Poem: Wall Of Cymbals

Wall of Cymbals

We went to a jazz fusion show last night — Tony Vacca and the Fusion Nomads — that just blew us away, and I woke up, still thinking of how magical it was to see this amazing group of musicians in such a small performance space.

So, I used the memory for this morning’s Open Write poem.

Peace (and sound),
Kevin

Playing In An Infinite Wonderland

Down The Rabbit Hole

Google’s AI Labs is a place I peek into every now and then, to see what they are up to. I came across something called Infinite Wonderland and fell into the hole of explorations.

The AI site uses the text of Alice In Wonderland. After choosing an artistic style from five different options (all very different and odd, but also including the style of original book illustrator John Tenniel to play with), you open up the story of Alice and choose sentences/passages. The AI then generates new art for each sentence you have chosen, creating an original picture book image for any sentence you want through its AI image generator.

I have to admit, this use of AI for story was intriguing as an interactive reading experience, and even toggling through the five styles on a single passage, it was fun to see what the AI could create.

Here is a video of the artists at work.

Peace (rabbit!),
Kevin

Borrowed Lines: You Are Here

https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/519nmgy+X-L._SY445_SX342_.jpg

A recent collection of poems, edited and curated by Ada Limon, inspired me to write some of my own poems, borrowing lines to build off. The original lines all come from poems in You Are Here: Poetry In The Natural World (edited by Ada Limon)


The sky is a century with no windows

from ‘To A Blossoming Saguaro’
by Eduardo C. Corral

lost count long ago
of how many rainstorms
arrived after you wandered
the windows left open, too,
time just dribbling in
with the wind, letting rotations
moisten the frame around which
the world might be watched,
one tear after the other year
until the canvas of sky
disappeared entirely


i’m sorry to the trees i grew up with

from ‘You Must Be Present’
by Jose Olivarez

I couldn’t find you now in the woods even if I tried
which sends me sad but maybe makes you glad
that this thief with a knife and a Sunday morning free
can’t add to the harm that was done to your skin,
the rough outline of a curved saxophone swallowed up
but for my dreaming, the protective sap that stuck
to the edge lip of the knife, how hard it was to wipe it off,
never closing tight ever again, like my eyes
in the remembering – the cut but not the place
where blood was drawn


make small steps.
in this wild place
there are signs of life
everywhere

from ‘Lullaby For The Grieving (at the Sipsey River)’
by Ashley M. Jones

slow go slow
this we know
but always forgotten –
that the wild places
wild spaces have stories
to tell, poems composed
beneath roots, reverberations
of a turning Earth, cursed
to forget the role of reader:
slow go slow
this we know


I only use words like stones because we are far away

from ‘Close-Knit Flower Sack’
by Cedar Sigo

We used to search
riverbeds and
shore lines
for the flattest of stone,
the thinnest of story,
just smoothed-out words,
in order to skip across
the surface as if
what we were saying was
lighter than air,
but no longer –
now we spend time
on the odd rocks
with strange angles,
the kind that makes
a distinct sound
one rarely forgets,
before plunging under
water


the moon mistaken
for a hole in the sky

from ‘If Fire’
Jake Skeets

fingers
in the stars,
then,

the galaxy,
a tapestry
of etchings

I’ve begun
to come
unwoven again

filling space
with words
and dreams


… the rivers

will set their stones and ribbons
at your door if only

you’ll let the world
soften you with its touching

from ‘Reasons To Live’
Ruth Awad

Raw sound bathes
the boy, the ripples
of river on stone,
he submerges himself,
nearly but not really,
alone, his mind, a million
miles from home


Thanks to all the poets who wrote and to Ada Limon for choosing and supporting those poems and poets.

Peace (in the natural world),
Kevin

Write Across America: Street Sculpture-Inspired Poems

2024 SculptureWalk Map

The National Writing Project’s Write Across America project stopped in South Dakota this week, and I’ve been slowly looking over the prompts and resources. What caught my eye was the Sculpture Walk in Sioux Falls, a collection of fascinating works of art. I’ve used a few for my morning poems over the last few days. The links lead to the artwork that inspired the words for each poem.

whose fingers
clench the gift
of discovery

whose eyes
drift towards
an open sky

whose streets
take in all of
the wanderers

whose kindness
never seems to
pass us by

inspired by “Be Kind,” by by Joe & Terry Malesky
Sioux Falls Sculpture Walk
https://sculpturewalksiouxfalls.com/sculptures/2024/be-kind/

A little too late now
to wonder whether
the wind will take
what it needs

We’ve gone to seed

Loosening our insides
to release soft strands
of whatever it is that
leads us believe

We’ve gone to seed

inspired by “Gone To Seed,” by Nathan Johansen
Sioux Falls Sculpture Walk
https://sculpturewalksiouxfalls.com/sculptures/2024/gone-to-seed/

Bending ears
inward, a cyclone
taking shape
in armature
and concrete

we treat the world
as one, frozen,
spoken, poets
like us, we look
to find beauty
in the broken

inspired by “Beauty In The Broken,” by Joe & Terry Malesky
Sioux Falls Sculpture Walk
https://sculpturewalksiouxfalls.com/sculptures/2024/beauty-in-the-broken/

And …
then what?

twisted
and curved
from bottom on up
to the tippity top
with an iron tail
all bundled
in contained
exclamation
and no visible
connection,
only empty thoughts
to the right and
empty thoughts to
the left, for we fill in
the gaps with
imagination

And …
then what?

inspired by “and ..” by Paul Reimer
Sioux Falls Sculpture Walk
https://sculpturewalksiouxfalls.com/sculptures/2024/and/

Peace (and bent poems of words and material),
Kevin

Poem: How Relentless – These Weeds

How Relentless - These Weeds

How relentless:
these weeds –

my knees bleed
from rough
fingerprints
of concrete

and next week,
I’m bound to believe
I’ll be here again

bent over like
a broken fence;
every one of my rungs
sprawling, falling

these weeds
keep on calling and
and calling, calling,
relentlessly singing
like stones

Peace (sprouting all over),
Kevin

A Gathering of Images

Each Sunday, I post (along with others) an image for Silent Sunday. In June, I like to gather the last six months of images.

Peace (and Photographs),
Kevin