Jnana's Red Barn

A Space for Work and Reflection

YELLOW ALARM NO. 9

Stirred up  in Old Testament mode
or old Presbyterian

SMITE ‘EM! (the right-wingers)
(feels like looking in the mirror)

and that’s just for starters
as everything goes off a deep end

 

ROCK SOLID

When I see this …

Newmarket, New Hampshire

Newmarket, New Hampshire

… I think of this.

Inca 1For the free ebook novel and more, click here.

AFTER THE EQUINOX

somehow, I let the equinox pass
unnoticed

I hadn’t connected
the Common Ground Fair
to a harvest celebration

all the same, it’s officially fall
– a wild aster lavender profusion
my reward for not weeding

only later do we realize
chock-full of thistle-seed goldfinches
have departed

observe a bright-red maple
in the morning
the last day of September

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Copyright 2015

RAILROAD CROSSING

Sullivan County, New Hampshire

Sullivan County, New Hampshire

ROUND AND ROUND

White-streaked eggplants
roost in a basket.
An out-of-season faint odor
of paperwites
disturbs an autumn kitchen.

Your roses become artichokes
or ruffled tomatoes
traded for an apple
slice or a cookie
on the kitchen counter.

That we eat well is more
than a matter of taste,
this skillful touch
of opinionated study
the hot oil and spice rack
instilled in your daughters.

Count the burns,
count the cuts
if you can.

Still, quality tools
demand care
and cleaning.

My own inclination
has bare-boned basics
countered by extravagance.

The way Matisse loses his figures
in the wallpaper.

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Copyright 2008, 2014

STEPPING OUT OF THE PRESENT

Strolling around older neighborhoods of a community like mine, it’s quite possible to feel yourself moving through another era. Imagine horses instead of cars and let the utility lines overhead fade from sight. I find a tinge of time travel is especially likely to kick in around dawn or sunset.

Mentioning that to my wife prompts memories of her own experiences while working in a museum comprised of a district of historic houses in nearby Portsmouth. For her, the sensation would settle in during late afternoons in the tourism shoulder season as she’d step from the kitchen into the outdoors. No wires in the air, no traffic, no tourists to spoil the perfect scene. Truly harmonious and timeless.

Maybe even a vision of the future in an eco-friendly environment.

BRICK RATHER THAN WOOD

Despite all of the clay soil in the city, one of the puzzles is the prevalence of wood construction. The downtown, with its mills, stores, and churches, is an exception.

Kodak6 024Strolling Dover: for more, click here.

A WAKE-UP CALL FOR SELF-DEFEATING IDEALISTS

The realm of politics, as has been observed, has much in common with making sausage. It’s messy, even bloody, seldom includes premium ingredients. And there’s butchery at points.

Look, if Donald Trump wins the White House, everything Jill Stein stands for in a Green Revolution’s toast. It doesn’t take long to destroy the hard-gained agencies we have, much less to strip-mine hillsides and rip up forests. That’s why a vote for Stein is a vote against a Green agenda — it’s blatantly a vote against Hillary Clinton. If you think there’s no difference in the major parties on this issue, you’re deluding yourself. Or listen to what Trump thinks about real women like Clinton and Stein.

There’s a huge gap, too, between articulating policy and implementing it, as well as moving from the ivy tower into nitty-gritty management overseeing a host of federal agencies. You want to get anything done, you’re going to get dirty. It’s the nature of working with others. It’s the reality of winning battles, too.

Radical movements have a history of fragmenting, as Christopher Hill notes looking at the waves of ferment during the English civil wars and Protectorate.

Let’s not do it again. Rally around Hillary Clinton and regroup later, on the high ground.

VICTORY PARK

copper green wings
and Old Glory

cap a marble stone pillar
between locust trees

between a four-story parking garage
and the public library

or old Post Office
and a cathedral

as pigeons take flight
this stone pillar

the color of mourning dove wings
hoists laurel leaves

toward the midday moon

~*~

Parks, Recreation, and Cemetery Commission
says it all, doesn’t it

for those who died laughing
or just having fun

or want to be buried
under home plate

though they claim this
as their hardworking city

but I’m not running for Mayor
sensing I’d be buried

in the end

poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson

 

SO WE’VE SEEN

As Doc would have said:

Self-delusion is not the same as imagination. Somehow, it might be the opposite.

One opens out. The other suffocates.

So we’ve seen.