Cohesion

The 365 group of which I am a part (a club of Arkansas based Photographers who have an outlet on Flickr, in which we post a picture a day for a year....) have recently been playing with drops of various kinds.  This is my variation on the drop theme.  Flickr here.

The Visitation

Providence United Methodist Church, Charlotte, North Carolina on the "I'm dreaming of a white Day-after Christmas" storm of 2010.   (What cleary was a storm for the the Northern States, turned Charlotte into a postcard, which in turn cleared in a couple days.   This particular look is produced from a single image...(No Photoshop trickery) as flowing-blowing-snow pours through a strong shaft of light used to illumine the steeple.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirkjordan/5302401018/

You say, I say

You say, I say
(correspondence with a departed poet, KSJ)


Dear Anne

It may be
that you,

Living as you do
in the radiance of city din, or eating
underneath His chin,

Are not quick to hear
poems from half dead lips,
or peer
into the dark abyss from which you
are so greatly liberated.


But,
if our Brother would consent
I pray he pass a fond hello, or
let you know that one
who labors under sun with double heart and dusty eyes
has found within your words
a sister in the soul.

--

It’s a strange thing,
this parting of the heart and posting light

(or misery)

for all the colony to see, but
could you ever have imaged that
your words would reach
three hundred fifty suns
into the future?

And now, here you are
right up front: the “first” gal poet in an anthology of American works.

Anne Bradstreet
1612 to 1672

--


I thought to tell you first, how things have changed—
Your wilderness is parking lot
and littered with machines beyond your dreams.
We wear less clothes or sometimes hold your ilk,
in poor repute.

Indeed, we think of Puritans as pleasure snuffing prudes--
stern faced zealots with a taste for gloom and work in general
But then I read your words and find

SUPRIZE!

A red blooded woman with a taste for joy and life in general

--
And now,
What’s this? Could it be
that crickets filled your ears as they do mine

Or that
oak trees powered through your soul
like living praise?



You say:

Then on a stately Oak I cast mine Eye
Whose ruffling top the Clouds seem’d to aspire
How long since thou wast in thine infancy:
They strength and stature, more thy years admire.
Hath hundred winters past since thou wast born,
or thousand since thou brakest thy shell of horn?

I say:

A seed is power
Spewing power,
Stink or weed
Or common flower.

You say:

I heard the merry grasshopper then sing,
the black-clad Cricket bear a second part;
They kept on tune and plaid on the same string
Seeming to glory in their little art.

I say:

Cricket and cicada calling
A walling falling on dawn
Black audio, rainbow snow
Blowing like a blizzard through my ears.

You Say:

Thy Swift Annual and diurnal course,
they daily streight and yearly oblique path,
Thy pleasing fervor and they scorching force
All mortals here they feeling knowledge hath;

I say:

Brother sun slices though the heavens
Like a bobsled
Running down a course of rigid nothingness
Ever pushed and pulled by pulsars
and the stellar winds of the Milky Way,
But still, He smashes the horizon
Exactly when, and
where He should.

You say:

What’s glory like to thee,
Soul of this world, this Universes Eye?

I say:

He steels a peak through the hole in the sky
We call the sun.

You say:

In a secret place where I once stood,
Close by the banks of lacrym flood,
I heard two sisters reason on
Things that are past and things to come.
One Flesh was called, who had her eye
On worldly wealth and vanity;
The other Spirit who did rear
Her thoughts unto a higher sphere

I say:

I got this doppelganger henchman
with the lusty eyes
steals my joy and deals in lies
plays with matches and gasoline
says: come on man, you can’t be clean.

You say:

Be still thou unregenerate part
Disturb no more my settled heart,
For I have vowed and so will do,
Thee as a foe still to pursue,
And combat with thee will and must
Until I see the laid in dust.

I say

Brother Jesu
Lend a hand
I got this ugly double-man
Hearing with my ears and talking out my tongue
How long Oh, Lord till he’s undone?

You say:

My crown, not diamonds, pearls or gold,
but such as angel’s heads enfold.
The city where I hope to dwell
There’s none on earth can parallel.

I say:

I want to dwell in that city
City of substance and form
I want to warm my skin in his eyes
And rise with the children of dawn.

You say:

Glory

I say:

Hallelujah

Rise

One of the deep pleasures of riding the State Employees Van to work, is that I can take a nap and give someone else the driving frustrations. One of the chief frustrations of riding the van is being caged when all glory is breaking loose. Like these last two days of rises and sets. (But then, this bridge isn't the kind of space you can stop or walk. And the birds... a total suprise. I never saw them till I looked back at my frames.

A bruised reed he will not break, 
and a faintly burning wick he will not quench; 
he will faithfully bring forth justice.  


(Isaiah, attributed to Christ.)

Twist and Shout

"For you shall go out in joy and be led back in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands." 
(Isaiah 55:12)

Photonotes: Bradford Pear.  1 second or so exposure with twist and shout zooming.

Accidental Posting, Reliquarium by Kemper Crabb

I accidentally posted my review of Reliquarium, by Kemper Crabb on this blogspot first, and now some of the search engines are posting this as the place.  But you can find my review of Reliquarium here....where I post reviews.

Smells like Rain

The Cubist contempalates Pointelism.

Fall Color

  

Global Warming.  My life experience is too small to make that observation, but when it comes to weird gorgeous warm, today is it.

Hum

AR365, Day 43, Theme: Thankful


This is a multi-hued thanks. Symmetry. Crepe Myrtles. Red, Yellow, Blue, with rods and cones capable of showing us that the world radiates. (Imagine those colors all being there, but you were not equiped to know it.) Then there is God's eye, giving substance to our own.

Thank You.

Fred has a secret

AR365 Day 41, Week 6; Theme: Thankful

I met Fred while walking back to the car. (I had just had a fine meal of Salmon at a banquet.)  He saw me looking around with my camera, and asked if I might take his picture. I was able to buy him a sandwich.


One of the things I ask from time to time is "How do any of us become the people we become?" How much of who we are is sheer dumb luck, how much is determined by genes and environment (and in what mix) -- How much of what we become is the result of personal choice -- and how much belongs to the unseen purposes -- even grace of God. I am not sure we will ever untagle those riddles, though somethimes, when I consdier my place in life, I am deeply thankful.



Could'a   KSJ  5/2001


Could’a been a Tyson

Slice’n chicken, or your face
Could’a been the sliced
Could’a been your face with teethy ear.
(Either way, I’d make some bucks
or fade away amidst the clucks)

Could’a been a coon dog
with a culinary nose
Could’a been in Birmingham
near the fire hose –
Catching liquid cannon balls, or
Blasting back your uppity
insurrection –

Indeed, Could’a been the one to say
“I’m not riding at the back today”
Could’a been the one to place
shackles on your hands --

Could’a been old Bobbit
now at half-a-man.
Could’a made the scissors
at the factory …
Could’a been ol’ Jimmy D.
with a giant olfactory.
Could'a been the pilot of the Inola Gay.
Could'a been some new born kid
slightly in the way -- of light.

Could’a been some buxom blonde
Before your camera lens.
You asked me to stand
right over the fan, and
I fed your lust while acting
like I didn't know.

Could’a been your weak-willed husband,
burning anger deep inside,
but without the will to take you home.

Could’a been old Abe
Or Grant or Lee
Found that vision flexes with geography,
Could’a been a blend
of honor, necessity or lies,
Led the nation into blood
Or sparred us from the greater wrath of God.

Could’a done the goose step
Could’a been a goose
Could a been the hangman
Could’a been the noosed.
Could’a been so hard, as to fan the oven
Could’a been so twisted, as to join a coven

Could’a been the ripper
or the ripped.
The hooker or the hooked.
The bookie or the booked,
The bastard or the dad,
The vulture or the lad -who didn't find fresh water.

Could have been the woman that I hold …
Could have been the child that I scold.
Could have been
any of a hundred folks on the other side of me ...

Could’a begged my change – for booze
Could’a caught my glare
Could’a begged some dimes to live
Could’a shared the air
Could’a waited for my tip
or needed a kind word,
Could’a looked to me for light
but found me self absorbed.


Indeed, Could’a been a Jeckle or a Hyde,
held a dozen people deep inside;
Could’a felt as if my brain
would fly into a trillion parts.

(okay, this I can believe.)

Could’a been a David,
Good at writin’ psalms
Could’a a been a crowd
Good at wavin’ palms.
Could’a been a Kirk
Then I’d really be a jerk.
Could’a never needed to think odd.

Could’a been a rock
called forth to sing Your praise.

Things I am thankful for. The series. 1



Rays: Sunshine on My Shoulders Makes me Happpy.



TP







H2O



Liquid Neon

for a few more images:  Kirk's Flickr photo stream.

man in the moon

October 27, 2010

October 7, 2009

Sierra Club Generic;)



Blessings

Image (c) Kirk Jordan

Oh, graciously hear us,
Graciously hear us, we pray:
Pour from Thy windows upon us
Showers of blessing today.

Day 25 of the Arkansas 365 project

The Mighty Works Project, would like to thank God for the blessings of very real rain on our parched land.  This fall has been so much dust, but gentle wetting rains have given new color and life to the land.

Collision Course

Hosea, Can you see, by the dawns' early light.

10/19/10  tuesday Morn opened at the intersection of Sunrise, Sugar Maple, the Arkansas State Capitol,  and a massive storm system.  Moment later the skies turned dull, then to drizzle.

God is great.

I eye (Self Portrait)

I eye (Self Portrait)


A day ago a friend sent me a link to some incredible eye photos...which I hope embace in artist way (shamelessly borrow her idea) . I was trying the approach on myself. Looking into a mirror as I pointed my macro (off center) at my eye. My guess is the self in my eye, is the image of myself that I saw as I looked in the mirror.

Day 3, 4, 5 - Self Portrait Theme

Day 5

Day 4

Day 3

I will confess, I do have enough of an ego, that I enjoy snapping a pic of myself once in a while, but this week's 365 theme (Self Portraits) is kind of like giving Listerine to a Drunk.  Due apologies to everyone, and I hope to be back to standard themes soon.

Day 2, Self Portrait Theme

Day 1, Self Portrait theme

Well, this really isn't the kind of photo I like to post to Mighty Works, but I just started with a small group of fellow Arkansawers, who are doing a 365 project.  We are posting to Flickr, and are supposed to put up a pic a day.  This week's theme:  Self portraits.  And since I have done this to other folks, I thought I was due the same treatment.

Beetle Juice

Cucumber Beetle rides the Zinnia.

Not sure if its a Cucumber Beetle because of what it eats or its general color, though it looks kind of like a Gentlemanbug, in complimentary attire.

Ps.  Starting Oct 1, look for a pic a day, here an on Flickr.



Harvest Moon and Jupiter.

Historic Event in need of photo!

I hear this was an historic event --  Harvest Moon, falling on the last day of summer as equal day and equal night (eqinox) trade out to greater night.   Beyond that, the moon and Jupiter rode the sky real close, and  -- If I have my facts right, both closer to us than normal.   If you look real close you can see the rings.

Ps.  I have a tool that shows what people are searching for when Google sent them here.  Now I imagine the odd looks for all those looking for Harvest Moon/Jupiter.



Zinnia Down

For friends of the Mighty Works Project.

Starting October 1, You should get a picture and line or two of poetry per day.  Turns out I have joined a Flickr group, consisting of Arkansas Photographers, who have committed to posting a picture a day.  I'd like to do the same with poetry, and hope to scratch and catch something each day.

The Moving Garden

Broken Poem 9/18/2001

Lord

Don’t hear me wrong:

But how do You hold humming birds

aloft, or blow

feathered clouds

across the azure skies –

Even as the panther pounces

Even as a baby bounces – in his little bounce machine

Even as -- 200 feet of flying tube

frays into

a deafening array

of steel and boiled blood?

Again

         And again,

                                         And again.

I would have thought

the Universe should flicker

Like a drain upon the sun,

I would have thought the birds would drop

like tar from the sky –

I would have thought to hear each

voice,

lag behind the mouth with tape d e l a y.

And,  I shouldn’t have been shaken

if electrons died.

But Lord

this ability of yours

the hear one mother giving birth

with joy,

then watch

another broken in a smash of glass and heat

600 mph to 2, in a blink

Is break-

ing me.

I know this feeling can’t be new,

Moms have pulled their sons

by the tons from ovens, cars, and rivers

or this foul aftermath of war ..

And yet the flowers bloom.

And lovers kiss a world away,

in the heat of your blessing.

And stupid children laugh.

I have played these games before.

Once there were too many stars

     for my local God.

Ten-thousand stars is one thing,

         but what about ten billion

in my cluster, with some billion clusters more.

I doubted You, but found

You grew bigger than my doubts,

And I swooned beneath the breadth of Your enormity.

But Lord, do you mean to stretch

my mind, till there is nothing left to stretch?

I like my lines of pleasure, clean

against the evil world –

But they are swirled and jabbed and glued

and I must close down now

Or find You bigger still, till

I have no place

left to hold You …

So will you please hold me?

911 Trilogy (original post 9/11/03)

Not even a sparrow falls...

be it blown

from the sky –

Unknown.

Not a single hair remains...

be it thrown

to the wind

of oblivion and flame

Un numbered.

Not a single hurt...

or heart
or missing voice

Unheard –

Indeed...

Not ever a drop did fall,
Nor did someone heed the call,

be it not KNOWN

before the Throne

and

remembered.

----------

For more poems by Kirk see

http://startledbyexistence.squarespace.com

(911 - hOLE IN THE wORLD)

(written Sept 12/13-2001)



A totally inadequate poem

So, here we have it. I want to share with you a world. I want to tell you that the world is at once an unapproachable glory, the outlands of heaven in our midst. I want to tell you that the world is alive with ongoing miracle and that the trees are like hard seaweed on the bottom of the Numa Sea . (Where did that come from?) I want too, to tell you that the thing is broken, the world has veered, and the code has been rewritten. I want you to sell your car or house, Finally, I want them to tear down the World Trade Centers… or better yet, convert them into apartments for the poor, or if not that, build some huge barn between them and make them into the front spires of a very grand cathedral.  
From the Journals of the Kirk--Why do I take pictures 1985

I’ll admit,
this thought isn’t safe
or a thing I say too loud (but hear me out.)


I have seen them with a foreign eye
like turrets on a godless-church,
silvereen, and soaring high
But missing the cathedral --


Testimonies to the arrogance of man
against every rule of nature,
TALL with vertigo and force,
streaming upward like
welded boxcars --


Two silver fists
in the face of God:
Like spikes in a rotted apple.

But today, I weep
and if you will, let me
with imagination

bleed.

(a Google image)

Bleed for pagans

and believers,

the bearded business men, the

brokers and the broken,

the silent mimes and firemen,

sisters, daughters, mothers, fathers, and

these ever-feuding sons of Abraham --

Indeed,


Father Abraham
has many sons --
those who walk in faith and seek
a city
made by God;
But don't we weep to see
Faith twisted into obscene forms.


---


Today,
I see with different eyes,
and I repent .. for wearing monocles.


Could it be
that a THING might be
MORE
than any ONE thing
at once?


Today, I see what were


twin trumpets,
Blasting out a tune to
to the majesty of man.


I see
two trees
mightier than redwoods,
brushing stars
and brushed
in lemon light
like a sky-house hotel
for Leprechauns.


I see
mighty rivers decked
in vivid commerce;


Old-world villages
replete with jugglers and silk –
boats on ropes whizzing up the ditches
laden with exotic wares from foreign lands
like some grand-market
tipped upward.


I see twin
Towers,
like thin lanes of light,
Bars of gold, beacons on the rim --
shining out a tale of
industry and might
and incomprehensible blessing --
leading a parade.




I see within,
and on each floor
(stacked above each other like coins)
a little town from Arkansas
complete
with hatted men
and football teams,
the smiling bells (now wearing jeans)
and the bee-hive ladies yakking
at the hair salon.
I see faith in the 24the century.


Indeed,
We saw a universe
with fifty-thousand centers
anchored in a common block.


We heard the twine of beating hearts
like a ten-thousand drums, then
the lull,
and now, the tortured
patter of the few,

And we felt within ourselves
the stuff of horror.

Veins, and brains
and towers like slit arteries
collapsing into bloody dust
before our eyes.

..


They say, on the radio today
that this is a different country.
And we believe it.
We will never feel the same.
We are all new Yorkers, wearing black.



***

Once there were two towers
Tall as titans
Full of grace
She wore the moon within her hair,
He wore the sun upon his face,


and they walked with the I-AM
in the garden
without shame.


Then some devil of a serpent
slashed the air,


One tower fell, and then…
 
 
 

Floaty Line Oplusion

Well, I know it’s not much of a picture, but this optical illusion makes it look as if the white stripe is hovering over the asphalt. Truth is, both the white line and darker parking line are painted directly on the ground, side by side. (The zoom of the lens during exposure intensifies the effect.) As is, I have seen this same thing done with people and oil spots, but I came by my picture purely. It was a pure accident.  I only saw the op-pop afterward.

Questions for Steve

This is an odd place to post, but news of Stephen Hawking's book - The Grand Design -  in which he argues for the spontaneous generation of the cosmos, got me to to thinking...about stuff I've written in the past.  This content below is something I wrote some 10 years ago as a book idea for my kids (which in turn, is in need of radical edit.)   Not sure I would ever want to get in a tangle with Stephen, but I think my questions near the end are worthy of his consideration.