Earthtribe-Gather: Sunflower    
 Sunflower7 comments
picture25 Aug 2007 @ 21:35, by John Ashbaugh

There's nobody on the roof.
Only some glance into the sky.

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27 Aug 2007 @ 15:46 by jmarc : limerick
In a previous place that I'd sat
I'd planted a bunch like that,
But along came a 'possum
who'd thought them quite awesome
and ate up each one just like that.

But planting them all on the roof
while seemingly quite aloof,
would flummox a possum
and still they'd be awesome
but nary a one would go poof!  

27 Aug 2007 @ 15:49 by jmarc : High coo
Sunflower on roof
gathers sun from on high;
A sky gazers gift.  

28 Aug 2007 @ 02:10 by koravya : Correspondences

Nature is a temple in which living pillars
Sometimes let slip indistinct words;
There, man passes through forests of symbols
Which observe him with a familiar gaze.

Like longs echoes that, in the distance, blend
Into a shadowy and profound whole,
Vast as the night, vast as light,
Fragrances, colors, and sounds respond to one another.

There are fragrances as fresh as the flesh of children,
As sweet as oboes, as green as prairies,
-- And others, corrupt, rich, and triumphant,

With the expansiveness of infinite things,
Like amber, musk, benzoin, and incense,
And that sing the transports of the spirit and the senses.

Charles Baudelaire
translations by Cat Nilan
Your thoughts are right on, jmarc.
My poetic mind is currently a bit rusty.

28 Aug 2007 @ 15:50 by jmarc : Nice site
I'd never read Baudelaire, except the ones of the Lemony Snicket variety.
Here's another one:


Above the pools, above the valleys,
Above the mountains, the woods, the clouds, the seas,
Beyond the sun, beyond the ether,
Beyond the confines of the starry spheres,

My spirit, you move with agility,
And, like a strong swimmer who swoons in the waves,
You gaily cut through the profound immensity
With an undescribable and manly delight.

Fly far away from these morbid miasmas;
Go and purify yourself in the upper air,
And drink, like a pure and divine liquor,
The translucent fire that fills the limpid spaces.

Behind the boredom, the vast griefs and vexations
That weigh down with their weight our foggy lives,
Happy is he who can, upon a vigorous wing,
Soar upward toward the luminous and serene fields;

He whose thoughts, like larks,
Take free flight toward the sky in the morning,
-- Who glides over life, and who effortlessly understands
The language of flowers and of speechless things!  

29 Aug 2007 @ 13:44 by koravya : One thing to another
That's a good one.
And here is an item from Arthur Rimbaud.

When a child, certain skies sharpened my vision:
all their characters were reflected in my face.
The Phenomena were roused.--
At present, the eternal inflection of moments
and the infinity of mathematics
drives me through this world
where I meet with every civil honor,
respected by strange children and prodigious affections.--
I dream of a War of right and of might,
of unlooked-for logic. It is as simple as a musical phrase.
Arthur Rimbaud
from Illuminations
Animations of some Rimbaud poems.
Index of poetry with translations  

29 Aug 2007 @ 15:25 by jmarc : Trading in Poets
THIS has been and is yet a great season for wild flowers; oceans of them line the roads through the woods, border the edges of the water-runlets, grow all along the old fences, and are scatter’d in profusion over the fields. An eight-petal’d blossom of gold-yellow clear and bright, with a brown tuft in the middle, nearly as large as a silver half-dollar, is very common; yesterday on a long drive I noticed it thickly lining the borders of the brooks everywhere. Then there is a beautiful weed cover’d with blue flowers, (the blue of the old Chinese teacups treasur’d by our grand-aunts,) I am continually stopping to admire—a little larger than a dime, and very plentiful. White, however, is the prevailing color. The wild carrot I have spoken of; also the fragrant life-everlasting. But there are all hues and beauties, especially on the frequent tracts of half-open scrub-oak and dwarf-cedar hereabout—wild asters of all colors. Notwithstanding the frost-touch the hardy little chaps maintain themselves in all their bloom. The tree-leaves, too, some of them are beginning to turn yellow or drab or dull green. The deep wine-color of the sumachs and gum-trees is already visible, and the straw-color of the dog-wood and beech. Let me give the names of some of these perennial blossoms and friendly weeds I have made acquaintance with hereabout one season or another in my walks: wild azalea,
wild honeysuckle,
wild roses,
golden rod,
wild pea,
early crocus,
sweet flag, (great patches of it,)
creeper, trumpet-flower,
scented marjoram,
Solomon’s seal,
sweet balm,
mint, (great plenty,)
swamp magnolia,
wild geranium,
wild heliotrope,
wild daisy, (plenty,)
wild chrysanthemum.

Specimen Days
Wild Flowers

30 Aug 2007 @ 05:19 by koravya : Tomorrow becomes Today
The Valley of Unrest
* * * * * * *
Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sunlight lazily lay.
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley's restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless-
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.
Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,
Over the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye-
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave:- from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops.
They weep:- from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.

Edgar Allen Poe  

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