Teal Pumpkin Project (haiku)

Teal Pumpkin Project

Leave un-allergenic treats

On Hallowe’en porch

 

http://www.foodallergy.org/teal-pumpkin-project#.WABLLiQ5pcw

 

Save

Services with Variants

Services with Variants

(from Appalachia)

 

I wonder as I wander

Out under the sky

Why Jesus, my Jesus,

Did come down to die

 

For poor on’ry people

Like you and like I

I wonder as I wander

Out under the sky

 

And then the story can begin in

Earnest—the grammar’s bad:

What does that really matter,

 

When the bias is for long and

Almost painful, loving notes

Wrought in the words to send

 

Them over; all the o sounds and

The is like convict souls, once

Held then let go like winged

 

Enchantment, soar above the

Planet in the room, to wave

Like smoke around the beams

 

Above the Sunday evening

Gathering, like convicts bound

Whose chains are broken with

 

No expectation, words and

Notes released like birds once

Wrapped by keepers’ hands—

 

In flight now to know no other

Mission than the erring sky

And song of wonder-wandering

 

 

“I Wonder as I Wander” (Appalachia)

Words and Music collected by John Jacob Niles

Collected by John Jacob Niles in Murphy, [North Carolina,] in July 1933 from a young traveling evangelist Annie Morgan.  According to Niles, he asked her to sing the song repeatedly until he had memorized it. It was published in his 1934 Songs of the Hill-Folk.

http://www.hymnsandcarolsofchristmas.com/Hymns_and_Carols/i_wonder_as_i_wander.htm

 

and “on’ry” is ornery, which is a good word

Red Crescent

Red Crescent

(Yemen)

 

What’s left behind

In towns, on plains of blood

Yemen

And everywhere

In the west

Of Asia

 

They look for

Our families taken

Through

The rents of war

 

They offer drink

Give food

And in the desert night

Leave warmth

Around the victims

 

Soft-bright shields

Drawn with symbols

 

Did you not know?

Red Crescent complements

The awful need

 

Quranic teaching

And impulse

To save the unknown

Neighbor

Better

Better

 

I don’t know much about the world

It seems

I wish it were better

 

I’m offended

And I’m angry

Who really wants to care?

 

We have other things to do, less

Pandering to moods

Chosen when something more promising

Could be selected

 

Another code pressed on the emotion

Vending machine

I wonder maybe we have a number of tokens

And then the rest are gone

For deciding badly

 

For too-small convictions

When being noble in an un-ranked way

Would make the difference

 

Would light the factories

Would illuminate

Pockets and portals of prosperity

Nether (never) world

Intentions hide

 

Give it a chance

A two-step beneath the table

Smiling for no reason

Than

The joy in dawn-split morning

Or romantic night

The splendid times when

In spite of rusted gags and

Chains

Joy breaks free

Five Minutes Monday Morning

Five Minutes Monday Morning

 

Eleven fifty-five,

What’s left?

Coffee made, suburban meaning

More?  Well, make a list,

Check—check the list

 

How much of it’s repeated?

Breathe in, breathe out

Better now the weather’s changed

Autumn’s here at last, I think

Cooler, clearer air

 

Or I can pretend

How much of the difference is inside?

 

But there’s anxiety in the pit

Well, it’s Monday morning

 

I used to read five-minute mysteries;

Five-minute words—I

Believe it could be worse

Aftermath

Aftermath

(Matthew)

 

There is a square

Upon the

Ground

That has no sides

 

There were

Three walls more

Like pillars, a

Doorway, and more

 

There was life, and

I could name each

Part: mother,

Daughter,

Neighbor child,

Love

 

Spry forms that

I could see

And touch; now

None

Remains

 

I’ve come back to

The place

 

I heard it had

A name;

I no longer care

Joypad

Joypad

 

What the frog enjoys

Each day nascent on the pond

When we wake stories

 

(haiku)

 

Your word for today

joypad

Pronunciation: /ˈjoipad/ Definition: an input device for a computer games console which uses buttons to control the motion of an image on the screen

 

The Unforgiven

The Unforgiven

(over three hundred now)

 

Matthew kills

Two hundred eighty

In the place that Papa

Doc abused

Where the recent

Legacy of earthquake

Leaves homes

Waiting to rise

For five years’ passing

 

On toward Florida,

This is not

The succession of an

Apostle but the

Random naming of

A storm

That, anonymous,

Would rise and fall,

Slam and flood, beat and

And take the

Breathing from too

Many enfleshed

Fragile souls

Blue Ice (photo by James Barkman)

Blue Ice

(realized)

 

Two words I’ve wanted

To put together,

 

Never thought I

Could

 

With real substance

In back of

The metaphor (though

Metaphor, I know, is

Power enough

 

Then I see the

Photograph,

The image

Of it resting on

The water

 

In a frozen

Clime where all my warm

Impressions of Earth

Are turned over,

Thankfully

 

There lies blue ice

 

Finally, something imagined

In my shuttered

Part

Of the solar garden

Has been released

 

A gift of surprise

And gratitude

For Edenic wonders

 

C L Couch

 

jamesbarkman

Last post from Iceland.

Glacial ice floating in the Jökulsárlón Lagoon. Showing up at this zone with nobody around and watching the 4 hr sunrise was definitely one of the highlights. No matter how blown up these spots are, photos will never do them justice.

Shot on Portra160NC. Always so fascinating to see how different film stocks capture different colors