Rose Mahanor Art Blog

Rose Mahanor Art Blog http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/rss.cfm Artwork discussion blog. Fri, 30 Jul 2010 14:16:24 GMT After Many Springs by Langston Hughes http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=0910B718-F8DA-53CD-674FE1AD2519FEE5 Now, In June, When the night is a vast softness Filled with blue stars, And broken shafts of moon-glimmer Fall upon the earth, Am I too old to see the fairies dance? I cannot find them anymore. &nbsp; Wed, 18 Nov 2009 05:00:00 GMT http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=0910B718-F8DA-53CD-674FE1AD2519FEE5 The Layers by Stanley Kunitz http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=876997D5-FD7C-08E7-E85FD90CC618B5D2 I have walked through many lives, some of them my own, and I am not who I was, though some principle of being being abides, from which I struggle not to stray. When I look behind, as I am compelled to look before I can gather strength to proceed on my journey, I see the milestones dwindling toward the horizon and the slow fires trailing from the abandoned camp sites, over which scavenger angels wheel on heavy wings. Oh, I have made myself a tribe out of my affections, and my tribe is scattered! How shall the heart be reconciled to its feast of losses? In a rising wind the manic dust of my friends, those who fell along the way, bitterly stings my face. Yet, I turn, I turn, exulting somewhat with my will intact to go whever I need to go, and every stone on the road precious to me. In my darkest night when the moon was covered and I roamed through wreckage, a nimbus clouded voice directed me: &quot; Live in layers, not on the litter.&quot; Though I lack the art to decipher it, no doubt the next chapter in my book of transformations is already written. I am not done with my changes. Mon, 10 Nov 2008 05:00:00 GMT http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=876997D5-FD7C-08E7-E85FD90CC618B5D2 A Certain Slant of Sunlight by Ted Berrigan http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=272C0C98-B6F4-6C0B-D443C98242A4B703 In Africa the wine is cheap, and it is on St. Marks Place too, beneath a white moon. I'll go there tomorrow, dark bulk hooded against what is hurled down at me in my no hat which is weather:&nbsp; the tall pretty girl in the print dress under the fur collar of her cloth coat will be standing by the wire fence where the wild flowers grow not too tall her eyes will be deep brown and her hair styled 1941 American will be too; but I'll be shattered by then But now I'm not and can also picture white clouds impossibly high blue sky over small boy heart broken to be dressed in black knickers, black coat, broken white shirt, buster brown collar, flaring black tie her hand lightly fallen on his shoulder faded sunlight falling across the picture, mother &amp; son, 33 &amp; 7, Communion Day Hill I'll go out for a drink with one of my demons tonight they are dry in Colorado 1980 spring snow. Mon, 05 Oct 2009 04:00:00 GMT http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=272C0C98-B6F4-6C0B-D443C98242A4B703 Sonnet VI http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=787EF54D-9480-5BF8-6E2D33B99D2035D7 Mahmoud Darwish translated from the Arabic by <a href="http://www.webdelsol.com/Perihelion/darwish.htm#fady">Fady Joudah</a> SONNET [ VI ] &nbsp; A pine tree in your right hand. A willow in your left. This is summer: one of your hundred gazelles has surrendered to the dew and slept on my shoulder, near one of your regions, and so what if the wolf notices, and a forest burns in the distance. Your sleepiness is stronger than fear. A wilderness of your beauty dozes off, and a moon out of your shadows wakes to guard its trees. What's the name of the place your footsteps tattooed on the ground, a heavenly ground for the salaam of the birds, near echo? And stronger than the sword is your sleep between your streamlined arms. Like two rivers in the dreamer's paradise of what you do on the banks to yourself carried above yourself. The wolf might carry a flute and cry by the river: what isn't feminized . . . is in vain. A bit of weakness in metaphor is enough for tomorrow. For the berries to ripen on the fence, and for the sword to break under dew Thu, 18 Sep 2008 04:00:00 GMT http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=787EF54D-9480-5BF8-6E2D33B99D2035D7 Sonnet VI http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=787D8ECC-AA2C-C6C8-FFE71BCAFF1BB7C5 Thu, 18 Sep 2008 04:00:00 GMT http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=787D8ECC-AA2C-C6C8-FFE71BCAFF1BB7C5 messenger by mary oliver http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=13B96E4B-0018-E58A-27A6FAA9843821A3 my work is loving the world. here the sunflowers, there the humming bird- equal seekers of sweetness. here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums. here the clam deep in the speckled sand. are my boots old? is my coat torn? am i no longer young and still not half perfect? let me keep my mind on what matters, which is my work. which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished. the phoebe, the delphinium. the sheep in the pasture, and the pature. which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here. which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart and these body- clothes, a mouth with which to give shouts of joy to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam, telling them all, over and over, how it is that we live forever. Sat, 30 Aug 2008 04:00:00 GMT http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=13B96E4B-0018-E58A-27A6FAA9843821A3 looking for more poems http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=EF7A8C6C-951B-FA0C-DE3C4A79293E8E2B on this blog page i'm looking for new poems if anyone is interested please send it along-&nbsp;i'm planning&nbsp;to change the&nbsp;poem once&nbsp;a week.&nbsp; &nbsp;rose <div style="page-break-after: always">&nbsp;</div> Sat, 23 Aug 2008 04:00:00 GMT http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=EF7A8C6C-951B-FA0C-DE3C4A79293E8E2B a poem by david meltzer http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=B2E87E92-C376-AB69-389776618CF701AF Tell them I'm struggling to sing with angels who hint at it in black words printed on old paper gold edged by time. Tell them I wrestle the mirror every morning. Tell them I sit here invisible in space; nose running, coffee cold, &amp; bitter. Tell them I tell them everything &amp; everything is never enough. Tell them I'm davening &amp;voices rise up from within to startle children. Tell them I walk off into the woods to sing. Tell them I sing loudest next to waterfalls. Tell them the books get fewer, words go deeper, some take months to get through. Tell them there are months when it's all perfect; above 'n' below, it's perfect, even in moments in between where Sparks in space (terrible, beautiful sparks in space) are merely metaphors for the void between one pore and another. Mon, 11 Aug 2008 04:00:00 GMT http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=B2E87E92-C376-AB69-389776618CF701AF The Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=D6181CC7-D18F-3586-03F1FC85EB486F58 When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water and the great heron feeds I come into the peace of wild things Who do not tax their lives with fore thought of grief. &nbsp;I come into presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. &nbsp;For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. Thu, 15 Jul 2010 04:00:00 GMT http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=D6181CC7-D18F-3586-03F1FC85EB486F58 Emily Dickinson: My life has stood- a loaded gun http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=4A1DE7D3-0167-ED2D-75DDAB3A1797CDDB &nbsp;&nbsp;My life has stood- a loaded gun- In corners- till a day The owners passed- identified- And carried me away- <div style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); padding-top: 5px; padding-right: 5px; padding-bottom: 5px; padding-left: 5px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; "> &nbsp; And now we roam in Sovereign Woods- And now We hunt the Doe- And everytime I speak for him- The mountains straight reply- &nbsp; And do I smile, such a cordial light Upon the Valley glow- It is as a Vesuvian face Had let its pleasure through &nbsp; And when at night a good day done- I guard my masters Head 'Tis better than the Eider- Duck's Deep Pillow- to have shared &nbsp; To foe of His- I'm deadly foe- None stir the second time- On when I lay a yellow eye Or an emphatic thumb- &nbsp; Though I than He- may longer life He longer must- than I For I but the power to kill, Without- the power to die- </div> Thu, 29 Apr 2010 04:00:00 GMT http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=4A1DE7D3-0167-ED2D-75DDAB3A1797CDDB Emily Dickinson: My life has stood- a loaded gun http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=4A1CA926-C1EB-B45E-CA9C63F18C404C69 Thu, 29 Apr 2010 04:00:00 GMT http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=4A1CA926-C1EB-B45E-CA9C63F18C404C69 gray room by wallace stevens http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=897D1598-DA9C-6855-45C7467E1C54EEED Although you sit in a room that is gray, Except for the sliver of the straw-paper And pick At your pale white gown Or lift one of your green beads &nbsp;Of your necklace To let it fall : Or gaze at your green fan Printed with the red branches of the red willow: Or , with one finger, Move the leaf in the bowl- The leaf that has fallen from the branches of the forsythia Beside you... What is all this? I know how furiously your&nbsp; heart is beating. Wed, 18 Feb 2009 05:00:00 GMT http://blog.rmahanorart.com/app/blog/article.cfm?a_id=897D1598-DA9C-6855-45C7467E1C54EEED