Tag Archives: Walking

Meanders

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Monument to Six Million Jewish Martyrs, Philadelphia
West Deptford Public Library
West Deptford Public Library

 

The sky is sunny, the sky is grey

thoughts fall like rain within my brain

but fan into a rainbow bright

and dance in dreams later at night.

 

I walk past statues, I see stories,

in shadows and art, love and hearts

rise, fall with martyrs. I hold books,

(sacred) as nymphs slide into brooks

 

rippling pools and startling robins

that rise in song, and before long

my thoughts come ‘round, circle in flight

from darkness swayed to soar in light.

 

Anmol’s prompt on dVerse asks us to walk and observe. Those who follow my blog know that I do this often. There has been a lot on my mind lately–and there has also been a lot of rain– and this poem combines a few walks in Philadelphia and in S. Jersey.

WP seems to be possessed again. I hope the photos show up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thoughts While Walking a Loop at Red Bank Battlefield Park

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They soar,

never stumbling,

effortless in their grace,

a leap into the shadowed world

unknown

 

and yet

familiar, cycles repeated

without striving. Them. Me.

I walk circles

at peace

 

 

This is a mirror cinquain for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, using synonyms for fall and try.

Look Around: Seen and Unseen

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Monday Morning Musings:

KERNER: “The particle world is the dream world of the intelligence officer. An electron can be here or there at same moment. You can choose; it can go from here to there without going in between; it can pass through two doors at the same time, or from one door to another by a path which is there for all to see until someone looks, and then the act of looking has made it take a different path. Its movements cannot be anticipated because it has no reasons. It defeats surveillance because when you what it’s doing you can’t be certain where it is, and when you know where it is you can’t be certain what it’s doing. .”

–Tom Stoppard, Hapgood

 

“I cannot tell how Eternity seems. It sweeps around me like a sea. . .”

–Emily Dickinson, from a letter to her cousins, 1882

 

“the future and the maps

Hide something I was waiting for.”

–from Edward Thomas, “When First I Came Here”

 

The seen and the unseen

sleight of hand,

the extemporaneous, the planned

blink, you miss it,

not in shadow, in sun or fluorescent light

missing what is in plain sight,

nature, spies, bumps in the night

 

Look in front of you—there it is.

Raptors in the Park

Rainy Day Sight at Red Bank Battlefield, National Park, NJ

 

How far is eternity,

how wide and how deep?

Does it stretch through

cloudy skies

glance and stretch its size

through shadowed ground

and then around

to reach the stars,

(falling, calling)

a metaphysical quasar,

whose ways and days are

hinted at, but unknown.

 

I walk, and there are wonders,

two deer, twins perhaps

(you could almost miss them as you pass,

but there they are, in the grass)

their future mapped

or unknown,

become full-grown,

or decline

or killed by a hunter’s gun—

but now they recline,

unphased, in the waning sun.

Resting in the Park
Red Bank Battlefield
National Park, NJ

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We see a play

of Cold War spies,

particle physics underlie

the everyday,

in lines it overlays,

a metaphor of surveillance

and life

assailants and strife—

the personal, the political

watch—it’s critical,

because we don’t always see–

there may be a twin,

or there may not be.

We can’t anticipate

what will come,

life is random—

the way a moth flits,

it darts and hits

this way and that

and you can’t be certain

what it’s doing

is it pursuing

or pursued?

This is how it should be viewed

(the scientist explains)

electrons are like that moth–

then so are our ideas

within our brains

unchained,

they fly,

and we can’t plan

where they’ll go

with the flow–

but, they might stop, sink, fly

no reason, no what, no why—

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and on this equinox

we go falling

headlong into the next season

yes, there is reason, it’s time,

but it seems without rhythm or rhyme

one minute it’s warm, the next it’s cool

there seems to be no rule.

So, we move on, walk and talk

about the play we’ve seen

(Look up and around)

 

Victory Apartment Building, Philadelphia

Quince Street, Philadelphia

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and

drink with cheer

our wine and beer

 

At Tria

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and later the rain

comes again,

but we sleep soundly

to dream—un-profoundly–

while a cat softly snores,

and beyond our locked doors

and behind the clouded sky

the moon hums

to her own rhythm, and why

is unknown–just listen–

eternity in her lullaby.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Apparently, the Oracle has also seen Hapgood by Tom Stoppard. Of course, she knows everything.

We saw the Lantern Theater production.

 

To dark air

she could ask

dazzle the night.

Though she is fooled in the open

like this—

her heart

always listening,

only here you are–

and over there—

not magic,

but life

Walking Into the Future, Haibun

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We walk through an exhibition, “Modern Times”—art and music of an age now past. In a museum, moments are captured, set, and time seems to stop. Real is what the artist sees; it has its own truth. We walk outside. The sun sparkles on the Schuylkill River, as it did in Thomas Eakins’s time. The rowers could almost be those he painted—except that now there are women rowing, too. Cars zoom by on the street where horses and carriages once cantered. Bicyclists and runners pass us on the path. Spring is moving on, too, and summer’s lush greenery is appearing. My husband and I walk west, then circle back, and into our future.

 

Spring buds and blooms fall

drifting like fragrant snowfall–

time moves in circles

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On Monday, at dVerse Björn asked for poems on walks/walking for Haibun Monday. I’m posting this for dVerse’s Open Link Night, where Björn is hosting again.

 

 

Walktober: Valley Green Inn and Forbidden Drive

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This post is in response to Robin of breezes at dawn. Check out her blog. She writes about her world along the Eastern Shore and her Wabi-Sabi Ranch, and her blog also includes amazingly beautiful photos.

For the past few years we’ve visited the Valley Green Inn during the summer for my mom’s birthday. My husband and I decided to have lunch there this week on a beautiful autumn day, and then take a long walk down Forbidden Drive, along the Wissahickon Creek.

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The bridge was closed,

So we hiked down from the upper lot,

Taking the “scenic route” to the restaurant

Because I have no sense of direction.

Something you should know about me.

Hmmm. . .is this the right way?

Hmmm. . .is this the right way?

But it didn’t matter,

We were not in a hurry at all.

We were taking the day off.

We sat by the window

In that dining room

That always smells of wood smoke

From the fireplace at the end.

Lunch was delicious,

A portabella mushroom sandwich for me

With homemade sweet potato chips,

And an open-face Reuben for him

With house cut French fries

Two cups of coffee each,

And then we were set to go.

I had brought a coat

Thinking it might be chilly,

But the weather was beautiful

And perfect for walking.

I wandered down to the water.

Sun and shadows played a chasing game there.

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We strolled down the path.

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The air smelled fresh and woody—

Not the dry crispness of winter

And not the swampy scent of summer either,

But

Something in between.

The day was bright and clear.

A chipmunk scampered away

Before I could get a picture.

He chirped loudly at us from

Beneath his leafy cover.

Amidst the roots.

We saw an older man walking his dog,

They looked like long-time companions,

Both a little gray and grizzled,

But still enjoying their time together.

A bare-chested man in red shorts ran determinedly

From the opposite direction.

An impressively fit mother

Jogged while pushing her babies

In one of those special strollers

Made for runners with children,

Exercise and childcare combined.

Another woman ambled down the path

While talking on her phone.

Couples meandered with their dogs.

There were a few bikers, too,

But no horses today,

And a childhood memory

Stirred in my mind—

Walking in the woods

With my grandfather and little sister.

He pulled us to the side of a path

As riders on horseback

Come thundering by.

It was thrilling

And a bit scary.

Like ghosts from the past,

And then I remember my brother

Telling me about the Headless Horseman,

A Revolutionary Era soldier

Who supposedly roamed the woods.

But all is peaceful here today,

The ghosts are only in my mind.

We continued our wandering.

We hiked down stone steps

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To the water.

I noticed a tree that

Looked like a skeleton to me.

We saw many trees that had fallen

Or stood at an angle.

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What tales those trees could tell!

Sunlight highlighted a pop of red

Against the gold and still-green branches

And reflected in the water below.

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Birds sang.

“It’s so beautiful,”

I said to my husband.

“Thank you for this day.”

And on the way home in the car

Well, actually to the movies

Because we didn’t want the day

To end,

We listened to Fresh Air,

Terry Gross interviewing

Two bird experts.

There’s a type of bird that can

Mimic almost any sound.

I wondered–

What if there was a bird

There in the woods

Who repeated my words?

What if he flew all over the earth

Saying,

“It’s so beautiful. Thank you for this day.”

***

Thoughts on walking along Forbidden Drive

Walktober 2015

Autumnal Tragedy and Comedy

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Monday Morning Musings

“Numberless are the world’s wonders, but none

More wonderful than man. . .

Words also, and thought as rapid as air,

He fashions to his good use. . .

Oh fate of man, working both good and evil!”

–Sophocles, Antigone

The play was Antigone,

A play over two thousand years old.

The chorus entered,

Stark and bleak,

Mouths open in mask-like images of tragedy

And horror

Resembling the figure of Munch’s The Scream.

Greek and English

What are we watching?

I’m not certain.

Afterward, we walk,

My husband and I.

It is a beautiful October day.

Far from that tragedy

In time

And space

Far from Thebes

Or Ankara,

For that matter.

We stroll through the city streets

Through “the Gayborhood.”

The 25th annual “Outfest”

Is taking place.

Men holding hands,

Women holding hands,

Men and women holding hands.

Love is love.

Rainbows

Music

People dancing in the closed off streets.

We just miss a hula hoop competition.

We walk some more,

To a wine café,

Wine for me,

Beer for him,

Cheese to share,

And coffee after.

We discuss the play.

The spitting and the drool

From the actors’ mouths.

“Well, it was visceral,” I say.

“That’s not exactly the word I was going to use,” he said.

“More like gross and disgusting.”

I have to agree.

But I also have to admit the power of live performance—

Because I can’t stop thinking about it.

A play thousands of years old.

How many times has it been performed?

Humans have new ways of killing now.

And new tragedies occur daily.

Families torn apart

By violence.

Women raped.

Children dead.

Human tragedy

Human comedy

We create beauty and destruction.

And please and appease the gods.

Art reflecting life

And life imitating art.

But here and now

It is a beautiful October day.

There are rainbows.

There is love.

We see fans ecstatic about the football game.

There are some happy endings, too.

Walking through the streets of a modern city

Reflecting on life in one long ago.