First, you’ve got to clear your head. Because your head just keeps saying things that aren’t true. Well they are true most of the times you’re saying them. But sometimes like last Wednesday, they aren’t true. That was the day I saw the biggest, most beautiful butterfly I’d ever seen….
Check out this latest post at Roxi St. Clair. (And then spend some time roaming the site. You’ll be glad you did.)
It demonstrates an excellent understanding of the Haiku Sensibility and how to apply it in English poetry. The only suggestion I would make if I were editing the poem would be to consider the word “at” rather than “to” in the fifth line.
Over the next few weeks, if it doesn’t destroy itself and the sun doesn’t burn it up, Comet ISON just may put on one hell of a show. Enthusiasts have already called it a “comet of the century” and dubbed it a “Great Comet.” Within just a few days, this very small space rock — only about three miles across — will slingshot around the sun, traveling at .2 the speed of light and passing within 730,000 miles of the sun’s surface. Using only gravity as a propellant, it will dance across our sky with a show that, if the predictions are even remotely accurate, will dazzle, amaze, and stay with you for a very long time.
Perhaps you’re already watching. Some people who rise early enough — at least an hour before dawn — and have a clear view of the lower eastern sky and have been tracking the comet with the aid of binoculars or a telescope have already formed a bond with this visitor from the outer reaches of our solar system. I know I’ve seen several comets in my life. But the one I most clearly remember and feel connected to is Hale-Bopp, the Great Comet of 1997 that followed me half way around the world.
We saw the comet Hale-Bopp stand still
Above the ocean at Ka’anapali Beach,
Just like the crow we saw one morning rise
In Boston, a black knight errant, holding still
Against the wind, and flapping its wings to stay
In place while others watched then rode the wind
Up through the sky — first one, then three, while the first
Held still, then dipped, then rose along their arc.
Again in Atlanta, we saw Hale-Bopp
And watched its tail that arced above Stone Mountain,
As stony as the frieze on the mountain’s face,
The infamous past held lifeless there until
A laser called it back and thundering hooves
Like in a page from Faulkner roared inside
The head of a thousand Hightowers then died
When floodlights splashed against the granite wall.
I once saw black Ogunquit sea birds skate
Across the water’s surface with their wings
Outstretched and necks pushed forward like a horse
Gaining speed to rise up from the waves,
A white spray arcing from their tails beneath
The granite cliffs and slate New England sky.
© Joseph Saling and The New Word Mechanic, 2004, 2013.
Our encounter with the visitor from afar, may be closer than we think.
Where Einstein feared to tread.
The probabilities are endless. Galaxies colliding inside the head of a pin.
And if you want to know how to say hello in Russian, you can find out here.
This past weekend we passed through the peak of the Perseid Meteor Shower, which happens each year near the middle of August. This year is a particularly good year for viewing because of the current phase of the moon. If you missed the show this weekend, you can still look tonight.
This poem was originally published in A Matter of Mind (Foothills Publishing, 2004).
The crow circled once
and fell into the black trees,
This was on Copper Mountain
where I’d seen the fat groundhog raise its head.
For those who’ll give up the desire to know,
the world is filled with surprise,
like the snake cutting
silently through the water
looking like a stick
or beavers sliding
from the bank where the raccoon
stands splashing its food.
Or that night we sat on a park table watching
unobstructed stars too many to count,
too many to comprehend. We were like children
in front of a store window at Christmas, dazzled
by the dancing lights.
One by one the stars broke free and ran through the sky
along firey trails.
The summer grass moved
and a mysterious form waddled our way —
a white streak on black that seemed to mirror the sky.
And for an instant, before fear rushed us
out of its way and pushed us
back inside our tent,
that wandering skunk
beneath the falling heavens
was a wondrous sight.
© Joseph Saling and The New Word Mechanic, 2004, 2012.