Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Nature’ Category

 

“There is no poetry for the practical man. There is poetry only for the mankind of the man who spends a certain amount of his life turning the mechanical wheel. But let him spend too much of his life at the mechanics of practicality and either he must become something less than a man, or his very mechanical efficiency will become impaired by the frustrations stored up in his irrational human personality.
An ulcer, gentlemen, is an unkissed imagination taking its revenge for having been jilted. It is an unwritten poem, a neglected music, an unpainted water color, an undanced dance. It is a declaration from the mankind of the man that a clear spring of joy has not been tapped, and that it must break through, muddily, on its own.”
– John Ciardi

 

“Poems are not written to sing of the moon and flowers; they must speak of our hearts in response to the moon and flowers. We must never forget that in our hearts are the seeds of our poems. If we merely speak of the moon and flowers, poems become simply poetical forms, whatever the human heart may be. If these things become a part of ourselves, then we may admire them in verse.”
– Okuman Kotomichi
19th century

 

“A haiku . . . is a hand beckoning, a door half-opened, a mirror wiped clean. It is a way of returning to nature, to our moon nature, our cherry blossom nature, our falling leaf nature, in short, to our Buddha nature. It is a way in which the cold winter rain, the swallows of evening, even the very day in its hotness, and the length of the night become truly alive, share in our humanity, speak their own silent and expressive language.”

— R. H. Blyth, Haiku, Volume 1, page 243

 

 

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

This was taken from my niece’s backyard where I’ll be staying in Hilo.

Ah – Mauna Kea.

Beautiful Mauna Kea

Awaits my return.

t's backyard

Read Full Post »

Some folks love Spring,

New faces in morning glories,

Cotton blouses and green toe nails.

Winter scarves stuffed into cedar chests.

 

Some folks love Fall.

The season of sounds.

 

Summer…I hate summers

In three digit Sacramento heat.

 

I brought Winter back today:

A mug of Winter –

Hot steamy cocoa –

While the city burned outside.

 

fhk

Summer: 2017

Read Full Post »

hibiscus 1

 

Hawaiian style morn

Seven blooms on the 5th day.

If only twas May.

8-5-17

Sacramento, CA

Read Full Post »

To Homo Sapiens

 

I am your forest.

The sound of your ax

Silences my voice.

I am your…

I am…

I…

 

*****

I am Salmon.

I am Black Rhino.

I am Honey Bee.

Soon to be fossilized

Into your earth. Unless

 

You learn to hear

Hummingbird wings.

frances

Read Full Post »

Georgia O’Keefe

My host of flowers leaves me

breathless as your one.

lavenderpoppies

Read Full Post »

one daffodil

It wasn’t a host of golden daffodils

Not even one thousand,

But I did gaze – and gazed –

My heart did with pleasure fills

It was only one, the first of spring –

And I did wander lonely as a cloud.

A poet could not but be gay.

In daffodils, one or ten thousand.

 

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »