Posted tagged ‘iPad art’
Thankful for Steve Jobs, Tribute to iTunes
October 5, 2011Yankees’ Fan Gets Nervous
October 4, 2011
Asleep on One’s Feet (With elephants)
October 2, 2011
Tired today….
Republicans Seeming to Look for Any Alternative To Romney
September 30, 2011
Republican operatives seem to be looking for any alternative to Mitt Romney (and yes, Perry) these days, without noticeable success. Chris Christie insists he’s not interested. The kitty cat (above) may be interested but has dubious experience. The Swiss Cheese (also above) seems per se disqualified (unless it can convince operatives that it was made in Wisconsin.)
Revising a “Dolphin Dream” (Slivers of silver, gradients gray.)
September 29, 2011
The poem below, Dolphin Dream, is a revised version of a draft poem I wrote this past April as part of my effort to celebrate National Poetry Month. (I try to post a new draft poem every day.) I was planning on linking this revised version last week for the dVerse Poets Pub, “Meet the Bar”, event in which participants give each other helpful commentary to improve their poems, but because that event focused (in a very interesting way) on the subject of poetic craft, and this poem is not really very “crafty”, I did not highlight it. At any rate, here it is for the dVerse Poets “Open Link” night. I am very happy to get commentary from both dVerse poets and non-dVerse poets. (Thanks much.)
Dolphin Dream
The hospital warned I’d have to cart
the scanner needed to test my heart,
my torso too, and abdomen,
the places growths had lodged within.
I carried the scanner in a bag;
still those who saw it guessed the sag
that weighed my spirit, slowed my walk,
and, only human, began to talk.
Upset, I left, broke for the sea,
though the waves that day were high for me.
To escape what seemed a crushing blow,
I took a dive far far below.
The drop was so precipitate,
five fathoms deep I had to wait,
and watch above the wash of bubbles–
warning signs of deadly troubles,
’till, as my lungs used up my breath,
I saw a sight beyond the rest,
from my cerulean deep sea bed,
a paisley pattern over head.
Slivers of silver, gradients grey,
muscled curves as clear as day,
Sharks? No, dolphins. My heart took flight,
awe subsuming background fright.
Their ease, their grace, was palpable;
to wish them gone felt culpable;
though soon my lungs were so compressed,
wonder turned to harsh distress.
The need for change brought exhalation,
despite the lack of further ration–
no air down there–and so far down,
I felt that I must surely drown.
I woke up treading toward the light,
gasping, panting, in the night,
afraid to settle back to sleep,
though longing to re-spy that deep.
That I could watch those dolphins twist
without a clutch inside my chest!
That I could sink into that dream,
without a thought of scan machine,
or hospital, or sense of tumor,
hush of the half-murmured rumor.
But how could I return with ease
to a place I could not breathe,
where ocean salt still left its trace
inside my heart and on my face,
and dolphins swam as far above
as anything I’ve ever loved.
One query for commenters is whether the last line should read “as everything I’ve ever loved” rather than anything.
P.S. I’m reposting an old picture. (Sorry!) I don’t like to do this, but it was one of the first I did on iPad 2 so I’ve always had a soft spot for it.
Mea Culpa. Blown Sestina. (Feels Bad But Could Be Worse.) (No Casualties)
September 28, 2011
In the early years of this millenium, I used to console myself when I made a mistake with the thought that I hadn’t invaded Iraq. (The idea being that if even supposedly “expert” teams of ex-think-tank leaders can make extremely problematic and terribly consequential decisions, I should cut my self-acknowledged dim wits some slack.)
It feels flippant to use such a consolation in the case of a poetic mistake, that is, the omission of a line in a poetic form. I could perhaps look for solace in less bloody, and perhaps more current, comparisons, such as “Hey! I didn’t invest in credit default swaps.” Or, how about, “I didn’t push Greek debt.”)
A plain old admission of “I blew it” makes a lot more sense.
So here it is–I blew it. My “sestina” posted yesterday is missing a line in the third stanza. This stanza only has five lines rather than the requisite six; the missing repeated word is “air.”
My only excuse is I wrote the poem in such extended scribbles (actually on a big index card while walking) that I scribbled over my little reminders related to the ordering of the end words. (I had posted them in pencil in the margin of my index cards.)
Of course, the poem is salvageable (if such a thing even matters). I can re-work the third stanza. I am also pretty sure that the additional line will make the poem better. My sense is that traditional forms became traditional because they have a certain ring–a kind of innate rightness, charisma.
So far, unfortunately, I haven’t had the time or the strength of mind to make the changes. (Embarrassment takes a certain hold, as in, that elephant up there is blushing.)
My apologies to all who complimented me on the good use of the form!
Apple Picking! (With Elephant)
September 25, 2011
Repetition Raises A Villanelle (“Shattering”)
September 24, 2011
This is another post inspired by dVerse Poets Pub, a really supportive website for online poets. The prompt this time concerned poems that deal in repetition. As followers of this blog know, I’m devoted to the villanelle, a poetic form that is based on repeating line sequences. This villanelle is part of a pair–its companion piece, “Burned Soldier” may be found here, as well as a discussion of how to write a villanelle. Both poems were inspired by the ongoing wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Any thoughts or suggestions most welcome.
Shattering
The shattering of lives should take some time.
It shouldn’t come in flashes, clods of dirt,
no moment for altered course, for change of mind.
The actual choice ahead should be well-signed–
pre-emptive smoke, perhaps a blood-soaked shirt–
the shattering of lives should take some time.
He knew that road was risky, heard a whine,
but in the end those warnings were too curt,
no moment for altered course, for change of mind.
Hard to foresee your own true body lined
with metal plates and plastic tubes of hurt;
the shattering of lives should take some time.
So many hours after to refine
what happened in that second’s blinding lurch,
no moment for altered course or change of mind.
Or was it fate? A studied path, not whim?
His heart tried hard to measure out the worth
of shattering lives. It would take some time,
with no moment for altering course or mind.
(All rights reserved.)
P.S. – I’ve posted a lot of villanelles, which is a favorite form for many years. I love the music- and yet, the repetition. They can be found by checking out that category from home page.
Hard time focusing (i.e. focusing in hard time)
September 20, 2011
Poem To Mariano Rivera, on his 602nd Save
September 19, 2011
To Mariano Rivera, from a New Yorker
Mariano, you’re our man,
you pitch as well as any can.
When you step out upon the field,
the batters know they soon must yield.
Your cutters cut them down to size
as fans, in awe, dissolve in sighs!
Good old Mo, you are our man,
the greatest closer in the land.
(PS – Dear Mariano, sorry for the portrait. It doesn’t infringe on anyone else’s copyright, but it also doesn’t do you justice!)
(PPS – Thanks for all your years of inspiring and cheering New York.)
ManicDDaily 
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