#BlackHistoryMonth #poem Sometimes Things Don’t Go From Bad to Worse

From left to right starting top left: photographer unknown; Reuters; NOW Magazine; Reuters.

Sometimes – Sheenagh Pugh.  A poem she didn’t much like herself. Sometimes things go THAT WAY. Subverted twice gender/colour to (something which Pugh doesn’t appreciate either):

Sometimes things don’t go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don’t fail,
sometimes a black woman aims high, and all goes well.

A people sometimes will step back from war;
elect an honest black woman, decide they care
enough, that they can’t leave some black stranger poor.
Some black women become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best efforts do not go
amiss, sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of snow
that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.

“The trees were attitudes in black” #Snow Advent by Auslander #ChristmasEve #Wintersolstice #WinterWonderland

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Photos by Theresaurus.

Snow advent

The clouds were all brushed up and back
The wrong way by the wind;
The trees were attitudes in black;
The brooks were disciplined.

Then soft as spider on a shelf,
Or satin mouse at birth,
Or as a pigeon lends itself
Reluctantly to earth —

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No louder than a silken sound
Of the web’s silver wheel,
Spraying the darkness all around
With spokes of silken steel —

As soft and softer than all these
Parted the sky at noon;
And the air stood up league-deep in bees,
The white bees of the moon.

 

-Joseph Auslander in All the Silver Pennies

Velvet shoes by E. Wylie #christmasweek #winter #solstice

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Photo by Theresaurus.

No snow yet…But that silence after the first snow. The sounds suddenly different! The thick quiet blanket and little paw prints! I’m actually looking forward. That is a first for this Aruban exile.

Velvet Shoes

 

Let us walk in the white snow

In a soundless space;

With footsteps quiet and slow,

At a tranquil pace,

Under veils of white lace.

 

I shall go shod in silk,

And you in wool,

White as white cow’s milk,

More beautiful

Than the breast of a gull.

 

We shall walk through the still town

In a windless peace;

We shall step upon white down,

Upon silver fleece,

Upon softer than these.

 

We shall walk in velvet shoes:

Wherever we go

Silence will fall like dews

On white silence below.

We shall walk in the snow.

 

Elinor Wylie

#snow #haiku #wintersolstice Issa, Greig, Hashin!!!

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Photo by: unknown. Searched over 30 websites, no source.
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The snow is melting
and the village is flooded
with children.
Issa

 

Looking at the clouds
blue in the ice-wind
space flows.

Thomas Grieg

No sky
no earth- even so
snowflakes fall.

Hashin

#Wintersolstice Brittle World by Lew Sarett #snow

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Photo by Matt Anderson

Brittle World

Brittel the snow on the gables,
The sleet-hung pines, the night
Sprinkled with stars that quiver
Over the waste of white.

Fragile the earth in the moonlight,
The glassy sheet of lake;
If I tapped it with a hammer,
The brittle world would break.

Lew Sarett in All the Silver Pennies, ed. Blanche Jenning Thompson

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Photo by Daseger. “Witch House” or the Jonathan Corwin House in Salem.

Poetry foundation: “Poet, lecturer, and teacher Lew Sarett was born Lew Saretsky in Chicago to parents who immigrated from Poland and Lithuania.

He was educated at University of Michigan-Ann Arbor, Beloit College, Harvard Law School, and the University of Illinois Law School.

Sarett became interested in nature and American Indian culture and lore at an early age, and these interests are clearly reflected in his life and in his poetry.

[…] lived among the Chippewa Indians of the Lake Superior region, and was adopted by them and given the name Lone Caribou.”

Read more here at the Poetry Foundation!

Four Little Foxes
by Lew Sarett

Speak gently, Spring, and make no sudden sound
for in my windy valley yesterday I found
New born foxes squirming on the ground
Speak gently.

Walk softly, March, forbear the bitter blow,
Her feet within a trap, her blood upon the snow,
The four little foxes saw their mother go
Walk softly.

Go lightly, Spring, oh give them no alarm;
When I covered them with boughs to shelter them from harm
The thin blue foxes suckled at my arm
Go Lightly.

Step softly, March, with your rampant hurricane
Nuzzling one another and whimp’ring with pain,
The new little foxes are shiv’ring in the rain
Step softly.

Two short Winter Solstice poems by Chappuis and Gezelle!

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vivianacres.wordpress.com 

Some simple poems about change now that we are getting closer to the longest night and the shortest day. The moon changes our mood, so does thinking about the past year, hopes for the next… Tomorrow we’re going to build a bonfire and set alight a wooden Circle of life. I have plants and herbs gathered for different scents. There will be a few children. Maybe we’re going to read stories, tell stories. We have an Indigenous Healer with us, White Wolf, who will call on the directions and we’ll thank our ancestors and the grounds we stand on, the lake, the beach, the woods. Make new connections, strengthen old ones. Anyway. The poems.

Snow dust

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
On a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood…

Pierre Chappuis

Winter Solstice, Zonnewende

The sun sweeps up
the sun dives down
The sun goes up
and under
The life of a mensch is similar
to the life of the sun,
who goes up and down and all around
and
who walks all those days —
the road her indicated.

Guido Gezelle (Famous fabulous Belgian poet)
Dutch:
de zonne gaat op
de zonne gaat neer,
de zonne gaat op
en onder
Het leven van den mensch is als
Het leven van de zon,
Die op- en af- en ommegaat
En wandelt alle dagen
Den weg, die haar gewezen is.
Guido Gezelle

Basho, Takako and the moon!

Exciting! Full Beaver moon tonight!! Full. Beaver. Moon.

Beaver and Moon! Moon beaver beaver moon. It sounds good. Here are some haikus. First 5 by Basho -who was gay!

This bright harvest moon  
keeps me walking all night long
around the little pond 

occasional clouds
one gets a rest
from moon-viewing

the setting moon
the thing that remains
four corners of his desk

a peasant’s child
husking rice, pauses
to look at the moon

Autumn full moon,
the tides slosh and foam
coming in

Takako:

the disk moon
the disk frozen lake
reflecting each other

Haikus about quiet.

Standing still at dusk
Listen…In far distances
The song of froglings!

Meaning: Dusk is the period where boundaries disappear, and before the light of the stars emphasizes the darks and the lights. Wandering around at dusk is disappearing yourself into everything around you. You can focus on sound. Sounds from afar seem close by. Songs are carried far. Froglings who feel safe sing to each other and by the grace of dusk you are part of their audience, of other froglings. Dusk calls in the loneliness and the loneliness is eased by the froglings who are far and seem close. Doesn’t really matter that they are far. Dusk is when the flowers open and their scent comes towards us.

 

Buson

If you were silent
Flight of warblers on dark sky
Oh! Autumn snowflakes!

Sokan

Come come! Come out!
On pebble roads worn tires fade-in the dark
And look… the stars

Come come! Come Out!
From bogs old frogs command the dark
and look…the stars”
― Kikaku,