Jamie

FAITHFUL TREASURES, R. S. Talbot, photo, 2009
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NEW YEAR'S EVE
We've come to watch the fireworks at the park,
And stand there gossiping quietly in the dark
Till – whiplash jets of gold, cascades of white:
Glittering silver sparkles spangle the night
With rumble, crumple, boom as echoing thunder
Bounces back from the clouds, re-echoing under
High heaven's ceiling, shudders and threatens to crack
The dome of the sky, and then reverberates back
To tilt and rock our park, and tumble and smack
Our ears with bound and rebound; flicker of flak,
Electric crackle and racket of rockets, mad flash
And flare as they fly up steep, whizzing dizzy, and splash
The tall clouds with colour. Lazy and slow,
Huge flowers stretch open over the sky and grow
Into supernovas wheeling with vertigo.
Delicate sprays and fernery tracery follow,
Yet at last colour crumbles, fading, hollow
Thuds muffled, baffled. Residue burns
And winks out. Smoke thickens. Old darkness returns.
©PAUL STEVENS(First published in Snakeskin, March 2009) ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ♥♥♥
WILD VIOLETS, ©R. S. Talbot, May 2009, photo
MAY AT LAST
Spring sent timid portents.
Maroon and green horns of skunk cabbage
poked out of February muck.
Crocuses shivered and furled
under March snow and reopened bravely
In the chilly sun.
But now the season explodes like a finale of fireworks.
Flowering trees burst in pink or white.
The crowd goes "OOOOH!"
Pale maple blossoms glow with light.
Forests of oaks go yellow-green.
The grass burns like flame,
And dandelions pop like musket fire.
Birds nest,
And alewives leap toward spawning.
You can't keep track of it all.
Over your left shoulder a huge horse chestnut detonates.
In the distance entire orchards go up.
You gape astounded by the thunderous booming of the trees.
©May 2009 RICHMOND TALBOT
SELF PORTRAIT, ©R. S. Talbot, May 2009, photo ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ♥♥♥
TATY, MY WISE FRIEND, ©Nabeel Issa, photo
All I Need To Know About Life, I Learned From My Dog
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyful ride.
Allow the experience of
fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy.
When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Be loyal.
Never pretend to be something you're not.
Eat with gusto and enthusiasm.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
When someone is having a bad day,
be silent, sit close by and nuzzle them gently.
Thrive on affection and let people touch you--
enjoy back rubs and pats on your neck.
When you leave your yard, make it an adventure.
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
No matter how often you're scolded, don't pout--
run right back and make friends...
When you're excited, speak up.
When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body.
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
If you stare at someone long enough -eventually-
you'll get what you want.
Don't go out without ID.
Leave room in your schedule for a good nap.
Always give people a friendly greeting.
If it's not wet and sloppy, it's not a real kiss.
©2009 NABEEL ISSA
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IRON MAN
Dismantled man,
Strength returning,
Vision re-focused,
Limbs re-connected.
Battery pack approaching optimum power,
Hard drive de-fragmented,
A.I. chip retuned and enhanced,
Sensory damage repaired and fully utilized
Outer casing replaced with polycarbonate skin,
Polished and blood red,
GPS updated,
Firewall effectively reactivated.
Service pack released and downloaded,
Patches applied to Central Nervous System,
Reliability to C.N.S. restored beyond original capacity,
New status: Stable.
Abilities now way beyond default settings,
Appearance altered,
System fully-rebooted,
Specification level: High.
Smile returned to corners of mouth,
Sparkle once more in windows of soul,
Cracks virtually invisible,
Super glue discarded.
No fear following rebuild, following deconstruction.
Serenity nears and wisdom now tangible.
Lives synchronized,
Hopes high.
For only in being taken apart and restored can one truly
reach their full potential.
Dreams are made of stuff like this.
Catch my wink ;-)
Time to fly.
©April 2009 SI BLAKEMORE
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STILL BEAUTIFUL
I don’t want to sit here and cry--
I am beautiful,
and I have to believe,
I have to believe in that.
Let me speak. Let me express myself. Let me say it to you.
You bring me to my knees. I want to understand.
What’s on my mind? It’s you, and you, and you, and why?
You went away,
but how was I to know when it was right or it was wrong?
What were we doing?
Where was it going?
What were we thinking?
Time passes and it’s easier to see.
It’s all wrong now, for each of us, but then it seemed right.
I thought it was harmless, but we had to do what we wanted to do.
You needed to do it that way, and I did it my own way.
We couldn’t speak to each other,
so we spoke to them and asked of them and looked for them
and they brought us what we needed then.
Bring me my coffee,
bring me chocolate,
and bring me your sunshine
and your smiling face each and every morning.
I miss, especially, Sunday mornings.
Be with me again,
in the rain;
on a sunny day with wind in my face;
on a drive, together,
with the heater on and the top down while it snows.
*
You were there in the dark,
in the car, in the parking lot lights and shadows--
The light reflecting off the black water
as occasional cars drove by
and shone bright headlamps in our eyes.
Who were you and who was I, then?
Were we who we said we were,
and how could we have been?
Who could fathom the magnitude and the ferocity of that love?
No one could understand it;
that which was true and real and so strong.
Black asphalt was as dark as the oily water below
as we drove away from that spot.
I believed you, and I believed him then.
Why is it so different now?
We are still the same people;
only times have changed, for all of us.
I don’t want to sit here and cry.
We are still beautiful,
and I have to believe,
I have to believe in that.
©2009 MISS KITTY
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14:45 Tuesday, March 31, 2009, F-8, Westchester HS.....A special birthday! Was the last to know./ The hundred fifty- sixth, Vincent van Gogh./ It's wonderful to render special thoughts/ for my friend, Vincent. Time to place my bets./ It's time to rise and exit Room F-8./ It's time to take my boy where we can eat,/ and not to be subjected to the mess/ the day has been so far. So come and kiss/ me bon voyage. Commanding my four feet/ to carry me, in haste, beyond the gate./ I'll turn the key, warm up the engine, let's/ put her in gear and cast the winning lots./ I think by now, a good idea to go./ With that, I must salute Vincent van Gogh.....thank you Jamie for being my friend. You are priceless. rf&cj ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ♥♥♥
REFLECTIONS OF ROSANNE (and Jerry!) :
STELLA BLUE
All the years combine
They melt into a dream
A broken angel sings
From a guitar
In the end there's just a song
Comes crying up the night
Through all the broken dreams
And vanished years
Stella Blue
Stella Blue
When all the cards are down
There's nothing left to see
There's just the pavement left
And broken dreams
In the end there's still that song
Comes crying like the wind
Down every lonely street
That's ever been
Stella Blue
Stella Blue
I've stayed in every blue light cheap hotel
Can't win for trying
Dust off those rusty strings just one more time
Gonna make them shine
It all rolls into one
And nothing comes for free
There's nothing you can hold
For very long
And when you hear that song
Come crying like the wind
It seems like all this life
Was just a dream
Stella Blue
Stella Blue
Lyrics by Robert Hunter, Music by Jerry Garcia
MAYFLOWERS ON PICNIC HILL, R. S. Talbot, 2009, photo
SANS TOI.
Si parfois d'une allure grave
Se pare mon visage inquiet
C'est que ta voix suave
Me rend jaloux et secret.
Lorsque tu pars, m'envahit une tristesse,
Tout languit et tout meurt alentour;
Lorsque tu pars, une douleur m'oppresse,
Sans toi, mon coeur vieillit et devient lourd.
Si parfois d'une grande peine
S'emplit mon regard amoureux,
C'est que trop vite le temps égrène
Les jours que nous passons à deux.
©Hervé VILEZ.
WITHOUT YOU
If sometimes a gravity
Comes across my anxious face
It is just that your smooth mellow voice
Makes me jealous and secretive.
When you leave, I am invaded by a sadness,
All is languid and all around has died;
When you leave, a pain oppresses me;
Without you, my heart ages and becomes heavy.
If sometimes a great sorrow
Fills my loving glance,
It is just that time passes by quickly—
The days that we spend together, we two.
A MISS KITTY TRANSLATION!
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THE SLAYSTALKER BLOOMS, R. S. Talbot, May 2008, photo
THE SLAYSTALKER BLOOMS II, R.S. Talbot, May 2009
PINK BLIZZARD ALONG THE PATH, R.S. Talbot, May 2009
FALLEN SLAYSTALKER PETALS, R. S. Talbot, May 2009
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*CLOUDS *TREES *ROADS... (for Carla)
*CLOUDS
Some people fly through them
Like eagles of sovereign schemes.
Others just frolic through their
Fanciful traces or places of dreams.
We have been known to
Dance in the rain of them
Or just raise our faces to
Be bathed by their drip-drop streams.
Clouds like these I've never seen
-in this tornado warning-
Thus here I stand freed
Adrift in a starry dark storming
Pillowy puffs of pure snow-white
Cotton balls racing across the heavens
In their levity honing my sight
In their brevity brushing by my presence
As softly as the wind's chill breeze calls me to life.
I feel so alive.
Yet, concerned voices call me down under
Into the cellar's stank dank captivity
That I might rise again
Once more in the morning and
Breathe— in the clouds.
*TREES
Hush! Hear the...silent praise
Of tolerant temperate trees.
Heed how some weather the storms
Bursted from minuscule seeds
Sprouted intently to enviable forms
Leaned as they have been forced to bend
Limbs lopped off and dead leaves dropped
Through toward into and out of the wind
Shaken and twisted though they be propped
With roots in the mud of a swift river's bend
Stories and histories writ in the rings
Of their weathered endurable trunks
Beaten by flurries of fast-flowing flood brinks
Drought-out by waters unfit to be drunk
Being brushed past by fierce conflagrations
Origins descending into the serene
Branching out and onward through generations
To heights yet not lucidly seen.
Planted here or there or where
Through wild hand or planned with care
Their continuity strains toward light
Their towering victories contrast their plight
Their mute voices lull the swift river's rush
Listen to their...silent praise. Hush!
*ROADS
Here, there, anywhere
The river roads lead you
Sometimes to places you could never return to
Where men carry roses
and some good angel covers their backs.
Sky high in the air
Turn off where you choose to
But that does not mean the clouds won't confuse you
Where men carry roses
and some good angel covers their backs.
Cherish this road as rare.
Leaf through the histories
Along the lost river of towering or lowly trees
Where men carried roses
and some good angel covered their backs.
©2009 JAMIE
FOREST DREAM, mOuse, Mixed media on canvas, 2009 ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ♥♥♥
ATTENTION!!! My friend Bill draws exquisitely detailed pencil sketches that exquisitely capture the details of 'ordinary' life, whose prints are on occasion available for purchase. Check out his site (and the remarkable skill of his pencil in his 'Pictures') by clicking below on BOATDOCK BILL. :)
FALLEN OAK IN THE ST. MARY'S RIVER, ©Boatdock Bill, pencil, November 2008
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DEFERENCE
Few and far between they leave us,
Looking down the road ahead,
Diverse from the day they greet us,
Hoping they’ll return instead.
See, our feet would fit their footsteps.
Hear, our voice would meet their own.
Grace does shine from out their doorsteps.
In our night we’re not alone.
For in their sincerity
They project lucidity
And in their simplicity
Throughout the ages
They stand still.
These are those who render kindness,
Through what they do or do not say.
We lean close to catch their whisper,
“CHRISTMAS isn’t just one day.”©JAMIE
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Either how canst thou say to thy brother, Brother, let me pull out the mote that is in thine eye, when thou thyself beholdest not the beam that is in thine own eye? LUKE 6:42
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