Hanai

To be nourished or not to be nourished? There is no question.
"Rise up this mornin’, smiled with the risin’ sun, three little birds, each by my doorstep, singin’ sweet songs of melodies pure and true …"
- Bob Marley

"Rise up this mornin’, smiled with the risin’ sun, three little birds, each by my doorstep, singin’ sweet songs of melodies pure and true …"

- Bob Marley

Crocheted Portraits by Jo Hamilton

It’s my mouth I can say what I want to #yeah #yeaaaah

It’s my mouth I can say what I want to #yeah #yeaaaah

What I capture depends on who I am in that moment as well as who I was in all the moments before that. 

— DKJH

What I capture depends on who I am in that moment as well as who I was in all the moments before that.

— DKJH

I fill this cup to one made up of loveliness alone
A woman, of her gentle [nature] the seeming paragon;
To whom the better elements and kindly stars have given
A form so fair, that like the air, ‘tis less of earth than heaven.

Her every tone is music’s own, like those of morning birds,
And something more than melody dwells ever in her words;
The coinage of her heart are they, and from her lips each flows
As one may see the burthened bee forth issue from the rose… 

— Edward Coate Pinkney, from A Health

I fill this cup to one made up of loveliness alone

A woman, of her gentle [nature] the seeming paragon;

To whom the better elements and kindly stars have given

A form so fair, that like the air, ‘tis less of earth than heaven.

Her every tone is music’s own, like those of morning birds,

And something more than melody dwells ever in her words;

The coinage of her heart are they, and from her lips each flows

As one may see the burthened bee forth issue from the rose… 

— Edward Coate Pinkney, from A Health

The Poetry of Words and Light

I had never made the connection, never realized the two art forms are one in the same: poetry and photography. Today, it dawned on me that I have been making poems with my camera.

It startled me recently when the poems came to me in words, too, like surprise guests. An obliging hostess, I whittled them from my fingertips, and finished each one with tears.

Today as I reflected on the relationship between poetry and photography, I remembered this poem by Ezra Pound:

 In the Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;

Petals on a wet, black bough. 


In a Coffee Shop in Portland

From measured sips of this latte, A waning moon recedes within my glass.
(inspired by Ezra Pound’s In a Station of the Metro)

In a Coffee Shop in Portland

From measured sips of this latte,
A waning moon recedes within my glass.

(inspired by Ezra Pound’s In a Station of the Metro)

Le Petit Chien

Why are you bringing that with us?

his eyes inquire as I pick up after him.

I peel the plastic bag from my wrist

and pull the end into a knot.

Why don’t we leave it?

He flicks his tail from question to exclamation

and back again.

We walk on.

I hold the sack in one hand, our tether in the other.

He trots ahead, sniffing up trees, along patches of grass.

How could he possibly understand the considerations,

The reasons I don’t just leave that behind?

There are proper ways to dispose of things.

I startle myself with an odd sense of pride that rises inside

Pride about carrying shit with me, not leaving it behind.

When I do let it fall, finally,

into a cylindrical receptacle 

beside a bus stop on Hawthorne,

He is busy lifting a leg across the sidewalk, 

Our tether taut,

On some low shrubs.

Swoosh. Thud.

His eyes meet  mine. 

Ready? Let’s go!

He is bounding now. 

His body undulating and otterlike

As we tear down the sidewalk, 

Take corners swiftly 

And plunge into our treelush neighborhood.

He pulls me into the rose garden.

Chase me! Get me! 

He chomps at the leash and bows.

I unhook him and we run

After each other 

Around the rose bushes

Drooping with roses.

I got you! Come get me!

We find one another 

Again and

Again

And then he rolls on his back

On the fuchsia petals that dot the grass

And I rub his belly because we are both empty

And full

And there is nothing that needs holding on to.