The Farmer

Posted by Maverick ~ on December 5, 2016
Posted in: Music, Photography, Poetry. Tagged: , , , .

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The Farmer
By W.D. Ehrhart

Each day I go into the fields
to see what is growing
and what remains to be done.
It is always the same thing: nothing
is growing, everything needs to be done.
Plow, harrow, disc, water, pray
till my bones ache and hands rub
blood-raw with honest labor—
all that grows is the slow
intransigent intensity of need.
I have sown my seed on soil
guaranteed by poverty to fail.
But I don’t complain—except
to passersby who ask me why
I work such barren earth.
They would not understand me
if I stooped to lift a rock
and hold it like a child, or laughed,
or told them it is their poverty
I labor to relieve. For them,
I complain. A farmer of dreams
knows how to pretend. A farmer of dreams
knows what it means to be patient.
Each day I go into the fields.

🚜

The River

Posted by Maverick ~ on December 4, 2016
Posted in: Music, Nature, Photography, Poetry. Tagged: , , , , .

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To the River
Edgar Allan Poe

Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow
Of crystal, wandering water,
Thou art an emblem of the glow
Of beauty- the unhidden heart-
The playful maziness of art
In old Alberto’s daughter;

But when within thy wave she looks-
Which glistens then, and trembles-
Why, then, the prettiest of brooks
Her worshipper resembles;
For in his heart, as in thy stream,
Her image deeply lies-
His heart which trembles at the beam
Of her soul-searching eyes.

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🔸

The Owl

Posted by Maverick ~ on December 1, 2016
Posted in: Nature, Photography. Tagged: , , .

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“The owl,” he was saying, “is one of the most curious creatures. A bird that stays awake when the rest of the world sleeps. They can see in the dark. I find that so interesting, to be mired in reality when the rest of the world is dreaming. What does he see and what does he know that the rest of the world is missing?” ― M.J. Rose, Seduction

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🌚

Flowers for Hitler ~ The Suit

Posted by Maverick ~ on November 28, 2016
Posted in: Music, Photography, Poetry. Tagged: , , , , .

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The Suit
Leonard Cohen, Flowers for Hitler

I am locked in a very expensive suit

old elegant and enduring 

Only my hair has been able to get free 

but someone has been leaving 
their dandruff in it 

Now I will tell you

all there is to know about optimism 

Each day in hub cap mirror

in soup reflection 

in other people’s spectacles 

I check my hair

for an army of alpinists 

for Indian rope trick masters 

for tangled aviators

for dove and albatross

for insect suicides

for abominable snowmen 

I check my hair
for aerialists of every kind 

Dedicated as an automatic elevator

I comb my hair for possibilities 

I stick my neck out 

I lean illegally from locomotive windows 

and only for the barber

do I wear a hat

💈