A powerline stretching over winter fields near the village of Erzhausen, Germany. Looking westward: photo by Ingolfson, December 2007
a field, in the mind
fog, winter colors
power lines
stretching into white-grey
frosted distance
empty
A powerline stretching over winter fields near the village of Erzhausen, Germany. Looking southward. The cemetery and associated buildings to the left: photo by Ingolfson, December 2007
9 comments:
Tom,
"a field, in the mind
fog. . ."
(The cemetery and associated buildings to the left)
12.29
light coming into fog against invisible
ridge, black shape of black pine branch
in foreground, sound of wave in channel
position, certain this time
of making “a failure”
is not at all that was then,
which follows, rather
blinding orange edge of sun above ridge,
white cloud in pale blue sky on horizon
There is a bench there between the black trunks for pausing, resting, underneath the buzzing wires. Whiz above, movement, endless. Beneath--crunch crunch, slide, dusty ice, small pebbles, tight boots, shoes, scarves, hats, gloves. Sweating, trying to breath normally.
Germany
Pushed a small cart in the small store (Lidl) in the small town
down the cobblestone streets
along the castle wall
my icy self rushed past
down the steps
to the lake.
Perhaps a powerful picture of what
the mind "sees" when it has no energy left?
"a field, in the mind
fog. . ."
(The cemetery and associated buildings to the left)
position, certain this time
of making “a failure”
pausing, resting, underneath the buzzing wires
trying to breath normally
icy self
picture of what
the mind "sees" when it has no energy left?
Yay, verily, all this encompasses it.
(Rain dribbling in the drainspouts, 2:13 a.m.)
So much poetry in one post -- I'm now energized for the day ahead. Curtis
Curtis,
This was yet another fixture in my relentless festive programme.
It's photos like these that send me into gloomy raptures and doubtless also serve to further justify this site's reputation as a sputtering fount of gelid good cheer.
The EverReady bunny took a wrong turn at the Playboy mansion and ended up in the cemetery (and associated buildings)?
Reading it upside down is a poem too I just realized.
frosted distance
stretching into white-grey
power lines
fog, winter colors
a field, in the mind
Someone thinks this poem, like the world itself, perhaps looks better upside down.
(Never quite sure any more which end is up.)
I read Aditya's "upside down" comment during a sort of "upside down" passage from Pennsylvania to New York yesterday. Very, very interesting. Curtis
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