Dry

Out in the field running new fence line on a July day
bright electric dry clouds wispy high
against a sky the color of a robin's egg

insects with a high dry sound
yes that's how I would describe
high and dry, rasping dry legs

dry grass makes me think of a cold dry day in January
when the snow sifting through the trees looks like little diamonds

and I breathe in your essence
the essence of eternity.

Tree

Baby Raccoons

We live in such a beautiful habitat I suspect we may be a drop off site for orphaned baby wildlife via the local Wildlife rehab.

So far this year I have seen a teeny baby porcupine I actually went up to because I thought it was a black kitten, a single baby raccoon, and now three orphaned raccoons that have discovered that the poultry grain in the goose pen is delicious.

We watched them return late afternoon across the goat pasture, through the goat pen and a small hole in the fence as if they belonged there. One even sat in the goose dish.

We could get within a few feet of them.

So we put out an extra dish of food and the dog let them know they aren't really welcome here, so hopefully they'll move downstream as they mature and stay clear of coon hunters.

All things swept sole away

All things swept sole away
This -- is immensity --

Emily Dickinson

Poppies In July

Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?

You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns

And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.

A mouth just bloodied.
Little bloody skirts!

There are fumes I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?

If I could bleed, or sleep! -
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.

But colorless. Colorless

Sylvia Plath

Knee deep in June

Tell you what I like the best --
'Long about knee-deep in June,
'Bout the time strawberries melts
On the vine, -- some afternoon
Like to jes' git out and rest,
And not work at nothin' else!

Orchard's where I'd ruther be --
Needn't fence it in fer me! --
Jes' the whole sky overhead,
And the whole airth underneath --
Sort o' so's a man kin breathe
Like he ort, and kind o' has
Elbow-room to keerlessly
Sprawl out len'thways on the grass
Where the shadders thick and soft
As the kivvers on the bed
Mother fixes in the loft
Allus, when they's company!

Jes' a-sort o' lazin there -
S'lazy, 'at you peek and peer
Through the wavin' leaves above,
Like a feller 'ats in love
And don't know it, ner don't keer!
Ever'thing you hear and see
Got some sort o' interest -
Maybe find a bluebird's nest
Tucked up there conveenently
Fer the boy 'at's ap' to be
Up some other apple tree!
Watch the swallers skootin' past
Bout as peert as you could ast;
Er the Bob-white raise and whiz
Where some other's whistle is.

Ketch a shadder down below,
And look up to find the crow --
Er a hawk, - away up there,
'Pearantly froze in the air! --
Hear the old hen squawk, and squat
Over ever' chick she's got,
Suddent-like! - and she knows where
That-air hawk is, well as you! --
You jes' bet yer life she do! --
Eyes a-glitterin' like glass,
Waitin' till he makes a pass!

Pee-wees wingin', to express
My opinion, 's second-class,
Yit you'll hear 'em more er less;
Sapsucks gittin' down to biz,
Weedin' out the lonesomeness;
Mr. Bluejay, full o' sass,
In them baseball clothes o' his,
Sportin' round the orchad jes'
Like he owned the premises!
Sun out in the fields kin sizz,
But flat on yer back, I guess,
In the shade's where glory is!
That's jes' what I'd like to do
Stiddy fer a year er two!

Plague! Ef they ain't somepin' in
Work 'at kind o' goes ag'in'
My convictions! - 'long about
Here in June especially! --
Under some ole apple tree,
Jes' a-restin through and through,
I could git along without
Nothin' else at all to do
Only jes' a-wishin' you
Wuz a-gittin' there like me,
And June wuz eternity!

Lay out there and try to see
Jes' how lazy you kin be! --
Tumble round and souse yer head
In the clover-bloom, er pull
Yer straw hat acrost yer eyes
And peek through it at the skies,
Thinkin' of old chums 'ats dead,
Maybe, smilin' back at you
In betwixt the beautiful
Clouds o'gold and white and blue! --
Month a man kin railly love --
June, you know, I'm talkin' of!

March ain't never nothin' new! --
April's altogether too
Brash fer me! and May -- I jes'
'Bominate its promises, --
Little hints o' sunshine and
Green around the timber-land --
A few blossoms, and a few
Chip-birds, and a sprout er two, --
Drap asleep, and it turns in
Fore daylight and snows ag'in! --
But when June comes - Clear my th'oat
With wild honey! -- Rench my hair
In the dew! And hold my coat!
Whoop out loud! And th'ow my hat! --
June wants me, and I'm to spare!
Spread them shadders anywhere,
I'll get down and waller there,
And obleeged to you at that!

James Whitcomb Riley

Quote of the Day

Since the past 2000 years vile activities, criminal acts etc have crossed all limits. Powerful people have harassed the weaker section of society. This era can be called the Dark Age. Powerful people after joining hands have misused their capabilities. Those who were weak never thought of opposing this harassment. Man has an inherent capacity to fight hardships and this is his special quality. Man in reality has been molded in such a way that maybe he cannot defeat unwholesomeness but he can at least oppose it. Instead of allowing lack of ethics to go on merrily or instead of enduring it man can at least oppose it to uplift human glory.

YUGA RISHI SHRIRAM SHARMA


TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH BY

MS HEENA A. KAPADIA (M Sc, M Phil)

For Joplin, Missouri

Walkers With The Dawn

Being walkers with the dawn and morning,
Walkers with the sun and morning,
We are not afraid of night,
Nor days of gloom,
Nor darkness--
Being walkers with the sun and morning.

by Langston Hughes

Full Moon

"When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance."
— Oscar Wilde (The Picture of Dorian Gray)

"There are moments when one has to choose between living one's own life, fully, entirely, completely-or dragging out some false, shallow, degrading existence that the world in its hypocrisy demands."
— Oscar Wilde (Lady Windermere's Fan)


You see I cannot see—your lifetime

You see I cannot see—your lifetime—
I must guess—
How many times it ache for me—today—Confess—
How many times for my far sake
The brave eyes film—
But I guess guessing hurts—
Mine—got so dim!

Too vague—the face—
My own—so patient—covers—
Too far—the strength—
My timidness enfolds—
Haunting the Heart—
Like her translated faces—
Teasing the want—
It—only—can suffice!
Emily Dickinson


Nature is what we see

"Nature" is what we see—
The Hill—the Afternoon—
Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee—
Nay—Nature is Heaven—
Nature is what we hear—
The Bobolink—the Sea—
Thunder—the Cricket—
Nay—Nature is Harmony—
Nature is what we know—
Yet have no art to say—
So impotent Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity.

Emily Dickinson

To -- [The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see]

1

The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see
The wantonest singing birds
Are lips - and all thy melody
Of lip-begotten words -

2

Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrin'd
Then desolately fall,
O! God! on my funereal mind
Like starlight on a pall -

3

Thy heart - _thy_ heart! - I wake and sigh,
And sleep to dream till day
Of truth that gold can never buy -
Of the trifles that it may.

Edgar Allan Poe

Oplysning

mel. Vi Sømænd gjør ei mange Ord.

Er Lyset for de Lærde blot
Til ret og galt at stave?
Nei, Himlen under Flere godt,
Og Lys er Himlens Gave,
Og Solen staaer med Bonden op,
Slet ikke med de Lærde,
Oplyser bedst fra Taa til Top,
Hvem der er mest paafærde.

Er Lyset i Planeter kun,
Som ei kan see og mæle?
Er ikke Ordet i vor Mund
Et Lys for alle Sjæle!
Det giver os for Aander Syn,
Som Solens skin for Kroppe,
Det slaaer i Sjælen ned som Lyn
Fra Skyerne histoppe.

Er Lys på visse Vilkaar blot
Saa halvveis at ophøie?
Giør det ei allevegne Godt!
Er Lys ei Livets Øie!
Skal for Misbrugens Skyld maaske
Paa Aandens Himmelbue
Vi heller Mulm og Mørke see
End Solens blanke Lue!

Nei, aldrig spørges det fra Nord,
Vi Lyset vil fordunkle!
Som Nordlys i fribaarne Ord
Det saaes på Himlen funkle,
Og sees det skal ved Nordens Pol,
Ei blot i Kroppens Rige:
Midsommerens den bolde Sol
Vil ei for Midnat vige!
Oplysning være skal vor Lyst,
Er det saa kun om Sivet,
Men først og sidst med Folkerøst

Oplysningen om Livet;
Den springer ud af Folkedaad
Og vokser, som den vugges,
Den straale i vort Folkeraad,
Til Aftenstjernen slukkes!



N. F. S. Grundtvig

Maine Spring

2011 has been a cold gray spring in this part of Maine. The wind has (howled) out of the North for the last four days; big clouds scudding southward.

The sun came out today. The black flies, normally thick this time of year, must have been swept down to Massachusetts. The increased airflow apparently hurried the mosquito hatch along-or they are last fall's survivors protected by our early and late snows and snow snow snows in between.

The usual white-knuckled icy glazed roads have turned beautiful. Everything is bursting. Emerald green fields blanketed in gold-dandelions. The eye-wrenching spring yellow is reinforced by the forsythias, in full color. White clouds of apple blossoms, pink ornamental cherries, brilliant fuschia-creeping phlox. More screaming yellow in beds and beds of daffodils. Red red red tulips.

The trees won't be denied. Bursting pink buds, drooping pollen-encrusted blossoms, light light green buds everywhere.

Eyes closed, the afternoon sun glows blood-orange through the back of the eyelids. The mosquitoes take their share.

Rain comes.