Williston July 3rd Parade 1 of 7

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aunt Irene

 

 

 

 

 

Stokes Heirloom Photographs

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Burrowed Beneath

Burrowed beneath the cool
Florida sand
Lies the rattle-tailed
shiver of sapian
In darkness meshing of
Gopherus and Horridus
Vestiges of
a creation once
Concordant.

Loti Sonata

Morning Meditation

 

in morning meditation
pondering the creation
how from nothing
we were created
one to hear
another one deaf
one to bloom
another to gloom
more the mystery
the new creation
where wind blows
we never know
yet it goes
while one bends
another breaks
how one see's
this morning beauty.

Impression Loti

There are several differing interpretations of this same scene, from sharply focused to a slow shutter impression. I am drawn to the soft, painterly look of a slow shutter.

The Sad Shepherd

Amazon sent my copy of Collected Poems by Yeats yesterday, a very nice little hardback from the Collector's Library. This is the second poem in the volume. I look forward to the rest.

The Sad Shepherd
by W.B. Yeats

There was a man whom Sorrow named his friend,
And he, of his high comrade Sorrow dreaming,
Went walking with slow steps along the gleaming
And humming sands, where windy surges wend:
And he called loudly to the stars to bend
From their pale thrones and comfort him, but they
Among themselves laugh on and sing alway:
And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend
Cried out, Dim sea, hear my most piteous story!
The sea swept on and cried her old cry still,
Rolling along in dreams from hill to hill.
He fled the persecution of her glory
And, in a far-off, gentle valley stopping.
Cried all his story to the dewdrops glistening.
But naught they heard, for they are always listening,
The dewdrops, for the sound of their own dropping.
And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend
Sought once again the shore, and found a shell,
And thought, I will my heavy story tell
Till my own words, re-echoing, shall send
Their sadness through a hollow, pearly heart;
And my own tale again for me shall sing,
And my own whispering words be comforting,
And lo! my ancient burden may depart.
Then he sang softly nigh the pearly rim;
But the sad dweller by the sea-ways lone
Changed all he sang to inarticulate moan
Among her wildering whirls, forgetting him.