Shall I uncrumple this much-crumpled thing? ..."

From "Le Monocle de Mon Oncle" by Wallace Stevens