Monday, November 14, 2011

Speak Aloud

For this man of the written word
I braved a rare, desert night rain.
Martín Espada recited his work
his rhythmic, melodic voice
demanding poets to speak up
convey information with an edge.

The evolution of a poet being
the revolution of a conscience
the invisible becomes visible
an outlet for the unspeakable
words unspoken for all to hear.
I approached this poet advocate
signing his offering of books
and he glanced at my pen
which, of course, I handed to him.
 
Are you a poet?
 
Y…e…s… Yes, I am a poet.
 
His fingers caressed my pen…
¡Alabanza! to you, poet!
 
Then, surrendering his book, he said…
Believe in yourself.
 
Now, it would have been more than enough
to know that Martín Espada went on that night
to inscribe his books with my pen, but…
Believe in yourself?
Words spoken for all to hear
the invisible became visible.
                                            

text&photo by leh

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Bad Poetry Day

Days of youth gone by
is a renown melancholy cliche
from someone else's prose,
but that's how I feel this 18th day
of bad poetry come what may.

The body aches, the mind is blank,
but I demand that all be well,
so a cheerful countenance I superimpose
into this august Bad Poetry Day --
this glorious day of come what may.



text & photo by leh

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Celestial Spaces




It is precisely because
one can never be certain of the outcome
that it takes great courage to follow one's heart
into celestial spaces
where the unknown becomes known
omne ignotum
to whithersoever Crow caws

~text & photo by leh

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Rudy Bridge


A hot breeze separates the stalks of summer
as I run between the rows of ripe, golden ears,
a trickle of blood running down my knee.
She didn't believe me.

Where stalks end, Rudy's bridge stands,
spaces between planks wide enough to step into,
the pain of truth blinding, separating.
She didn't want to believe me.

Kneeling on a plank, I ignore a splinter
entering my cut, shallow, like the creek below,
barely deep enough for tadpoles. Behind me,
the breeze thrums silk on ears of stone.


text & photo by leh

Friday, July 8, 2011

My girl and her horse...

Photo by Merrily Calkins 2011

Friday, April 8, 2011

"Fear is the path of the dark side."

human, Homo sapien, Homo human being, bipedal primate mammal : of, relating to, or characteristic of human; having human form or attributes; susceptible to or representative of the sympathies and frailties of human nature (such as inconsistency). ~ Merriam-Webster

Humans are susceptible to “sympathies and frailties of human nature.” These sympathies and frailties include emotional and intellectual inconsistency. As sentient beings, humans are capable of feeling empathy and compassion. Whether or not the aforementioned emotions are reasonable or logical in a given moment depends upon circumstances of that moment and where the reacting human being is “coming from,” that is, his/her life experience to date.

To feel and exhibit anger and resentment, a human must experience anger and resentment. To feel and exhibit empathy and compassion, a human must experience empathy and compassion. Ideally, the latter attributes are taught and experienced from birth, but this is not always the case. Nature endows humans with the potential for empathy and compassion, but that potential must be nurtured by a child’s environment in order for the seed to take root. Sometimes, the seed of compassion lays dormant until a child has the opportunity to venture out into a more worldly environment. If that same child remains in a cloistered environment into adulthood, its experience is limited to the beliefs of that specific faction of society.

Broadening one’s life experience aides in eliminating fear of others outside of one’s immediate environment. “To understand a wo/man, you’ve got to walk a mile in his shoes, whether they fit or not.”

leh

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Friday, February 4, 2011

A Girl & Her Horse

I watched from a distance
Dawn mount bareback
a horse called Moon.

Spine straight, blonde hair flowed,
black mane billowed;
platinum and ebony,
resolute, vigilant,
nostrils flared.

If I were a horse,
I'd be you, Moon,
her words rode on the wind.
Moon whinnied,
her fluid gait uninterrupted.

Rider and mount challenged to trust
each other, inner-selves,
their collective power.

 
leh  (photo by Nina Fuller 2010)