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Angeline

Angeline

Poet Chick
Joined
Mar 11, 2002
Posts
27,333
Post a photo or any visual art that expresses "your world," some place or thing familiar and meaningful to you, and write a poem to accompany it. Free verse or traditional form, whatever floats your boat. No deadlines, just write and enjoy. And feel free to gab, josh, hijack, orgify (yeah, I made it up) or otherwise have fun in between the poems. :)
 
First a little background on the image I'm using.

Alex Janvier is a product of residential schools and his own personal demons. He has won numerous awards including membership in the Order of Canada and most recently the Govenor General's Visual Arts Award. His work is beautiful and evocative of some of the things that make this place special for me.

dream catcher weaver
lost in magic of aurora
borealis lights shine
and hum anthems
to black pine shadows
surrounding lakes
of mystery where lurk
the hungry mists​
 
Last edited:
champagne1982 said:
First a little background on the image I'm using.

Alex Janvier is a product of residential schools and his own personal demons. He has won numerous awards including membership in the Order of Canada and most recently the Govenor General's Visual Arts Award. His work is beautiful and evocative of some things that makes this place special for me.

dream catcher weaver
lost in magic of aurora
borealis lights shine
and hum anthems
to black pine shadows
surrounding lakes
of mystery where lurk
the hungry mists​
Click to expand...

That's lovely Champ. Is it glass?

Love the poem, too. "Black pine shadows" is something I can really relate to, what with these huge pines looming at me all the time. :)
 
champagne1982 said:
Nooooooo. It's a painting.
Click to expand...

Well it's gorgeous either way. (I love painting on glass and stained glass and blown colored glass. I consider myself a visual art moron, but something about glass gets to me.)

I'm editing madly. If I put a poem in here now it'll be a cheat, an old one. I'ma try for something new tomorrow or Monday.
 
All right, folks, so here's the deal...

We get off this airplane in Philadelphia, it's cold and rainy, and my in-laws pick us up at the airport (I'm using their computer right now with a dial-up connection, so this might take a while), drive us an hour and a half through some rolling suburbs and then through miles and miles of farmland, a town called "Intercourse" (no shit), another one called "Bird-in-Hand" (no shit again), I see the sign that says "Blue Ball 8 Miles," and I'm thinking I'm in Oz (definitely NOT Kansas).

These places are REAL. Check 'em out on Google. All towns in Pennsylvania.

Along the way, there's This: http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk67/freddheadpix/sheep.jpg

The in-laws have us set up with a realtor to show us some houses. We see three five-year-old 3500-square-foot boxes in neighborhoods that used to be cornfields, houses that are right up against each other, and have signs out front that say "Only sixty nail pops per room."

Then they show us a modified bungalow built in 1964, modified to add two upstairs bedrooms, and it's not been lived in much for five years. Seems it belongs to a Virginia egg farmer who bought it for his wife, a Lancastrian (that's what they call themselves here), and they visit occasionally. It hasn't been updated since it was added on to in 1969. Avocado appliances, asbestos tiles on the floor where the oak floors haven't been covered over with red shag wall-to-wall carpet. Three bathrooms in desperate need of plastique explosives. But the design rocks, it's tight as a drum, and solid as a rock (custom-built by an Amish carpenter for some guy who died during the remodel)

And just up the road about a quarter mile is This, a family farm with beautiful perennials and vegetables everywhere, pick your own fruit and vegetables all season (click the "images" link if you want to), mulch, cut-your-own Christmas trees, pick-your-own pumpkins, and on and on.

So we're running out of time, and we start to leave. We walk out the front door and what drives right by the house is this:

http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk67/freddheadpix/buggy.png

The fabulous but emphatically pragmatic, I-gotta-sleep-on-it studious, not-for-one-single-minute impetuous AA blurts out: "WE'LL TAKE IT!"

Like we just picked a pumpkin for Halloween.

So welcome to Lancaster, PA. Home of:

THIS: http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk67/freddheadpix/hay.jpg

and

THIS: http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk67/freddheadpix/coveredbridge.jpg

Now these aren't my pictures, my camera is broken. But we close (assuming no buyer's remorse tomorrow) on July 14th (right after we get back from the beach in Virginia), and I will take my own pictures to share.



and

THIS: http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk67/freddheadpix/amishbarn.jpg

and

THIS: http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk67/freddheadpix/amishfarm.jpg

and no
http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk67/freddheadpix/Thebeachyoullneversee.jpg
in sight for two hundred miles.

Now I understand karma, and I know all about changing my life for the love of a woman, but shit...all new bathrooms? A "fixer-upper?" A kitchen to die in rather than to die for?
God but I love this woman. I must.

Further adventures to follow.
 
Anschul said:
http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk67/freddheadpix/buggy.png
Click to expand...

Speed

Kimi Jo once told me
she didn't like airplanes
because they went too fast.

I like to touch
the ground I travel, like to see
the trees as they pass.
Seventy miles an hour
is a crazy
breakneck pace
and I get divorced
from the land.

When did it become
so urgent
that we get there, get there, get there
without seeing the path
between home and the end?

I want the silence
and scent of a horse,
I want to focus on each blade of grass
see mice as they leap away from the road.
To touch, to bless
each step, to hear the prayer
of hooves
consecrating the road.

I've never feared flying
only the irreverence
of passing over the miles
without making the proper
obeisance, without taking time
to say thank you
for the ground under my feet.
 
unpredictablebijou said:
Speed

Kimi Jo once told me
she didn't like airplanes
because they went too fast.

I like to touch
the ground I travel, like to see
the trees as they pass.
Seventy miles an hour
is a crazy
breakneck pace
and I get divorced
from the land.

When did it become
so urgent
that we get there, get there, get there
without seeing the path
between home and the end?

I want the silence
and scent of a horse,
I want to focus on each blade of grass
see mice as they leap away from the road.
To touch, to bless
each step, to hear the prayer
of hooves
consecrating the road.

I've never feared flying
only the irreverence
of passing over the miles
without making the proper
obeisance, without taking time
to say thank you
for the ground under my feet.
Click to expand...

This is really lovely. Did you just write this, or has it been sitting somewhere waiting for the right moment? It's exactly what my wife felt. It's the horse and buggy, click-clacking past the house in the
exurban neighborhood--each forty-plus year-old house sits on a half acre of suburban lawn, a years-ago attempt to city-fy the farmland around the city of Lancaster--that made her swoon. She saw that and she was had. I think it's the stark juxtaposition of this buggy with the state of Miami Beach and it's hyper-twenty-first century-ness that closed the deal. Forever the memory of the horse and buggy will be inexorably tied to this house, even if we never see it go by again. And of course, if that's what she wants...
 
Angeline said:
Oh! These are wonderful! Was this related to the possible move?

I love the little heart next to your name. :)

PS You look adorable (and skinny!) in that av.
Click to expand...
We are looking at house close to the state park -- about half hour away.
 
WickedEve said:
Lots and lots to do in that area. I hope we get the house.
Click to expand...

Me too, although I promise we'll stay in a motel. We're hard to take after a while. :D

T's ex (and his youngest son) are moving to that area (well near enough) this summer, so we'll be close enough when we visit him to get together with you and yourn. I said "yourn." I'm practicing, bless my heart.
 
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