no matter the tense
it is you that owns my thoughts
present, past, future
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.
watching the wind catch your ashes
yet feeling your hand in mine
-jenny
