top of page

Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem.-Edgar Allan Poe

Poetry is when emotion has found its thought and thought has found words--Robert Frost

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance--Carl Sandburg

I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry--John Cage

You will find poetry nowhere unless you bring some of it with you--Joseph Joubert

Poetry is what in a poem makes you laugh, cry, prickle, be silent, makes your toe nails twinkle, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own. ~Dylan Thomas

joybragi84
Mar 232 min read

First Day of Spring Break Trip and a New Poem, But Not a Theme I Will Stick With


The Mill at Falling Spring

Keeping in mind that I have a limited amount of storage space for photos on the blog, here are a few photos from the short trip that Kellie and I took to Eminence, Missouri over Spring Break. It was an exploration trip for us, and we pretty much covered everything within a 50 mile radius of the town. I hope the photos I present give a well-rounded idea of what we saw. I will only do the first day today.


By the way, check out Kellie's Facebook pages if you want to see more photos. Hers are often better and more representative of what we saw than mine are. I sometimes think things are neat, and other people go "What?!?"



Hog's Head Tree Limb

Yes, the picture above is truly just a knotty limb on a tree, but it looks just like a hog's head that was turned into wood.



Unbeknownst to both Kellie and me, we had driven by an old Forest Service outpost that was built by the CCC in the 1930's every time we had driven to Falling Spring. This time we noticed the signs and stopped. This is the chimney from the officer's home in this long-abandoned Forest Service work area. A plant was built here to create creosote wood products for projects in the area. I took a couple pictures of the former wood working factory (the concrete that is left), but I didn't get a good shot of what I wanted. Maybe, Kellie has one.


Since this is a poetry blog, how's about I post a poem. This poem was inspired by watching the news the other morning. This WILL NOT be a theme that I will explore further, but I couldn't help myself after seeing how people treat one another in our country and other places around the world.

Modern Love

 

“We live for freedom,”

                                        Cries the chained rabble.

“We would die for peace,”

                                       The killers babble.

They scrape for nickels

                                       And dispute a dime.

They censure others

                                     While committing crime.

Slighted by a thought,

                                      Off to war they go.

Their malice only

                                      Leveled at their foe

But razing any

                                     Goodwill on the way.

“It is for the best,”

                                      I hear them say.

And that is when I

                                      Rise to leave the room      

To let the posers      

                                      Sanctify their doom.

 

What a world we live in, huh? All righty! More photos from the first day of Spring Break.


Rocky Falls from the Bottom


And, finally! Here is a picture of Kellie taking pictures of Rocky Falls from the top. Now, what if she were taking pictures of someone taking pictures of someone taking pictures?



Comments

I find that I cannot exist without Poetry--without eternal poetry--half the day will not do--the whole of it--I began with a little, but habit has made me a Leviathan.-John Keats

We do not quite say that the new is more valuable because it fits in; but its fitting in is a test of its value.-T. S. Eliot

A man may praise and praise, but no one recollects but that which pleases.-George Gordon, Lord Byron

The great beauty of poetry is that it makes everything in every place interesting.-John Keats

Our faulty elder poets sacrificed the passion and passionate flow of poetry to the subtleties of intellect and to the stars of wit; the moderns to the glare and glitter of a perpetual, yet broken and heterogeneous imagery, or rather to an amphibious something, made up, half of image, and half of abstract meaning. The one sacrificed the heart to the head; the other both heart and head to point and drapery.-S. T. Coleridge

The purpose of rhythm, it has always seemed to me, is to prolong the moment of contemplation, the moment when we are both asleep and awake, which is the one moment of creation.-W. B. Yeats

bottom of page