On the bridge, he sips her breath,
seals her back, is of her shape
what she is not. I am already that
which they abhor – my unintentioned
place in their sun, intrusive. If
those waters could keep their gaze,
I’d slip into shadow, retrace my
own false steps, turn up elsewhere –
though when I first began, this path
was mine. They notice me – and
part. Half a step beyond, I am
tempted by their love to try again.
© Diane Beaty
Shmoop
is a site
that produces
study guides.
Dive into their
poetry section
for some
interesting
reads: #mce_temp_url#
image source: #mce_temp_url#
Unicorn rainbows are the prettiest
sights, the glowing fire-colors
that show off their lights, throwing
out hope for the weak, and
the weary, in a palace of splendor,
in a place once thought dreary. Prisms
of dreams that dance in the night
are locked up, enclosed in the rainbow’s
green light. Laughter and gaiety
glow in the yellow, and burst forth,
like marshmallows bouncing
on Jello. Castles and dragons blend
with the blue, the source of our strengths,
and weaknesses too. Renewal is found
in the color of pink, whenever our lives
creep over the brink. Yes, unicorn
rainbows are magical stuff, and, of them,
we never can get quite enough!!!
© Diane Beaty
Poetry Out Loud is a national program through National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) that encourages high school students to learn about great poetry as they memorize and perform notable poems in a series of competitions that begin in the classroom and will culminate with national championships in Washington, D.C. in April 2010.
For full details, click on the following link:
This time of year is busy for me, so there may be times when
I no longer post on a daily basis. I will try my best to add
new poetry, photography, submission info and art, but, on
those days when I don’t have time to post, feel free to chat
among yourselves or dive into the already voluminous
archives of links and posts. Thanks.
For more than a century,
certain extraordinary
men and women have
worked in photography
with the unmistakable
authority of genius.
Each of them has
produced unforgettable
images, and not once
or twice, but again and
again, and often
throughout the change
and evolution of a lifetime. Each is like an eye which, once opened
on the universe, cannot be closed again. One after another, they
tell us of the curious, intense and vital experience of working in
photography, of its challenges, of the stages of growth it demands,
the sudden revelations it presents. From their testimony there
emerges a concept of photography as a medium that is very
different from the casual and rather stereotyped impressions
most of us have held till now.
Nancy Newhall
(1908 – 1974)
American Photography Critic
The following is a link to Nancy Newhall’s wiki page:
We sift the streambed’s squishy
acres, absorbing what is
sometimes known, what’s guessed
at; what lingers in a long refrain;
what sings our story:
the sum of our remembered past;
notes of our futility; talk
in rich, reductive measures. What’s
not resisted pushes down. We
live as ably as we can, too many
cures are badly counted.
Worlds dismissed are restless tomes,
fumes we dance a lung across.
© Diane Beaty
Please note: Again, the poem is mine, and the photo used to accompany this post is a clipart photo. Unfortunately, I don’t have the photographer’s name.
The future we may never have.
We save for it, and every detail
seems assured. Each day,
we borrow that, our dream, swirl
around its inner core; make
love to it; keep it in our
nightly bed. It lies across us
now like quilts of old –
beauty in its patchwork glory.
© Diane Beaty
Please note: The poem is mine, but the photo used to accompany this post is a clipart photo. Unfortunately, I don’t have the photographer’s name.
Rainbow species’ spacious
life. Islands formed by
raucous nature. Tides below
the lifted land. Waters known
to captivate, revel in
all worldly color. Dolphins
of the brimming sea
direction is a reckoning.
Bent lines, straight lines,
longer flats are what
we wear to each year’s
prom. Who could match this
glistening, the way things
open down to nothing?
© Diane Beaty
Please note: The poem is mine, but the photo used to accompany this post is a clipart photo. Unfortunately, I don’t have the photographer’s name.
Fire dying in upon itself till
all is ash or hearth —
undone, we slip into the folds
of dawn – move simply, gently
ever on – and where a creviced
rock will stand we lay
ourselves upon the land like
melted froth of winter’s snow;
and gather to us what will
grow, and gather up this raucous
din to settle near and ever in –
nature’s patterned slip towards
death the one kept distance
near us, yet we sit here green
among the pines where trickles
roar these twining vines.
© Diane Beaty
Please note: The poem is mine, but the photo used to accompany this post is a clipart photo. Unfortunately, I don’t have the photographer’s name.
dig-n-dash
