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National Poetry Month card #9

I’m doing one of these a day until the end of April. To send it, copy the permalink or the image file link into an email, tweet, Facebook DM, etc. — or just download and make free with the image.

This entry was posted Thursday, April 9th, 2009 at 2:04 pm and is filed under Humor, NaPoMo cards.  Print

6 Responses to “National Poetry Month card #9”

1. Deb says:

   April 9, 2009 at 3:53 pm

   I love this series.

   Reply
   • Dave says:

     April 9, 2009 at 7:42 pm

     Thanks, Deb!

     Reply
2. marja-leena says:

   April 9, 2009 at 11:17 pm

   Yes, these make me smile.

   Reply
3. Nathan says:

   April 10, 2009 at 7:06 am

   I love the graphic on this one Dave. It captures how I feel all of the time. I walk around with that same expression on my face.

   Reply
   • Dave says:

     April 10, 2009 at 11:06 am

     There really are too many books to read, aren’t there? Comparing notes with fellow poetry enthusiasts so often results in exchanges like, “I haven’t heard of X. Sounds great! Have you read Y? No? A must-read!”

     Reply
4. tammy says:

   April 10, 2009 at 7:41 pm

   I wear that expression quite often….

   Reply

Welcome

This is the weblog of Dave Bonta, a poet, editor, and shutterbug from the eastern edge of western Pennsylvania. For background on the site, see the About page. For more about me, see my Google profile.

   

 

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    Her features rubbed with a wooden spoon,
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    I may yet soften the massed patterning of leaves and branches, but it nevertheless has to be present, carefully arranged to suggest a foliate barricade made by a careful gardener to create a safe oasis from the wilderness beyond. Perhaps I'll put some sheep on the distant hills rising to the upper edge of the painting. And some low mounds of rock plants. The painting evolves and becomes dense with shapes and patterning, shadow and highlight, colour and tone.
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  • everything feeds process
    In stories like Alice in Wonderland, Wizard of Oz or The Little Mermaid, the main character has to make sense of a world that is not her own. In my mind, this is an excellent metaphor for living as a grown-up in modern times.
    ----

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    This cold has eyes, not menacing or even intent ones, but the limpid eyes of the cold dead, the kind of eyes that feel every nape’s tooth marks. This cold moves as slowly as black water, silently as the far side of fish: unpied, canopied — the crosshatch of hawks.
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    Somewhere along those dusty Philippine roads my fascination with war turned to recoiling as I realized it was one thing to reenact battles with my friends, but quite another to walk endless miles along a trail of brutality, hopelessness and murder. I think it was then that the idea of war began to move from fantasy to nightmare as we walked through Bataan imagining the sheer horror of the reality our reenactment was meant to remember.
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    Even the crow
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    And while zebra finches aren’t exactly imbued with an enormous amount of dignity at the best of times, there was something slightly off-putting about seeing these little birds with their own aims and desires in life being cajoled into being art.
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    ----

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    Aw shit, if you don't get it you don't get it. If these places and just the knowledge of them being there does not move you, then nothing here will. I can't come up with any clever arguments to change minds and sway people over from the Cement Jungle. It seems too entrenched, too set, and the disconnection from anything wild too complete. If we have already compromised 87% of our land and now need to attack the remaining 13% to get at its "real" value it would seem to suggest that something is inherently wrong with the system. Yet the machine grinds on.
    ----

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    the sap already rising
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All content by Dave Bonta at Via Negativa is available for reprint and remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.