Author: jennyhayut

HIKING THE NARROWS IN ZION NATIONAL PARK – ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW — Yvonne’s Travel Blog

If you are an outdoor enthusiast, hiking the Narrows in Zion National Park is most likely on your bucket list, and for a good reason. The Narrows, or…

HIKING THE NARROWS IN ZION NATIONAL PARK – ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW — Yvonne’s Travel Blog

the chase: NaProWriMo

the darlings,

those little fledglings below

how they tickle my feathers,

tame my song

as earthen creatures try to plot an escape

from my fickle fancy of chase

Today’s prompt for National Poetry Writing Month was to imagine yourself an object or animal and write from their perspective. I chose a bird, full of moxy in his morning view awaiting breakfast.

Robins are always about and often as I watch from my picture window (where I captured this image) I see personalities flutter about. Some brazen, some bossy, some blending in with the leaves. Others all business while fledglings at heart give way to wing spirited games.

wisteria:haiku

raindrops from the moon

adorning the old oak tree

violet dreams weeping

I wait for this beauty to bloom each spring and as the years grow, she becomes more and more breathtaking. Wisteria, with its striking scents of honey and vanilla (at least those are the notes I pick up), symbolizes new life, love, sensuality and expanding consciousness.

For more of my flora photography you can visit my gallery here.

 

-just breathe-

blank slate: NaPoWriMo

the stages, the ages of her wild

where blooms now carelessly blow

across this blank slate, where her childhood began where it took root to grow

where barefoot runners got tangled up in bee parades

and crepe myrtle breezes stole the show

giggling sprites in the night carrying dreams, in softest blushed glow

where farmlands had peas to be shucked

and corn stalks reached for the sky

running through the rows, chasing birds knowing she too could fly

the stages, the ages of her wild

where blooms now carelessly blow

across this blank slate, where her childhood began where it took root to grow

now gone, now quiet, stolen by careless flames

she goes back to listen, to quietly reminisce

to ghosts of a childhood, those small moments of bliss

For NaPoWriMo month where the prompt given was to create a poem with a specific place in mind, incorporating concrete details like street names, distances, types of flowers, trees etc.

I chose my childhood home that was taken by a fire. The image i captured is how the empty lot stands today. Thank you for visiting and reading and for more of my photography you can visit my gallery here.

photograph-NaPoWriMo

a patchwork of a day

sewn from behind the glass

sometimes in solitude, sometimes flowing with life

sometimes in black and white, sometimes with hues amass

sorting through, zooming in zooming out

gaining perspectives of what is worthy and what need not be saved

from wrong angles pursued, or the distance gaining clout

to getting lost out of focus, an abstract of view

or too sharp of lines, unable to see beyond their course

she listens to each one with great care letting the vision, the art come through

flipping sometimes slowly sometimes anxious to see

the day in its glory, painted moments to have

deleting those unwanted, those that offer no pleasantry

I wrote this for this first day of #Napowrimo . I may participate every day or maybe not since I’m still having to work daily but I love the way it pushes the imagination and gives us something to look forward to and create every day.

Today’s assignment was to write a self-portrait poem on which you make a specific action a metaphor in your life. I chose the act of seeing the world through my camera, capturing images, relating it to the perspectives and choices we make in life.

remnants of a storm

 

Hugs

 

surprise hugs that steal the breath away,

catching you off guard,

leaving you in dismay.

 

a warm hug that makes you feel grown,

like finishing a long trip

and returning to a holiday home.

 

family hugs that are hard to bear,

hard to get away from

it’s like you’re caught in a snare.

 

charitable hugs that make you feel less alone,

the realization of your sadness

cuts to the bone.

 

an extended hug,

reminding you of the yesterdays,

of the minutes, the moments, the years

all that has led to you two parting ways.

 

hugs consoling human suffering,

and you don’t care who sees your tears.

you don’t care about people hovering.

 

hugs that make you feel sexually alive;

they embarrass you; no one has held you like that in so long

that it’s hard not to cry.

 

routine hugs that come as second-nature

unlike vibrant hugs

between chasee and chaser.

 

hugs of singular awareness,

which are a rarity;

you two hugging so tight…you create your own

singularity.

-Robert Storm

 

Bruce Hornsby/Mandolin Rain

 

One Immortal Day

 

come sail with me

atop the clouds,

the earth smothering away

just us sailing

one immortal day

 

we leave port at dawn,

no compass to guide the way.

just us drifting

 

i’ll show you the first satellite

and where atlantis sat in the bay.

i’ll show you the land of agartha

as we grow old on this day

 

i’ll nip and nuzzle your hair,

while with my fingers you play,

massaging them like you do,

in that absentminded way.

 

around the globe we’ll go

forever to drift and forever to play,

in love

one immortal day

-Robert Storm

 

Today marks the anniversary of the death of my dear friend and poet, Robert Storm. Writing under this pen name, he lived a very private life yet opened up so much of himself as a friend, a fellow writer and a genuine human being. He was my beloved imaginative friend, an avid hiker and rock climber with an infectious laugh, never-ending wit and gentlemanly charm. Simply, he was loved and he is missed.

Much like me, he didn’t conform to social expectations with his writing as no one genre could keep him captive.  At the time of his death he was working on his first novel, Fire From Olympus, a hybrid of sorts with elements of horror and Greek mythology.  He had a brilliant mind and at the age of 45, was taken too soon. Every year in the month of September I honor his struggle and memory by bringing awareness and donating to a local leukemia society.

A year before he passed away he was able to bring a dream to life by becoming published. His book of poems, Almy, was his first and only release and one that I shall treasure and honor by not letting his voice die.  From the two pieces above I’ve selected to share, “Hugs” was a piece he was quite fond of and “One Immortal Day” was a favorite of mine. Thank you for reading and if interested, I’m including a link to his collection. I’m also humbly asking writers within the community to consider donating to a local leukemia or cancer society in his honor or for a family member or friend that you may know stricken with it. Thank you again and may we all be reminded of the importance of living every day to its fullest and finding the courage and perseverance to follow our dreams.

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watching the wind catch your ashes

yet feeling your hand in mine

-jenny