I
a breeze tousles branches
then, in stillness, red leaves
cascade downward
II
hawk and half-moon
in one blue, morning sky
then clouds come
III
pine tree tips
droop flaccidly over
the road
IV
the divine madman
sows havoc, showing neither
reason nor angst
V
too little water
kills the plant; too much water
kills the plant
i see a leaf amid leaves
the tree is covered in creepers
these leaves churn out power
— silently —
each leaf making miniscule food,
but there are so many —
and so many hours of daylight,
and they take no breaks
they sit in tight clusters
waving in wind
still in stillness
— but ceaselessly working —
until the day is done
&
darkness descends
and i can’t help but wonder whether they have leafy dreams, and — if so — what a tree’s dreams feel like?
Taken in Budapest in 2014.
This museum, located at Andrássy út 60 in Budapest, was used by both the Arrow Cross Militia (i.e. the Hungarian fascists during WWII) and the ÁVH (the secret police from the Communist era.) Specially-constructed (and diabolical) torture cells in the basement probably made it convenient to keep from one regime to the next.
Taken outside Lusaka in May of 2016
Savage winds hit like a ramming shoulder.
Pelting rains sting like sand-blast on pink skin.
Dipping ships drop from sight of their beholders.
Soft sounds compile into a raucous din.
Nothing stands still; everything is moving —
Sound and Fury signifying Calm’s death.
Minds conflate the confused and the confusing.
Mouths gasp open but they can’t suck a breath.
Angry gods find newly pious converts.
Sinners sin like they’ll not get one more chance.
While disaster plays the consummate flirt,
dunking sailors, but pulling them back to dance.
Every soul knows each storm must – in time – end.
But one can’t know whether time is one’s friend.
There was a worker from Detroit
who — in his job — was quite adroit.
They said he had powers —
a thousand nuts an hour,
but it’s not like he could enjoy’t.
There was an old woman of Singapore
who was fit as a fiddle but quite poor.
Her legs, they were stout
from lugging about
fixings to sell chicken-rice door-to-door.
There was a businessman from Osaka
who flew in (for safari) to Lusaka.
Walking the savanna
he slipped on a banana,
and was lost in an elephantine ca-ca.
There was a bad boy from Budapest
who wanted to behave his very best.
No more driving drunk —
a corpse in the trunk.
Being good was harder than he’d guessed.
There was a young woman from Cancun
who knew all the phases of the moon.
She worked a nightclub,
slinging drinks and grub —
because the mid-day sun made her swoon.
First installment:
Taken in Gokarna in August of 2020.
We see beauty in nature, but we see more in nature reigned in — kept in check by the hand of man. Why should a fresh-cut patch of grass please the eye more than its shaggy state of nature?
What soul doesn’t sore at the sight of a Japanese garden? It’s nature, but micromanaged in the slightest details of distance, shape, light, and order. Not a leaflet out of place. Gravel pads equidistantly furrowed with great precision. A bonsai tree could be called grotesque in its gnarled, shriveled deformation, but — instead — the bonsai has a universal visual appeal. Is it because they are stunted and deformed in precisely the manner man has chosen?
We see beauty in the human form, as well — but too rarely in our own. We like them depilated — plucked to the point that not a hair stands out of place. Biology tells us our eyes should seek the figure capable of staying strong while chasing prey across the savanna or gathering nuts and berries through wastelands where those foods are sparse. But our eyes covet those leaner than that — that leanness expresses our beloved ordered angularity.
Pure nature is frisson-laden — ever uncontrollable, unpredictable, and disordered. Its beauty is never separated from the fear it inspires.
Manicured nature offers a pleasing feel of dominion — an illusion of control that puts the mind at ease.
clouds crawl in,
hiding whole mountains —
i await, “Ta-Da!”
sun comes out,
flash-boiling droplets —
steam breathing
life abounds, it’s
max. occupancy living;
yet, none are seen
plants grow from stone
wall becomes a hedgerow…
but shaggier
elephant ear
leaf is played by the rain
like a mad drummer
