Tag: Poetry
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April Sky
With an eye to the historic eclipse only two days away, let’s embrace the sometimes eerie and inauspicious energy of this powerful place. April Sky Drama darkening,a tempest threatens.Clouds brood, silence booms,preluding downpour. Lake, mountains, boathousegrow unfamiliar. Thunder growls afarechoes echoing,Valkyries vaunting. Spectacle unfolds,forebodings menace,the lake bears witness.
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Lakeside Rehab
Listen to a Rosslyn song. “Lakeside Rehab” isn’t quite the anthem in my head, but it’s a start.
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Milky Morning
A lyrical look at lakeside awakening, a groggy boathouse, and winter weather induced escapism.
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Tanglefoot Tango
A poetry flirtation among tango and two Tanglefoot counterparts. Peculiar, but provocative.
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Dawning
“Each time dawn appears, the mystery is there in its entirety.” — Rene Daumal Early birds enthralled with the daily matinal unshading embrace the mystery (and the wellspring of possibility that flows through it.) I know. I am one. A “morning lark” married to a “night owl”. Opposites attract. The dawning invigorates me, and the…
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Oh, Possum, Opossum
One year ago an opossum sighting, an opossum photo, and an opossum poem. A familiar chain reaction fueling a familiar runaway post. The photo never made it into the post, and the poem — albeit a preliminary push, unready for prime-time — was buried in a morass of words more focused on Carley, our Labrador…
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Sugaring Season
I’m remembering the year my brother and gathered sap and boiled it down over an open fire to maple syrup more than a decade ago. Hour after hour, day after day, emptying buckets, hauling buckets, stoking the fire pit with logs to keep the syrup boiling, but not boiling over. Though more than once we…
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Mute Muse: Swan Song
Two years ago today the mute swan returned to Rosslyn’s reopened “duck pond” and — for an all too brief interlude — we celebrated. Many of us indulged a moment of optimism that the solitary bird, ill equipped for our harsh winter conditions, might manage to make it to spring. Let’s rewind just a little…
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Poetics of Firewood
Hats off to Steve Cooley who’s responsible for bucking, splitting, and stacking a whole lot of firewood. It’s a good feeling to be laying up firewood for *next* winter when we’re not even through this winter. And that curiously contented feeling prompts me to consider the poetics of firewood. What I was in my last…