HUBBLE THURSDAY 10 FEBRUARY 2011

(Messier 8, known as the Lagoon Nebula, is a stellar nursery which lies about 4000–5000 light-years away in the constellation of Sagittarius)

Every Thursday, I post a very large photograph of some corner of space captured by the Hubble Space Telescope and available online from the picture album at HubbleSite, followed by poetry after the jump.


MODERN DECLARATION

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I, having loved ever since I was a child a few things, never
having wavered
In these affections; never through shyness in the houses of the
rich or in the presence of clergymen having denied these
loves;
Never when worked upon by cynics like chiropractors having
grunted or clicked a vertebra to the discredit of these
loves;
Never when anxious to land a job having diminished them by
a conniving smile; or when befuddled by drink
Jeered at them through heartache or lazily fondled the fingers
of their alert enemies; declare

That I shall love you always.
No matter what party is in power;
No matter what temporarily expedient combination of allied
interest wins the war;
Shall love you always.

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LOLCATS WEEKLY ROUND-UP 8 FEBRUARY 2011

Here's the weekly best of what I've gleaned from I Can Has Cheezburger efforts. There are some really creative folks out there.

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LAURA HERSHEY MEMORIAL

A Call to Arms

O bark the tree; leaf the book;
uncork the bottles, and stir the cook.
Winter the worn, torn calendar.
Spring the forgotten prisoner.
Breach all borders; stoke all hopes.
Quarter the soldier but disorder the troops.
Draft the breeze. Beam down the sun.
O pen your poetry, everyone.
-- Laura Hershey

Please join us as we gather to Celebrate the Life and Memory of

Laura Hershey

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Hampden Hall at Englewood Civic Center
1000 Englewood Pkwy, 2nd Floor
Englewood, Colorado

Doors open at 1:30 pm.
The event will begin at 2:00 pm.
ASL interpreting will be provided.

Directions

- By RTD Light Rail: D Line to Englewood Station. Follow the platform to the south end (don't cross the big white bridge or take the elevator) into the parking lot and around to the building entrance.
- By RTD Bus: Route 0- Broadway, Route 12- Downing Crosstown, Route 27- Yale Crosstown, Route 51- Sheridan Crosstown. From the bus stop, go up the ramp to the Light Rail platform and follow light rail instructions above.
- By car: From W. Hampden Ave., turn north on Jason Street. The parking lot is straight ahead.
- By bicycle: Platte River bike path to Little Dry Creek trail. East to Inca, then south to the Civic Center.

Donations in Laura's memory may be sent to:
Shannon Hershey-Stephens
P.O. Box 11215
Englewood CO 80151

Colorado Cross-Disability Coalition
655 Broadway, Suite 775
Denver CO 80203

Center for Disability Rights
497 State Street
Rochester NY 14608
(designate "for Not Dead Yet" in the memo section of your check)

Please visit Laura's website to read her writing:
Laura Hershey
Share memories and photos at:
Laura Hershey Memorial
or at her Facebook page.

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HUBBLE THURSDAY 3 FEBRUARY 2011

(NGC 4452)

Every Thursday, I post a very large photograph of some corner of space captured by the Hubble Space Telescope and available online from the picture album at HubbleSite, followed by poetry after the jump.


PRODUCE

by Debra Allberry

No mountains or ocean, but we had orchards
in northwestern Ohio, roadside stands
telling what time of summer: strawberries,
corn, apples---and festivals to parade
the crops, a Cherry Queen, a Sauerkraut Dance.
Somebody would block off a street in town,
put up beer tents and a tilt-a-whirl.

Our first jobs were picking berries.
We'd ride out early in the back of a pickup---
kids my age, and migrants, and old men
we called bums in sour flannel shirts
smash-stained with blueberries, blackberries,
raspberries. Every fall we'd see them
stumbling along the tracks, leaving town.

Vacationland, the signs said, from here to Lake Erie.
When relatives drove up we took them to see
The Blue Hole, a fenced-in bottomless pit
of water we paid to toss pennies into---

or Prehistoric Forest, where, issued machine guns,
we rode a toy train among life-sized replicas
of brontosaurus and triceratops.

In winter the beanfield behind our house
would freeze over, and I would skate across it
alone late evenings, sometimes tripping
over stubble frozen above the ice.
In spring the fields turned up arrowheads, bones.
Those slow-pacing glaciers left it clean and flat here,
scraping away or pushing underground what was before them.

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LOLCATS WEEKLY ROUND-UP 1 FEBRUARY 2011

Here's the weekly best of what I've gleaned from I Can Has Cheezburger efforts. There are some really creative folks out there.

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SATURDAY NIGHT JUDY GRAHN POEM 29 JANUARY 2011

(Judy Grahn, January 1988, Oakland CA, photo by Robert Giard)

Every Saturday evening I post a Judy Grahn poem. Much of her best work is already up here (check Labels to the right for her name) but there is still a wealth more to share. If she'd been a straight white man, they'd have declared her poet laureate a long time ago -- but then she wouldn't be writing the stunning language that she does.


Carol and
her crescent wrench
work bench
wooden fence
wide stance
Carol and her
pipe wrench
pipe smoke
pipe line
high climb
smoke eyes
chicken wire
Carol and her
hack saw
well worn
torn back
bad spine
never - mind
timberline
clear mind
Carol and her
hard glance
stiff dance
clean pants
bad ass
lumberjack's
wood ax
Carol and her
big son
shot gun
lot done
not done
never bored
do more
do less
try to rest
Carol and her
new lands
small hands
big plans
Carol and her
long time
out shine
worm gear
warm beer
quick tears
dont stare
Carol is another
queer
chickadee
like me, but Carol does
everything
better
if you let her.


© Judy Grahn, from The Work Of A Common Woman

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HUBBLE THURSDAY 27 JANUARY 2011

(Tiny planetary nebula NGC 6886, a dying star cocooned within its own gases)

Every Thursday, I post a very large photograph of some corner of space captured by the Hubble Space Telescope and available online from the picture album at HubbleSite, followed by poetry after the jump.


SOMEWHERE IN THE WORLD

by Linda Pastan

Somewhere in the world
something is happening
which will make its slow way here.

A cold front will come to destroy
the camellias, or perhaps it will be
a heat wave to scorch them.

A virus will move without passport
or papers to find me as I shake
a hand or kiss a cheek.

Somewhere a small quarrel
has begun, a few overheated words
ignite a conflagration,

and the smell of smoke
is on its way;
the smell of war.

Wherever I go I knock on wood—
on tabletops or tree trunks.
I rinse my hands over and over again;

I scan the newspapers
and invent alarm codes which are not
my husband's birthdate or my own.

But somewhere something is happening
against which there is no planning, only
those two aging conspirators, Hope and Luck.

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