Posted on April 5, 2019
Rain, rain and more rain soaks us, yet the colors of spring turn the gloom into glory.
“Harshness vanished. A sudden softness
has replaced the meadows’ wintry grey.
Little rivulets of water changed
their singing accents. Tendernesses,
hesitantly, reach toward the earth
from space, and country lanes are showing
these unexpected subtle risings
that find expression in the empty trees”….Rilke
Posted on April 1, 2019
“What is essential to practice the Tao is to get rid of cravings and vexations. If these afflictions are not removed, it is impossible to attain stability. This is like the case of the fertile field, which cannot produce good crops as long as the weeds are not cleared away. Cravings and ruminations are the weeds of the mind; if you do not clear them away, concentration and wisdom do not develop.”
– Chang San-feng, founder of T’ai Chi Ch’uan, circa 1300 A.D.
Posted on February 21, 2019
I find there’s something enormously powerful about flowers if one takes time to look at them closely.
“Tulips shyly smiling, greet the spring
Tightly closed when at
First we meet
Tulips slowly opening, begin to sing
No longer shy, as days grow longer,
Raising their heads
They begin to flirt
Tulips dressed in many a color
Each floral skirt
Tulips, brazen painted hussies,
Part their bright lips trying to seduce
The busy buzzing bees
Far too bold for dainty tussies
Vibrant Tulip flowers produce
Visions certain to please “
Posted on February 8, 2019
I died for beauty but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.
He questioned softly why I failed?
‘For beauty,’ I replied.
‘And I for truth, — the two are one;
We brethren are,’ he said.
And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names…..Emily Dickinson
Posted on June 20, 2018
Let’s start with a formal portrait of a young man who calls himself Odz Nens. He has set up his typewriter and chair near Boston’s Frog Pond.
He creates poems for passersby on any subject of their choosing. Currently his entire income comes from this endeavor.
He’s a gentle, pensive guy. He told me many cities have street poets. Boston has a few. New Orleans has the most.
I asked him for a poem about street photography.
what eye wants. I’d like to say the story’s on the street,
though I’ve turned down
many a blind alley.
Industry anoints the street with oil.
anoints the street with
a halo unseen.
When the puddles froze over
in New Orleans
passersby took pictures
as if they were the moon.
Posted on August 1, 2015