Great returns

Taking a look at the water feature, studded with graceful heliconia flowers, that adorns the passage between the East and West sections of the National Gallery in Washington DC, we observe the striking combination of nature and art at their intimate best. See what we're talking about, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info...

Subtlety

And in the very midst
of endless design you are surprised
by the delicate hand of nature --
oh, this too comes not without its art,
its subtleties a bit too subtle,
its gentleness too gentle to be real
somehow and yet it is water and flowers
all shivering in their elements
that make you breathe and ponder,
that make you step backwards,
arch your neck sideways as if
before a great Renaissance master
and crown the work a wonder.

(c) Amy Nelson McVeigh 2012

for photos please see 3894, 3890, 3892, 3891, 3893, and 3895 at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Green eyes

It's not easy being green...but looking back on a childhood of summers spent on an Audubon preserve is probably not so bad. Lovely ponds and gorgeous flowers peopled my world with frogs and lilypads -- a veritable kingdom of green; but is it altogether Victorian to expect that this world can continue to exist? More in words and images, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Guardian mansions

When were you mine, guardian angel,
when were you going
to awaken me from your sleep?
It must've been dangerous and long,
but these are the ways we keep.
I see your silhouette always out afar
and now move over to collect you --
where have you been, good green
mystery -- where have your long
long lashes blown? Have they found
a way back home? You've been swum
completely up the stream and no
mansion leaves you yet behind to find
that unnecessarily you follow
on your own.

(c) Amy Nelson McVeigh 2012

for photos please see 3964, 3972, 3979, 3982, and 3984 at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Brave new worlds

Have you ever wondered what it is to love, to truly love, and never falter? Perhaps this is a strange new world, beyond what any of us can imagine -- without jealousy, without fear, without envy, where we could be really free to love completely with our whole hearts. Just picture the frail waterlilies as they pass from day into night, closing their little shades tight -- this is example enough of love's ways. Read and see more, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info, and be amazed!

Tidal knowledge

I have been mesmerized
by scenes of a pair, two as one,
united in what they've become.
The need is strong right now
to surprise you with a sense of worth
for what is yet unwritten,
for what depends far past our birth --
I feel accomplished in just one thing:
that when near you I'm the sum
of one and one plus all the rest
who came before, always at their best,
guiding us one more wayward step
to a place where we might breathe --
the wonder of your wave
breaking on my shore.

(c) Amy Nelson McVeigh 2012

for photos please see 3957, 3964, 3987, and 3977 at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Moondance

Have you ever seen a shadow moon? Not just the reflection of the moon on the water or on a field, but the secondary "shadow" image the moon casts in rainy weather?
New photos from Andrew, and a meditation on the "lives" of the moon, with help from Djuna Barnes...read it and see it at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Shadow moon

So inglorious
you fail to overpower
the deepest spectacle,
the fleeting glower of a lost
unchained disparity
between wind and grace.
Just left of the sky and far behind,
your brother couches near you
and dimples tidal eyes,
leaving no one greater wise
but far the richer
for his diamond trail.

(c) Amy Nelson McVeigh 2012

for photos please see 3873, 3871, 3876, and 3874 at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Flowery language

Consider the lilies and how they grow...that was the beginning of a hymn we used to sing when I was younger. But the verse from Matthew about the lilies of the field provides great inspiration for a reconsideration of Labor Day: many of the best things in life are free of toil and effort. We just have to know where to look for them. See more words and images, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Gorgeous Lil

Fast upon a firefly,
barely dreaming, wasteful,
colored flush and scheming --
how does your garden grow?
The centers of lilies are like
the embers of volcanoes;
look into them and you are still,
mesmerized as if by ancient skill.
But wherein does their beauty lie?
The answer is, it lies and lies,
and it does despise the night
when all its colors are overthrown.

(c) Amy Nelson McVeigh 2012

for photos please see 3858, 3862, and 3867 at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Night and Day

What is the difference between a city in the daytime and a city at night? Often worlds and worlds, but you have to experience it -- and often photograph it -- to really know for sure. Our last post from the honeymoon au Quebec, and we show you some wonderful spots to adventure. Don't miss the words and images, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info...

Jour et nuit

As night turns into day,
I trail behind me
silken paths, snail-like --
I never want to leave --
where have I been before?
 where will I go here since?
 I wander into yet another
excruciating sight.
I fairly hate this town
for having made me fall
so fast in love with it,
and having quite so soon
to leave it all behind.
There are words for churlish girls
who play this game, but Canada --
I do not think I'll ever really leave you
quite behind; in day or night --
we are aligned.

(c) Amy Nelson McVeigh 2012

for photos please see 3733, 3734, 3736, 3718, 3716, 3722, 3725, 3728, 3719, and 3740 at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Dans les yeux

Les Mascarons de Bordeaux are important artifacts at the Hotel de Ville in Quebec, Canada. A gift from the famed city in France, they were to celebrate the 400th anniversary of Quebec. Carnivalesque, royal, ancient, and modern -- you can look at these figures in many ways. But we at the blogpost choose to look at them long and deeply, and to think of them as...friends. More words and images at, blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Eminence

Dating back to Medusa
and the shield of mighty Perseus,
your liminal eyes
cast a thousand longing spies
back through a window,
over a doorpost, into history
itself, and asked us:
what secrets are worth keeping?
and shall we lose our tongues
today, or keep on speaking?
Many faces, somewhat aghast,
at folly long since dead --
what, can we still make of you,
but pass along, and try hard
not to lose our heads.

(c) Amy Nelson McVeigh 2012

for photos please see 3784, 3786, 3788, 3791, 3793, and 3794 at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Who goes there?

"La Halte dans le foret" is a bronze sculpture by Louis-Philippe Hebert that stands outside Quebec's Hotel du Parlement, commemorating the lives of native Amerindians, the Abenequais or Algonquins. How appropriate that the French, who allied themselves with the native peoples of that land so early in their history there to fend off the invading British, should be grateful to their comrades. See this monument and several more, plus discussion, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Dans le foret

Deep in the woods
you can scarce hear breathing,
and the chance rush brushing
of a thigh against a limb
causes a stir
not worth answering for.
As far as we are
we know exactly where we've been --
we are yet home, and no one,
not for promises nor ploys
nor any coy plot that may be whirring
can truly capture it from us,
not even
in this enticed moment
where we have severed time
from its reckoning space.

(c) Amy Nelson McVeigh 2012

for photos please see 3770, 3769, 3768, 3782, 3756, 3759, and 3760 at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

le Pere du Canada

Outside the famed Hotel de Frontenac in Quebec City, right on the St. Lawrence River, there is a grand statue of the man known as the Father of Canada, Samuel de Champlain. Who was this man, and what accomplishments distinguished his life? And what makes Quebec such a special place? More to discover here, in words and images, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Qui etes vous?

A long and challenged history,
not chequered, not without victory
but purpled with the bloods of friends
and enemies -- who were you then,
we wonder as we look at your sullen
face, a mounted statue or in a book,
what did you fulfill for the wastrel French
or capture for their foes? Lord only
knows if times can tell it straight
and we no longer have your own
fine yarns to keep the memory of such
fears quite bright or less than wayward -- Sir
do pardon us our faults and failings;
everyone since has meant you well.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Dans la rue avec vous

How precious is the company of a loved one, when traveling in a foreign land? Andrew and I have been taking pictures and making poetry together for some time now, but it was never until we were thrown into a little bit of "espace etrangere" that I believe it became clear: we rely fully on each other's many talents. More details, in a very special blog, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Au Quebec

You worried me,
as we stepped into the middle
of a brand new street of the Old World --
I thought I had lost you in my time ---
but then in a moment's breadth
you returned, heart in hand,
as ever, showing me your prize.
Is it not divine that this river
narrowed at its neck was purposed
so that you could kiss me here
and make me never want to leave?
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Our thanks to all our readers/viewers!

Time machine

When Andrew and I visited the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity, the first Anglican Cathedral of Quebec, we were overwhelmed by its beautiful stained glass windows and amazing woodwork. But there's more to the story of this famous church than meets the eye: gain a window into history and thoughts dialed into the future, with fabulous pictures, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

In a wilderness, hope

Never knowing what to find
just behind any unknown corner
or alongside any foreign path,
with only the guidance of yet
untrusted friends and God's bright day,
such mission never faltered,
claimed its prize predestined
and determined where to set its jewel.
There's no steep virtue in ungoverned
pride but solely in the eyes
of those who look to heaven
to inspire them in their ways;
who conscript themselves, when elected,
to fates sometimes delivered cruel.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

view with images 3622, 3621, 3617, 3626, 3634, and 3623  from photos.amynelsonhahn.info or visit blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Change is good

On the first day of our visit to Quebec City, Andrew and I visited La Citadelle, which features a spectacular changing of the guard ceremony every morning. A full band plays, and the regimental mascot -- the goat, Batisse -- is trotted out to escort the new troops to their appointed places. It was a beautiful summer day and -- bearskin hats notwithstanding -- everyone seemed to enjoy the festivities. Words and images galore, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Le Royal regiment 22e

None before or since
could scarce have done so well
at marking time succinctly,
rendering the common face a new
gentility and grace, a new
ferocity, as the mascot favors,
love ever endures but punishes most
where have been appointed
its most impressive labors.
You bearclad 22eme, how regal,
how conformed, and none before
and none quite ever since have led
the French anointed.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Chances are

While checking out the massive fields of sunflowers growing nearby, just on our way out of town before we headed for Quebec on our honeymoon, Andrew and I caught a little "golden" inspiration -- and thought about Amy's parents' upcoming golden anniversary. Come celebrate this special couple with us -- in words and images -- at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Sungazers

Impossible to say,
whether these sun-facing eyes
are those most prized by the artists
of yesteryear -- quite long before
the time the two of you first glanced
each others' way -- but who can surmise
if these fine devices will not
come to my aid. A sun-filled day attended
us, and this day, the field is bursting with love
as are our hearts, replete
and voluminous, catching a nearly
scatterling breeze. One can only
imagine what you two
have begun.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

view with images 3523, 3524, and 3521  from photos.amynelsonhahn.info or visit blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Purple rain

How do we assess, how do we imagine the influences that most affect our lives, that most determine the loves we find? Sometimes it's written on the sky -- and sometimes we have to search within our hearts. Pictures and words, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info -- with love to my new husband, Andrew. More on our journeys, in upcoming blogs!

You send me

into an effervescent dance
and never landing less than
two hands to shake me
loose from my wide-eyed dream;
but you know it's real -- I swear to you,
and in the purple night
I catapult and launch
the stars just where they are
for you, brightest in our minds,
sweetheart, you and I are dancing
as we do in a thoughtless dream --
we're different, and it seems it's true,
you and I are real -- we'll live forever --
send me off a first-class letter saying so.
I never want to miss you
more than a single day.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Generation next

My two nieces, Andrea and Elizabeth, guest-blog and present their finest cartoons for you, mostly ones about their long-haired German shepherd, Vega, and how she gets into trouble. Stay posted for further developments, as I firmly believe the Nelson girls will be the next bloganistas in THIS family! See photos of their cartoons and more about the process, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

On comedy

What goes up
often comes around;
a smile that drifts through tears
alleviates a frown.
If you can keep a funny face
no matter what the day brings,
you have a gift worth more than gold
despite the winter -- spring.
It may not seem so crucial now,
when everything is bliss,
but years from today your comic sides
will urge, "remember this."
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

view with images 3823, 3824, 3832, 3841, and 3844  from photos.amynelsonhahn.info or visit blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Happily ever after

On July 14, 2012 at 12:30 in the afternoon, Andrew McVeigh and Amy Nelson Hahn became husband and wife. A wonderful celebration with family and friends followed the church ceremony -- please join us at the blogsite in welcoming the newlyweds, and find out news about the honeymoon, coming soon in photographic and poetic form to a blog near you! Scenes from the wedding party and the poem Amy read at the wedding here at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

To My Dear and Loving Husband

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee.
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompetence.
Thy love is such I can no way repay.
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let's so persever
That when we live no more, we may live ever.

Anne Bradstreet

Our fleeting wish

Let all the bells on earth be rung...Andrew and Amy are to wed this very Saturday! And a happier couple there could not be. Though they may be moving soon, and leaving their precious Catskills, they save the sorrows for another day and reflect joyfully on the future and on the bloggery that it to come. Join in, and wish them well, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info...

I let you in

And ever since
you have stayed --
a never-changing part of me,
though growing more like one with me.
This thin gold band
completes our lives today,
yet nothing could really bind us
faster than what love has taught.
All the forlorn yesterdays,
none more in store.
And while I cannot promise
a retrenchment of the Golden Age
I can offer at least this hand,
a never-changing part of me,
to lead, to guide, to follow,
to carry on.
 Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Big downhill racing

Want to see fluffy snowy white hydrangeas in full bloom? And read succulent words dripping with...no, no, no...we don't do that. We just want to tell you how to keep hydrangeas away from deer and stuff. And also that they're beautiful. And how much we love them. What thoughts you may have on your own...well...you may cherish them. Many photos and thoughts, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info -- abiding coolness!

Snowday, July

If you and I
could apprise the milkwhite
fathoms of the starflights
that go alone each night
in honor of this prayer or that love --
why, we'd be quite out of words
for other things, like the strong
celestial branchings and soft crown
devisements of this haberdasher sprig.
No, we'd never say a thing --
if this and you and I knew all there was
to say about the temper of a wasp,
then there was nothing else to be said
but to pass by and hail, and bow down.
 Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

view with images 20120701.02, 20120701.04, 20120701.03, 20120701.01, 20120701.05, 20120701.06, and 20120701.08  from photos.amynelsonhahn.info or visit blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Sunrise, sunset

It's not quite a surprise that sunsets are beautiful; but it is surprising that there is such hot contention the world over about who has the most beautiful ones. It's like this: everyone thinks their own child is the most amazing, most gorgeous creature to ever live. Well, the same goes for native sunsets. When you live in a place, you grow partial to its sunsets -- and you come to love them beyond all measure. Here are some (we think) lovely ones from our corner of the world; we dare you to send us yours! Much more bloggery about sunsets, including famous quotes! at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

How it is

No one supposes
to take it seriously
but a sunset is as punishing
sometimes as the deaths of a thousand
long-lost loves -- it nearly kills you.
One wishes it had -- but then,
in the miracle of a glance,
at the suppurated pigments, one cannot
well describe, not being an artist but a scribe
by trade, it vanquishes
all, and then from thence
every knot and bough beneath them darkens
to their hindering trade; they are
ashamed to lurk under the grander
tapestry above, as one might be,
humbled and yet so amazed --
never thinking one could be
so completely
amazed.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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All a-glow

Who doesn't find a little joy in the beauty and scent of the mock orange in bloom this time of year, in the midst of June? Such a perfect wedding flower, so appropriate for the lightness and breathlessness of the season. It's just the time of year to celebrate the most effervescent of scents and surroundings -- so look for these tender blossoms wherever they grow, and on blog.amynelsonhahn.info...

Summer, abundant

If it had been snow,
the drifts of white, tumbling
from these branches should
have raised a shiver, even
on this mild mid-June morning,
but no -- instead they are warm
and scent of citrus and honey;
they fairly glow as they quiver
their ways to the ground below,
nothing troubling them, still pure,
nothing less for having left
the safety of their former home.
They almost, almost seem to rise --
just briefly -- a breath of erstwhile wind
goes by, never quite
for sure.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

view with images 3463, 3465, 3472, 3474, 3466, and 3467 from photos.amynelsonhahn.info or visit blog.amynelsonhahn.info

What love is like

"my love is like a red, red rose..." Who hasn't read or heard those immortal lines by Scottish poet Robert Burns? But what does his poem tell us about the nature of metaphor, and even about the use of roses in literature? What does it tell us about permanence and temporality? Consider these ideas and view some lovely photos of fresh roses from the garden, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Simplicity and posterity

How often do we simulate
or dissipate the various
semblances of our casual misnomers
for the grandest of our sentiments?
A simple rose takes on
the aegis and mantle of
all plethora meaning love,
meaning longing, meaning
softness we recall yet cannot
precisely recollect -- it has
escaped us, just as
the languid rose, in her dubious
beauty, eludes posterity:
her skirts around her crumble,
color falling from her cheek
as lastly she bids adieu.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

view with images 3462, 3461, 3460, and 3459 from photos.amynelsonhahn.info or visit blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Paint it black

We often wonder why the color black is associated with death and funerals, the grim beyond -- but why not color? Is black really the ultimate presence of color? To understand this symbolic relationship to art and custom better, we have to look to our traditions and we have to look outside of our everyday experiences. More thoughts on the nature of black, in words and images, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Lofty

Return in blackness,
return like the void
to this pinnacle space,
contriving nothing but a heart's regret,
nothing but a desolation's joy.
Portents, portents --
emanating mystery sounds;
return to the damage you have wrought.
No one hears your cackles,
so far from shore;
no one fancies your broodings,
but I have an eye for such things
as these and the lofty as you
live sequestered in my careworn thought.
Divide in blackness, part,
assemble like old maids
in this canopied place,
concealing nothing but a heart's hollow,
nothing but a devastation's foil.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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At liberty

Memorial day creates a stir in the hearts of many...but how many people associate it with paintings by Cezanne? See how a day at the lake and a few snapshots from a kayak can lead to a lot of...well...proto-cubist reflections. Words and images galore and inspirations beyond, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Reflections (on the state of grace)

Every one of us
a perfect ball of circles,
lurching up from the dusk
firm surface of a limited space,
every one of us replete
and finished in its manner,
whether leaving time behind
or casting it forward somehow --
it hardly matters now to the young
or to the old who see their shadows
ultimately the same, drawn long and lean
but the general reflection we maintained
is the last to leave, the first
to salute us in the morning
and the boldest, even in retreat.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Thunderstruck

Many poets -- including the great T.S. Eliot -- have written on the subject of rain and clouds and thunder. But how do we actually relate to these elements? Do they tell us stories about ourselves? Do they frighten us? Do they comfort us? A set of amazing photos leads us into further discussion, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Dreamless

The man in the mountain
of clouds beats a drum
feared by some, loved by others --
its dignity pounds aloud
each magnifying swell
of the sky's resilience
over water, over storms,
over the fury that would tell
another story of another time,
grounding its voice in the roar
of waves cast upwards,
defying sleep to come.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Deere John

My father, John, loves to garden in his backyard at our home in New Jersey. And he has a great ride-on mower that helps him with the task. But unfortunately sometimes he can't keep the deer away from his precious flowers, alas. What's the grower of dahlias and roses to do? Put up fences and netting, that's what! More on building a better deer-trap, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Primerole

These days what most enjoins us
to hard tasks is not the looming force
of insurmountable goals,
swooping like birds of prey
and waiting for us to weaken --
these days it is more the lowly,
tacit blessing we gain from leaves,
the subtle surprise of violets,
unharmed and flushed as summer rain
against the cheek of our newfound age.
These days it is pleasantest
to know that the realm is protected
by tiny denizens like primeroles.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Riddle me this

Flowers and bumble bees -- they seem to go together, like words and poetry, yet is it just that simple? Or do we even associate their sounds? In this blogpost, we explore the ways poets play with the sounds of the things we see, and how it may affect us. Also -- why is it so lovely to touch a flower? More, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Amazement

If the thought of touching it
brought a tranquil shiver
to your heart -- like the idea
of placing your cool palm
around any one of these bees
that please themselves to dive
among its snowy tufts --
you should furnish courage,
reach aloft and vanquish
often hard-learned lots:
flowers were made for feeling,
and no rarer is the joy sprung
from amazement at softness
without fear of getting stung.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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I'll fly away

It's hard to get a good picture of a Monarch butterfly, especially on a windy day like this one was. But we learned a lot and we found out a lot about butterflies, too -- why don't we see more of them? Turns out we are damaging their chances for an abundant food supply, but also a food supply that makes them poisonous. Learn more about these fascinating creatures, in words and images, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Escape

In your fourth life
you briefly alighted,
let the west wind settle
some final temperas still moist
from their creation --
and then like inspiration
you revised your moment
delivering color to the already-blue
of the morning horizon.
Still the memory of your flame-like
life quickens the thoughts
of the flower in her bed,
wondering when you'll return
only to escape her reach again.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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The mother of all blogposts

Sending of giving flowers on Mother's Day is so commonplace -- we almost don't give it a second thought. But how did this practice begin? And what does it mean to us, and to our precious mothers? Investigate the visions and ideas behind Mother's Day, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Flower day

From the time we were small
we tugged them, dripping
roots and all from their homes
into yours, hoping for a smile;
and no matter how few or many
you always found the perfect way
to show them off -- the right vase
to arrange their faces.
And no matter how simple
a violet bunch or tulip clutch
or varicolored posy stuffed with roses,
you claimed every year more lovely
and so to us it always was
and now with you will always stay,
a wonderment beyond our reach.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Separated at birth

Two famous statues by Augustus Saint-Gaudens stand at the entrance to the American Wing of the Metropolitan Musuem of Art: one is the bronze figure of the goddess Diana (which was once the weathervane atop the old Madison Square Garden building); the other is a marble statue of the Onondaga chief Hiawatha, sitting deep in thought. Through words and images, we explore how perhaps these two hunters can "know" each other, through artists' eyes. More thoughts, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Two hunters, separated only

In amongst the potsherds
and the stained glass fascinations,
you can still see living two
grand aberrations of their days --
one, a lily-queen of hunts who
goldeneyed supervised the fights
(little did she know what she
had been fortified to do).
But then there is the legend's worry,
the one who frowns and, inglorious
casts down his spear upon the rock --
the bravest brave and celebrated by so few,
a god-in-the-making, quite rough-hewn.
Compare these hunters, separated only
by few hundred years, and miles.
Compare how we might reverence them;
compare the ways they are said to have lived
that somehow never die.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Roll the bones

Curious, how different traditions regard the burial of the dead -- in ancient days, the body was not so reverenced in death as perhaps it has now become. Cemeteries used to be a grim and insalubrious reminder of mortality, a far cry from the garden splendor and soaring monuments we enjoy today. A meditation on the meaning of epitaphs and burials, including "Spoon River Anthology" -- words and images at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Stacks

In amongst the dead divide
unbothered by the sun or even
by the weight of brothers, piled beside
or on high -- they cannot breathe
and cannot form opinions either
to be angry or to make remonstrances
at those who lodged them so on end.
I have seen glimpses of stacks
of dead, as they say, heaped
quite end on end and piled very high --
I think this is a singular way
to die, yet in graves we molder,
in boxes often several deep;
no one ever stops to weep for that
peculiar circumstance. How odd is it
to welcome several more?
Are burials of numbers not always
layer cakes, at best? Can we
not celebrate our numbers, then,
and make peace with all that rest?
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Morning glory

Wordworth's immortal lines begin, "The world is too much with us," but sometimes it seems the world leaves us all too soon -- as in the case of springtime flower blossoms, which seem only to have arrived before their blooms fade once more into the year's memories. Some lovely photos of apple blossoms at their best, plus poetry and commentary, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info -- keep clicking on those ads, people, and help make the blog even better!

This too does pass

Luck has trained us,
never stare at luck too long.
The truly beautiful does not remain
with fragile hearts, with feeble eyes.
We look, we ponder, we try
so very hard to sustain
what should last forever but one day --
we should not demand further.
Give an innocent cry,
make a chagrined expression,
a contorted dance of pain,
but always the world that is
is so much with us --
we should not demand further.
The truly beautiful does not,
however much we demand of it,
quite long remain.Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Meet me at the Station

Andrew and I took a trip to Brookview Station Winery and Goold Orchards recently -- and we came away very impressed. It's a very lovely farm, but above all the dedication to quality is evident, from the way the proprietors speak about their business to the name of their prize-winning blended rose wine, "Sunset Charlie," for their labrador retriever, Charlie. Anyone who visits this amazing family-owned orchard in Castleton, NY will enjoy a special treat -- delicious food, wine, and great company, as well as local history. Images of the orchards, as well as thoughts on what makes them buzz, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Spring encounter

In the green mossy stillness
you can hear each bee alight
and do its providential best
to further flowerlings' desires --
alone, how unfulfilled; and rightly
the small geniuses comprise
a loving network of engendered prime.
You can discover, deftly,
in the morning hour of May,
where filaments hold up their heads
listening for the purposed wing --
slyly you may spy them,
even listen as they swoop to touch
the petaled embrace of whiteness,
to reply the call bountiful of spring.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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A bitter wind

"La Frileuse" or "Woman Chilled by the Cold" is a statue inhabiting the Wrightman Gallery of New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art; it dates from 19th century France, but could easily represent some of the countless souls who suffer the bitter winds on the streets of our cities in America today -- homeless and without hope. But spring is in the air as well, and we have to take courage. The pangs of winter do not go on forever. The last visions of a season we bid adieu, with commentaire extarordinaire, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Enfois, l'hiver

It seems the least
we leave our coldest hours
the most we find them once again;
and even amongst our friends
we shiver, don a cape --
times can be so bitter,
leaving least to least
and only small brown toes
to pick over the bones --
but invierno gives way:
unwrap, glad characters,
 if you can manage a brow;
the parade of spring, and then
the warmer months go forth.
Unwrap! We feel the light, and so
would hazard to release your woes.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Through a looking glass

What is it about a visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art's Temple of Dendur that generates reflection? The exhibit itself is full of them -- but it also causes a person to look back across their personal ages (and pages), and to wonder at what makes them tick. Before any white rabbits tell me it's too late, I wanted to thank my mom for all her hard work in raising us to love art and poetry (not always easy with antsy little kids!). More on the personal journey of reflection, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Reflection
(for my mom)

Perhaps, upon reflection,
the simplest study comes undone,
its facets unmoored, divided
like eggshell tiles and strung
together only at a frail,
quite tentative center --
what does it mean, then, to say --
"the center holds?" and this alone
preserves the scheme; to aver
that opposites, in the end,
do not negate or fail
but lend a larger strength?
Upon reflection, what is image
and effect loses distinction;
they continue on, as one.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be...cows

It's definitely springtime in Valatie when you start to see the baby Herefords in the field, galloping about next to their (somewhat proud/somewhat exhausted) mamas. But spring is also a time to re-evaluate: what can rebirth mean in our lives? Some moo-ving discussion, with photos of our favorite denizens of the pasture -- at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Spring so sudden

And all of an instant
it was spring --
when a calvling or a foal
melted suddenly into our fold
instantly it was spring
and the frost began to decompose.
Spring arched its maiden back
and pronounced quite matter-of-factly,
the world is upon us;
and so a newborn mooncalf
is halfway round to age --
the wise world turns, and
all of an instant, quite suddenly
spring devises no more subtlety
than this: a child is ancient,
yet we in aged life hark half
to sound the shoals of regret
when easily we might be born again.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Box step

Rescuing a small box turtle from the side of the road may seem like an easy task -- but hold on! Do you really know how to do it? Don't touch that turtle! Do you know why? Before you wreck an innocent turtle's sex life forever, see these photos and read the blog -- it may change your life and the life of a turtle you love forever. Words and images and wildlife conservation, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info -- keep clicking on those ads, folks! We need to make the blog even bloggier!

The rescue
(for Tricia)

And after having heard
long-whispered tales
of your snapping cousins,
you trawl along the road
the first of our scorching days
like a maid in petticoats
tied to the tracks,
your once-sovereign shell
about to be cracked -- so that, softly
and with proper dignity utmost,
we scoop your oval shelter
and your seeming self inside
to the nearest tide and wait
for you to signal "Hail,
good brothers!"
But you merely slide
into the mud
after having heard
the distant tales
of lonely turtles
and fearsome birds.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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The thought-less fox

When Ted Hughes wrote his timeless poem "The Thought Fox," he was writing about the "aliveness" (as he called it) of foxes and of the process of writing becoming one in the imagination. But when this blogger happened upon pile after pile of dead foxes, heaped up like so much detritus by the side of a forgotten trail, it somewhat derailed her thought process and got her to thinking more about what it is to claim "aliveness." Read and see more on this encounter, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Fox bones

Senseless, I know,
you lying there so cold
but nothing I could have said
would have stopped the twisting
of a senseless death
so many months before
the leaves had turned,
and when your fire had burned
with the sharp warm colors
of your ancient febrile tribe.
Nothing could cure
what ached in you save
a pellet or an arrow bright
with your very end,
now flung to the rushes
drifting in your shards,
on the very wind you enjoined
to scent your own dark prey.
You are insensate, this
I know, but I pray you
on your way.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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The yearling

Ever see that old Gregory Peck tear-jerker about the little kid and the fawn? Well, if you haven't, you can just look at these pictures and read about the young deer visiting our backyard in New Jersey -- not exactly the Everglades, not exactly high melodrama, but from the deer's perspective there was survival at stake. More on this intimate encounter, in words and images, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

The visitor

Like brushstrokes come to life,
the signal ravages of your fur
lift up and point
the way to food; here and there
they range about your mangy form
but only serve to show you plucky
and so much the pattern
for this time of year, for your kind --
nothing breaks your stride but
subtle noises (disliking disturbances)
and the need to feed placidly,
unguardedly, your deep tobacco eyes
lowered gently, your soft merlot nose
scenting -- nothing for once but peace
to feed at least for a moment, you dignitary
of the forest, daughter of the hinds,
a year in the world, in the woods.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Future perfect

It's almost Earth Day, everyone -- and we have lots of suggestions for things to do to get you in the proper spirit. What would the special day be without a trashless lunch or a nature treasure hunt? How about a picnic for the planet? These and more special ideas, along with gorgeous photos of fruit trees in bloom, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Song for Earth Day
(for Andrea and Elizabeth)

If only you could see
what I see in this little tree,
no one could be hearts away --
the world growing smaller
all the time, and people grown
to love it so much more.
This little tree reminds me
of the dimple in your knee,
of the flower behind your ear;
it compels me to compel you -- listen --
on this near-to-Earth Day --
think of all you still can do,
even before growing any taller --
there is so much you can do
to be worldly wise.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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What goes up...

Andrew and I take a sort-of involuntary break from our usual workdays and enter into the realm of painting projects (again) with the usual not-so-hilarious results. When is a black hole a lesson about the unpredictability of life? When you're on a deadline and the ceiling you are painting begins to cave in upon you. Words and images to help you laugh instead of running and hiding, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info -- keep clicking those ads, folks!

Private I-don't-know

Sometimes things,
they just be that way --
you get no explanation
from the hole that suddenly yawns
from the ceiling you roll,
or from your trouser pocket.
But any black hole gaping wide
the words "I don't know"
makes you pause, and in effect
takes the fullness from your day;
where order and meaning locked wills
to keep you wary, chaos sneaks in
and pokes a finger under your ribs.
You have to laugh --
it's that or run and hide.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Color of spring

The forsythia are in bloom here in upstate New York: a mild winter and some warm early spring weather have coaxed out the blooms, and everything is bursting with bright yellow and gold. Why is yellow the color of the season? A few thoughts and meditations, plus a shoutout to my birthday sister, Paula -- more, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Not just a drop in the bucket

Ever see those buckets and taps hanging off the trees this time of year, in upstate New York or Vermont? Yes, it's sugar-maple time, and the trick is to outsmart the early thaw that comes earlier every year as the maple trees experience the effects of climate change. More in words and images on the process of syrup salvage, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Maple time

The slightest bit of crunch
still on the ground
reminds us that when snow
coats maple -- oh
the delicious frost abounds;
children and creatures alike
know it well, but then
we have to wait for the silver taps
to tell of their fortunes,
their steady ping-ping echoing
from the drive -- the surety
of golden-pure sugar sap.
It seems that all the woodland
thrives and strives to hear
that sound, come the early
of the first sugar time,
the weather of March
and of our first prime --
it reminds us up and down,
the indelicacy of winter,
the gentleness of spring.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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You've got WHAT in a jar?

As fascinating as it may seem to look at ancient Egyptian artifacts like mummies and shawabtis and canopic jars, and to wonder about their provenance, I'll do you one better: we can also wonder about the mysteries of ebola virus and the unpredictability of the pain scale as we have come to know it, courtesy of a fellow blogger at hyperboleandahalf.blogspot. For more musings on life and death, go to blog.amynelsonhahn.info if you dare...

Figuratively

In a manner of speaking,
it would somehow seem
the little dummies won:
they conquered time,
and rendered themselves
indispensable,
perhaps even a little bit positive
this side of the divine and knowing.
How much dignitaries prize
their reputations over art;
they staked a heritage on the very
survival of art -- pure genius
left to the craftsmen,
left to the people
only to have followed
ever so closely
however figuratively.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Father figure

A new exhibit at the Albany Institute of History and Art features images and heirlooms of our first President, George Washington, as he was depicted in popular culture over the last more than two-hundred years. We take a closer look, and examine the impact of Washington -- the man and the myth. More reflections, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info...keep clicking those ads, folks!

Washington -- at ease

To this very day,
your image creates us
as a nation, as a people;
you rose so tall,
one of the first gentlemen
among us, and fought the first best fight.
All these semblances surround us,
all these homages that merely aspire,
merely hope in some casting way
to pay an immortal debt --
a critical, monumental urging
we suffer to sting us at heart
when the cause of your careful sacrifice
presents itself to our understanding.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Indian warfare

Erastus Dow Palmer created a marble sculpture of an Indian princess in 1856 -- her hand outstretched, holding a crucifix, symbolic of her acceptance of the Christian world. He titled it, "The Dawn of Christianity." What do we think about such images today? Have Native Americans changed the way we look at this kind of art? More thoughts on these words and images from the Albany Institute of History and Art, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Forlorn

Was it your fate
indeed to look so modestly,
flung with deerskin drape
your princess' shape all but
shriving fools who told you,
look on this -- and learn --
when all around you nature burned
with wisdom purely and conspired
to teach you better?
How could you not have wondered --
is this a dagger I see,
a jewel? What matter
of metal, what art?
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Toy story

What do the toys we give to our children tell us about ourselves? As women and men? As builders of our childrens' dreams for the future? These are the kinds of things we think about as we discuss images from a wonderful interactive exhibit at the Albany Institute Of History and Art called "Kid Stuff", displaying popular toys from the last hundred years. Words, photos, and thoughts, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

At play

It seems an easy enough idea
at first --
as they say, a stick and hoop,
a spring and loop,
anything will amuse --
but somehow along the way
we grownups build a picture
of our lesser selves
as we utmost wish to be.
Sometimes it's safer when
the minds of children
make the rules, and everyone
can fuse a new dream,
and fuel it with such love.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Whose woods indeed

Stumbled upon during a recent outing in the snow: a stack of lovely logs, with annular rings emanating, just prior to being placed in the fire. What warms our hearts the most? A winter fire? Or the thought of ancient trees, their majesty and grace purveying over centuries? Words and images, with a little help from Robert Frost, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info  Keep clicking those ads, folkses!

Woods -- remembering

The rage of the grain
could not dissemble,
and stretched itself
in an open grin
of warning to those who
dwelt within and passed
their days in vain --
like hands upon a massive
inward dial,
the circles were evoked
and heaped up, stroke
upon blasted stroke
until none cried out,
none wept in the wind
and all could simply
remember.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Snow bunnies

You can take the snow out of the winter but you just can't take the snow out of the spring...or something like that. At any rate, here it is, March, and the month of Easter, and we have inches of the white stuff. Oh, well. It sure is pretty. Photos, haiku, and commentary, all at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Snow in march

Puffed and placed
tenuously
like peaceful time bombs,
perched between the throngs
of latticed branchlings,
shivered snowdrops long
and linger momentarily,
melting in suspension --
a vision of transition,
gently blurring the lines
between harshest ice
and warmest sun.
They cling for now, escape,
and are reborn as flowers.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Bark, no bite

An old decaying tree at Ramapo Reservation teaches us a springtime lesson about renewal -- and about poetics. What do we find in such images that makes them turn our hearts around this time of year? More news about the end of winter, in words and images, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info -- keep clicking those ads, folks!

Broken tree

Casting your stark
and shuddering shadow
in the still-wintry expanse,
no ember of life sighs
from the ruddy cavils and divides
thinly sheltering what is left.
But buried in the ticking wood,
far beneath your knots and vines,
range ponderous armies
who are working all this time
at carving and reshaping you
in a more earthward design;
so is old life cleared away
and saplings take your place.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Dog tales

Once again a trip to the doggie park yields some fabulous photos and interesting stories -- we're willing to share. But what about the relationship between dog and man? It's a bit complex and we're also willing to explore. More at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Dog days

It is in their nature
for four legs to turn
the two of ours to speed --
pacing after them haphazardly,
but we oblige them endlessly,
their dogged partners,
paw to heart --
nothing makes us start
the day the same way.
If we could count on random
calculations just as we trust dogs --
oh, how the mechanism broke,
how the fixture caught
just a bit too long.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Moo-town

What can a bunch of Hereford cows teach us about the world? Maybe a little; maybe a lot. But it sure is relaxing to see them as we pass by their paddock in Valatie, NY. The pleasures of the pastoral place are not lost on us -- more words and images, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info. And thanks for clicking those ads, people.

Cow college

There is a certain dance --
it is far from agile, far from fragile.
But one could easily say
it is nimble, even
graceful for a lack
of better words --
cows edge their morning way
across a frosted field,
cropping what leaves they find,
saving some for other times,
their hides as red
as the barnstead nigh behind,
their faces like new suns --
broad and flaxen,
bowing and canting
with an eye to the sky.
Nothing errs in their world,
there is nothing imperfect,
saving a touch of the damp,
which light alone can overthrow.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Snowbird

Andrew is back behind the lens, and he treats us to amazing visions of owls and redbirds in a winter wonderland -- I immediately think of Anne Murray's "Snowbird" and feel the need to reflect. More words and images, discussion of the lack of outdoor snow, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Snow scenario

Cut out
like shapes of lace
across the silent face of white
they glisten -- snowdrops,
each a tiny labyrinth,
a frosty miracle --
against which silently more still
the turning mesh of whiter cowl,
deftly dappled, the shrieking eyes
gone silent, ever more silent,
aloft one owl;
and only the redbird makes a sound
and his only sound
is red.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Cups & cakes

It's almost Valentine's Day, and as usual, red gets most of the love -- but what about that cutest-of-all-colors, pink? A perusal of one Saratoga Springs shop window proves that pink holds special sway as well...words and images, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info -- don't forget! click the ads, friends!

In the pink

Whyever should red
get its own holiday?
Today is just as much
for admixtures --
and the pink of a doll's cheek
or of a bunny's ear
just equals unamounted cheer;
love is earlier to rose
than it is to tawny,
and therefore even children
slightly flushed in the temples
can help to celebrate its glory --
with candied celebrations
made of pastel words on palms:
will you be mine?
each sweet success dissolves,
dissolves its likeness in no more
than its own time.

Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Love is red

A near-fatal heart attack landed Andrew in the hospital this week, just before Valentine's Day, so we consider this "red-letter day" and what it means to take good, loving care of your heart health. Special wishes to our readers and viewers, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Red-letter Day

.

What do I need more to do

than to gather colors to your heart

and grow within them chambers

that will echo in the dark

so so far away

from all the lonely feelings

we left so far behind –

antiquated, much frustrated,

lost, outdated –

not any of that needs to be said,

especially not today

when birds and bees

and hearts and flowers rule

when love prevails –

another red-letter day,

so near that you can almost

touch it, so close to me that

I can almost

touch you,

just as I imagined.

Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Glitter and paint

Some glamorous photos by guest artist John Ianacone feature a carousel and carnival scenes at night -- what do these images conjure in our imaginations? Do we connect them to childhood pleasures or to darker thoughts, perhaps the scenes of a scary film noir classic? More reflections on word and image, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info -- keep clicking those ads, people! THX

Calliope
(for JI)

So little seems left
to ease these staggering hooves
backwards into a dream
nestled on a childhood mantle --
at night they are wild,
and their bitten mouths
champ in a rage
charging across their patterned stage,
as if with their wooden breaths
they would put out every light.
Sultry notes mar their stride,
they falter out of cadence,
break and flicker
and so ends their ride.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Signs of the times

Guest artist/photographer Paula Carino (of Paula Carino and the Markov Chains) shows us some thought-teasing visuals from the streets of NYC, plus a train trip to New Jersey -- plus a discussion of the meaning of signs in our lives, from Holzer to Baldessari. Keep clicking those ads, people! -- we reached 2000 readers/viewers last post! Our sincere thanks, and keep the blog rolling --blog.amynelsonhahn.info...

Reliquary
(for PC)

To see a heaven
in a sheet of glass
and impermeability
in the sounds of color --
this is the system
that bows and glows
its shards upon
the dismembered towers
of our disempowered shells,
so carefully slivered by
the wayside yet never quite alone.
And how do we expunge,
at the cost of a weariness,
the toll of a shy encounter
with the fated loss we hoped
by looking steadfastly past it
most to evade?
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Mise en scene

You are about to be transported to the State fair, circa summer, circa a ferris wheel and other rides. Like the idea? Why not. It's almost Groundhog's Day, when all is topsy-turvy and the world gets to take a break from the obvious. Why can't we have summer in winter if we like? It's a perfectly cinematic prerogative. Enjoy the views and commentaries, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Fair ground -- revisited

In the pall of winter
we look to candy colors
of our summer fair with
hungering despite --
how can it seem so far away,
the spun sugar and licorice
spokes flying high like trapezes
seeming so many miles
from the February of our mind's eyes,
and it is hard to wait --
as it is for a child in line,
hoping to clamber high in the sky,
or to whirl fast
as the day spins past
and the lights dim for only a time.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Chevy citation

With Chevrolet turning one hundred this year, we render a tribute to a little yellow Corvette, and the significant effect that these stupendous little sportscars have had on us over the years. Visions, commentary, and a song by Prince, as well as the ongoing plea for contributors and clickers on ads (we need your help, readers and viewers!) at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Showgirl

What could ever separate
the private love
for a color, or a fragment
of chrome or leather,
from the public enchantment
of having what others
do not dare to have?
Beauty, if it is stuck
forever in the eye of man,
sometimes takes shape
and becomes a vision
clad with a monster purpose --
to win a hundred years of hearts,
and be the only show in town.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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I am a rock

The poetic process of personification comes into play when we take a closer look at a series of photos featuring water running over rocks. Discussion of word and image, plus a poem by Emily Dickinson -- more thoughts, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Rock sequence

The effusion
rambling in the midst
of each calm center
refuses to overturn its firm
decree of solidity:
each forbears
and shifts no more than
a facet's breath,
hardly seeming to yield
but to fortify
in each burnished appeal
to the unrelenting
flow and course, the
mistress of its wear.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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With a little help from our friends

This post today marks the one year anniversary of the blog -- fitted out with some nostalgic photos and a poem commemorating the occasion. Looking back (and looking one day ahead to Amy and Andrew's two-year anniversary), we think about the nature of milestones. What makes that special day extra special? Plus: a request for readers and viewers! Please click on our ads and help support the blog! THX More info @blog.amynelsonhahn.info

A toute memoire

Dizzying days
sweep flickering like celluloid --
even time, even nature herself
fails to keep their pace.
It is as if the dreaming world
forgot us entirely.
We are languorous
and free to unlimit
the moments we allow
just searching one anothers' eyes,
just finding kindred fires
that yearn in earnest
no matter what the wind,
no matter what the hour --
we are proven
and sustained.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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To the purpose

Sometimes we question whether there is a purpose in life. But then a beautiful sunset will come along, and everything will suddenly fall into place. The sky aligns with the earth, and everything is made right, is suddenly correct in the world. A tribute -- of sorts -- to the Wisdom of the Mythtellers. In words and images, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Symmetry
(for Sean Kane)

Purpose exists
between the blue of the air
and the blue of the surface --
a frozen edge of purpose,
open form in symmetry,
then as now.
Look at the way the ice
rises only enough
to extend itself
inch by inch as it cools
to the level just past the water.
The sky has a purpose for it.
The curve of the land's edge
is in love
with the clear lines
of this once-wayward
now at home
descendant
of rain.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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First things first

We're back -- after a brief hiatus and the acquisition (for Andrew) of a new camera. Some sunset photos prompt a discussion of last things: what does the "dying of the light" signify? Images and thoughts abound, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Last light

There is a formality
and a crispness
in the last light of the day --
as it pulls its parting hand
from yours, it never looks back
for an importune word
or an unfortunate doubt;
it merely leaves you spun
in utter silence, jaw stuck
among the fleeting orbs of radiance.
At last it pulls away
dropping shade by shade
till only one frail glimmer runs
the course of the quickness,
and finally all is night.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Photogravure

What happens when you take a photo, a poem about a photo, and the interpretations of that poem and photo, and form a discussion about them? You get something similar to the old-school process of photogravure, only with words and images. Throw in some references to Tennyson for good measure. Understand more at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Wallflower

How often is it
that the smallest of things
prick us to the greatest movement --
the nettle spurs the dray,
or a seedling lives to loom
in oaken splendor.
Here a minor green urging
subtly speaks above the wood gravure;
we tune ourselves
to its sunward moment,
the dynamics of its song
invincible yet dying
all at once.
Copyright (c) 2011 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Lonely no more

When Wordsworth wrote, "I wandered lonely as a cloud," he wasn't quite considering the merry company of fluffy clumps I discovered when photographing clouds this week. How do we consider clouds, and how do we analyze what we see when we look at them? More on the words and images of clouds, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Brushstroke

No imminent analysis
determines the import of this
delineation, this effusion
riding high above my eye;
no rule governs the hue,
constructs the variables
of the ascent into meaning,
into my point of view.
The wager of whiteness
against the paradigm of blue
is simply an offhand gesture,
created perhaps to say
on a smallish whim,
"Enjoy today;
what happens, will."
Copyright (c) 2011 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Tapestry

Carole King, The Statler Brothers -- we're bringing it all together, plus some great looks at the great outdoors in early January -- just to get you in the mood to rethink the beginning of the year. What is the meaning of a new start? Words and images at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Winter designs

Your glower
cannot cozen away
my need to mount
each fertile line
as it escapes my eye --
they should be blue as veins,
but they are red as valentines,
traveling up this steep ascent
defying the month,
defying their age,
febrile,
despite the brutal repulse
of the glaring rock,
light in color though it is,
though dark at heart.
Copyright (c) 2011 Amy Nelson Hahn

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What time is love?

No, it's not just a song by the KLF. It asks how we look at the question of time itself, and how we love the time we have to spend, such as time just spent wandering in the woods. A recent end-of-the-year trip to the park with some near-and-dear ones inspires these meditations in word and image. More, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Time in the woods

How shall I know
the hour or day?
All the old methods fail.
Shall I dazzle a stick
in a fragile pond
and see which way it ticks?
The pale soft moon looms on the glass
of the icicle shadow below
and forages high in the prospects
of trees rough-cheeked
with courage and berries,
bolder still with a rude little fellow
who barked at me,
what time is it?
Don't you know?
Copyright (c) 2011 Amy Nelson Hahn

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