Doodling in Math: Spirals, Fibonacci, and Being a Plant [1 of 3] - YouTube

 How utterly wonderful is this?  Quite~ 

Just watch:


Doodling in Math: Spirals, Fibonacci, and Being a Plant [1 of 3] - YouTube

Wednesday Poem

Untitled [A house just like his mother's]- Poets.org - Poetry, Poems, Bios & More

I was instantly taken by this poem by Gregory Orr, drawn to its simplicity, brevity, and depth.  For me it evokes memories of living in my grandparent's house - the magic of the rooms, the mystery of the past I didn't live, that was theirs together.

Untitled [A house just like his mother's]
by Gregory Orr
A house just like his mother's, But made of words. Everything he could remember Inside it: Parrots and a bowl Of peaches, and the bright rug His grandmother wove. Shadows also—mysteries And secrets. Corridors Only ghosts patrol. And did I mention Strawberry jam and toast? Did I mention That everyone he loved Lives there now, In that poem He called "My Mother’s House?"

Monday Poem

I like this poem by George Bilgere, entitled "Robert Frost.  I am not an English or Poetry teacher, but have led workshops and am a poetry editor, so this caught my attention.  We love what we do, but sometimes the weight and volume of words forms a small wall, and the best thing we can do is sit back and have a glass of wine.  Then, maybe we can disassemble it brick by brick. And just how do we nail down ambiguity?

Here is an excerpt from the poem "Robert Frost":


" Every year the English majors of America
must read these poems and analyze their ambiguity
or compare and contrast their ambiguity
in five double-spaced pages.

And the English teachers of America must read these pages
and determine whether they are incisive or not incisive.

I am one of those teachers. I try to do my share.
Because if we don't do this—if Frost's ambiguity
is not discussed, and if these discussions are not assessed,
and then finally graded—well, what's the point of all this?
What are we doing here?"


To read the poem in its entirety, please visit the link below:

Robert Frost by George Bilgere | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

Quote for the Day~

“In certain ways writing is a form of prayer.”

—Denise Levertov

Ascension - Poem for Easter~

Ascension- Poets.org - Poetry, Poems, Bios & More

Ascension
by John Donne
Salute the last, and everlasting day, Joy at the uprising of this Sun, and Son, Ye whose true tears, or tribulation Have purely wash'd, or burnt your drossy clay. Behold, the Highest, parting hence away, Lightens the dark clouds, which He treads upon; Nor doth he by ascending show alone, But first He, and He first enters the way. O strong Ram, which hast batter'd heaven for me! Mild lamb, which with Thy Blood hast mark'd the path! Bright Torch, which shinest, that I the way may see! O, with Thy own Blood quench Thy own just wrath; And if Thy Holy Spirit my Muse did raise, Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise

Heron

Heron, originally uploaded by salmonbear7.

This is a photo I took last October in Bellingham~

Saturday Poem

So, this is the penultimate poem in my Lenten challenge. It is a poem that came to me when I was teaching at a gym that over-looked the mud flats.  I was on a treadmill that day, looking out at the wildlife so prevalent in that area, and was most captivated by this lone heron. This was my first published poem.

Heron

                                               

He blends almost fully

into the pull  of tide, a long

stretch of neck arched above folded wings.

He seems to glide backward

in meditation

with all the patience and ease

of Jesus fishing for breakfast at dawn.

His gaze piercing the surface he is lost

in the ripple of migrating waters

only to appear again, stark

as a bone of driftwood against a dark eddy.

In this moment he strikes with such grace

that I desire to imagine his prey

doesn’t suffer;  that it comes to him, willing

to die so beautifully.

--Ronda Broatch

A Poem for Good Friday~

After a Month of Rain by Linda Pastan | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

Here's is the poem's beginning:

After a Month of Rain

by Linda Pastan

Everything I thought I wanted
is right here,
particularly when the sun
is making such a comeback,

and the lilac engorged
with purple has recovered
from its severe pruning,
and you will be back soon ...

Video of 500 Years of Female Portraits in Western Art

Video of 500 Years of Female Portraits in Western Art



This is quite beautifully done - a visual poem~



Music: Bach's Sarabande from Suite for Solo Cello No. 1 in G Major, BWV 1007 performed by Yo-Yo Ma
Nominated as Most Creative Video 2nd Annual YouTube Awards

Maundy Thursday by Wilfred Owen

Maundy Thursday by Wilfred Owen

Maundy Thursday

Between the brown hands of a server-lad
The silver cross was offered to be kissed.
The men came up, lugubrious, but not sad,
And knelt reluctantly, half-prejudiced.
(And kissing, kissed the emblem of a creed.)
Then mourning women knelt; meek mouths they had,
(And kissed the Body of the Christ indeed.)
Young children came, with eager lips and glad.
(These kissed a silver doll, immensely bright.)
Then I, too, knelt before that acolyte.
Above the crucifix I bent my head:
The Christ was thin, and cold, and very dead:
And yet I bowed, yea, kissed - my lips did cling.
(I kissed the warm live hand that held the thing.)

Wilfred Owen