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.  

Layers

Zinnias. (all pics from the same patch, on the backside of the Arkansas State Capitol Building.)

The Mighty Works project exists to express the sentiment: I hope I age as colorfully as whatever these are.  (I know now the are Zinnias)

The Italian Shadow

He Spoke with his hands.

 

All pics by Kirk Jordan, from a business shoot 7/2010, where I got distracted.

The Mighty Works Project exists to herald the day, when we see things as they are, and not only in shadows.

That's Whack

6/7/2010    I was heading out the door to lunch, when the boss - heading in, said "Kirk, Quick, where's you camera" - I took one quick look and made a B-line upstairs, as - for the next fifteen minutes, some of the wierdest clouds wev've ever seen flowed over Little Rock. (And frankly, I didn't capture the best ones, the ones that looked like layered waves.  Angela Norton, a follower of the Facebook Mighty Works edition, says these are Altocumulus Undulatus.

Magnolia Graniflora

The Southern Magnolia, or Magnolia grandiflora must be one of the most photographed blooms on the planet... And with good reason.   It is simply hard to imagine anything that big, and floppy and elegant.  The petals remind me of Chinese soup ladels.

All pics, t(c) Kirk Jorand and taken on the morning of May 12, 2010. For more variety, from years past check our my sister site, ID Arkansas, with a co-special on this startling bloom.

The Mighty Works Project exists to run wonder into the ground... if only wonder would submit, but it has a way of refusing.

Titan Women II: Of Whom

As many of you will know.. my Mom  -  Eleanor Jordan, aka Miss Ellie, Mama Ellie, passed away on December 3, 2009.   I always posted this, or sent it out as an Email on Mother's day... and without being too immodest...She treasured this.   Its a tad long (this is the long version, with multiple generations) But I guess you can skip the parts about the other moms. For Miss Ellie, read bold.

A poem to my mom and the other mothers in my life,
by Kirk Jordan

The original Mama Ellie

If I were asked…to what the singular prosperity and growing strength of that people (the Americans) ought mainly to be attributed, I should reply: To the superiority of their women. Alex de Tocqueville.

I am the son of Titan women,
Born of water and of blood;
Born of Heaven’s will
and of the burning sod.


I am born of Terra
and of Sarah too,
a son of Adam, and
our “Father” Abraham, included
in the loins of faith.


I am the son
of strong STRONG women
and the sire of the same,
I have tasted fire,
and added to flame
of life.


Trace me back
and you will find
Irish maids and Cornish Lords,
scallywags and dumblewits,
pagans, saints, and tumbled hordes
mighty pillars, bloody swords,
and …a fire that burns back
to Eve.


--
I begin with Nana
not direct in Flesh and Blood
but sister in this ever branching tree,
and mother to the mother of my bride.
You were cut from stalwart cloth
and married to a man, who would cut
two continents apart,
and splice separated waters through
the Panama canal.

You bore humidity and insects
and the greater ravage of a man
who didn’t keep “one” home.
But through it all maintained
the strength that goes with inner dignity
and letting God consume the past.

You knew we disagreed
about some very basic things of faith,
(and science);
You held to a world, where pain
was but illusion. You shunned the world
of medicine (but lived long in you shunning)
even as you braced to bear “imaginary” pain.

But when it came to a life
lived in the spirit of Christian forgiveness
returning good for harm,
I honor your glory.

--
Then there is the Ami (Ahmee)
matron Saint of a small army,
Irish blood and New York bred,
You spoke in brogue and fingered Rosaries
even as the honor tumbled daily from your mouth
like a beautiful dripping faucet.

“Thanks be to God. Thanks be to God,” you said,
then startled the world with your maverick sayings:
I’d say “So”
You’d snap back: “Sew buttons on your underwear”
I’d say, “Sure, go ahead”
You’d reply, “Are you ready for Freddie – He’s the undertaker.”

As it is, you gave life to three -- titan women all
with the middlest my Mom;
They returned the favor
Catholic style, eighteen grandkids,
followed by so many more.
Oh, what memories I hold … the house, the smells,
the elegant clocks and beautiful glass -
Your hands tracing fragile cups or You, under the diving-bell curlers
and drinking coffee in high backed chairs…
Wild berries underneath the stairs,
Jesus standing with on the mantel with the open heart
and the painting in the basement (that I snuck off to see)
of Lilly-white women bathing in the lake.

You held on so long, so STRONG, after Delbert
your hansom, polio limping, hard working, depression schooled,
coin collecting, Protestant chauffeur
of a husband left this world,
and now we feel your absence
like a hole in the world.

like love gone away.

Next I turn to two that I knew less,
One I never met, and one whom I regret to say
that I lost contact with through adolescent inwardness
and the fray of severed families.

Edith… Mother of the Father of my bride
I understand that you were quite the saint,
and Mother of the five McGinns;
Brothers who would score their marks
as teachers, farmers, warriors, and business men;
They wore the suits of several wars
and climbed ever so far in their own private citadels.

I never met you but I see your mark
in the vigor of the men you left behind,
Men who love their country
and their faith.

-----
Grace … Mother of my dad
and conduit for so much now that gives me life.
You were a woman of the earth. A shepherd,
and a Methodist; our first Republican,
respectable and Oh, so graceful
in your pearls and lean muscled frame.

I understand that you wore pants before the time
even as you worked to tame a wild land. And what a land it was.
accessible by riverboat and mule, but never car –
You portaged up the Snake
to my name’s sake – the Kirkwood ranch.

Would it be that I owe growing love of pen to you?

I see your books upon my shelf:
Home below Hells Canyon
Canyon Boy
Idaho Reader.

Later you would climb with Len
with hard work and integrity
to places fitting to your quiet strength:
wife of US senator -- First Lady of the state.

Now the River surges ever closer:
Jean Mc Mom – Mother of my bride
I hold no blood of yours, but tangled with it daily,
even as I see your mark
upon our children, and my Bride.

You look like a titan woman
so I hope you will not balk,
When I say, that with your Jeffersonian coif,
chiseled form
and resolute stride,
You could fit by Jefferson among the rocks,
granite eyes looking out across Black Hills.

We know
that you span worlds.
architect and boss, stellar graduate of Rice,
beauty queen of Panama and
married to the man who SWAM the thing --
former atheist, and now
Sunday school teacher at the Thomas Road Baptist Church.

I won’t tell’m that you dance
a mean Charleston, or that
you once met Charles at the door
with loaded gun.
Sure he was a pilot and an officer,
in a hellish war … but no letters or phone calls
for five months
and five kids in six years, left you frazzled.

You know, that we call you the loud family.
McDad is leaning deaf but still, it seems to fit
the force that goes with all things McGinn.

And see, how the spirit of Christ within
is taming you… not a broken horse
But tempered, strong, and with a quiet joy.

We thank you for your nightly prayers
and the way, you’ve endured your own silent pains.
How is it that when you listen, my wife feels heard?


But when I try the same … well,
it just isn’t the same.


And now, a pause
I know that it's a prejudice
born of being born to you, But when it comes to you
(or Momma Ellie as she goes)
I see a broken titan,
patched with gold.


A woman of rare and enduring beauty.


My first mental picture, photograph derived
shows a little girl with hand-tinted lips
and red brown hair. They say
You favored Dorothy, from the Wizard of Oz.
Or next, Audrey Hepburn in your senior picture.


Oh, what an image.
Gentle slope of a V-neck draped cross your shoulders,
elegant pearls and hair cut
daring short. Class mates would
remember the Knuckey girl, top of the class
and editor, with a cutting edge
and wild side.
Next mental picture shows you, just before you met my dad
breaking from the surf with scuba mask.
Thin cigarettes balanced on your lips, spooned hips
packaged in pencil leg jeans.


At eighteen you bought a one way ticket
AWAY From tradition and old church ways
to a California of convertibles and gold dust.
seagulls and stars.


Three years later you would wed
a young engineer and outdoorsman
sturdy with a zest for life,
the music of the Kingston Trio
dancing in your heads.


I see you there
rushing from the pines of the Wayside chapel
up the ragged coast
to the boats and rivers,
to your own pizza business
two kids,
and a small farm
so rich in childhood memories.


Next mental picture has you asking me (age seven)
What ever do you mean “Are you saved?”


As it is, I’d gone to some kid-hood missionary campaign
replete with sword drills and flannel-graph epics;
We learned of Pilgrim and his burden
emptied at the cross; and though I had yet
to visit either the Vanity Fair or the Slough of Despond
I said “yes” to the Celestial City.


Some weeks later you did too.


Conversion, for you
was never like a shift in sentiments,
No – it was like the first day of creation.


And that light
has been your life
every waking day.
and night.


And what a night it’s been.


I hope you will not mind, If I skip the glory years
when you stood strong
as Mom and wife
or, as missionary to the street-crowd,
Carrie Nation for the cause of Modesty,
Healer of other folk’s marriages.


Nor do I think you’ll mind
if I skip the greater part of night
(Though, how long it lasts).
Two husbands down, and no one now to share
your dreams of aging into godly grace and ministry.


Distant children,
Distant dreams,
And distance
sometimes even for us.


You take your wine, right off the vine; I like mine with age.
You take your kingdom in the future, past apocalypse and caged
in a thousand years. I’ll take mine – right now, albeit slow and growing like a mighty tree throughout the earth until the final day, when heaven crashes through the walls.


You take your gospel southern,
I drink mine pure black.
and
You walk in the spirit of conviction …
about some things, of which we are not convinced.


But even with our differences…


You have born
the hard humility
of giving everything to Jesus
Only to have him take your offer.


Dignity – His.
Family – His
Pleasure in the present – His.
All your hopes and dreams – His.
--


I see you now sometimes,
burdened down and grey
like a full-bodied version of Mini-Pearl
replete with Hawaiian drape-dress,
funky hat, and walker decked in ribbons.


I see you hitting the tambourine with streamers,
or doing the soft foot jig
before Baptists ever dreamed of such.


I see you (Oh this is funny)
Throwing litter back into the open window
of an offending motorist in a parking lot.
You say: “I think you lost this.”


I see you walking up to laughing black-men
dressed in suits and telling them how “gorgeous” they look.


I see you at the jail, or on the plane,
in the lanes and byways,
asking folks what they would say to God
if they met him tonight.


I see you walking into strip joints
past the surly hard-eyed stares,
and naked flesh to find
some gal who’d like to leave the life
but has to make a living.
And she’s thinking about Jesus.


I see you on your knees
every night, with sobs
like Monica weeping for her kids.


I see so many hearts,
now broken into, by the savior of the world.


I see a woman
Spit, chewed, and broken
like the fine Art of God.


I see some Titan, on
the other side of life
taller­­ than a Redwood.


I see one
of whom the world
was not worthy.

--------

KJordan 2001

for more on the other women in my life, see
http://startledbyexistence.squarespace.com/to-the-titan-women-book/

Color Wheel

Starry Starry Day

Stare at any of these pictures real long,

and after 30 seconds you may smile.

All pics, May 5, 2010, from a flower plot at work.  Not sure what kind of flowers these are... they are some member of the asterace family with a complex center.  The person who planted them planted them in perfect rows, wich in turn, invited making them into something less row light.  Exposures range from 1/8 to 1/2 second, and I have used various zooms, swirls, and yanks (some with flash) to get these results.

The following day, with sun.

Photo Riddle?

This one shouldn't be too hard, but if it helps, there is another image below, which may be even more momentarily confusing.

.

.

.

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Air Duct Pipes, with a worker walking behind the pile.

For just a few more photo Riddles press here.