I Spy Dragonfly

Twelve-spotted Skimmer in my front yard. Photo with Nikon D90 & 2 lens-mounted speedlights.

Twelve-spotted Skimmer in my front yard. Photo with Nikon D90 & 2 lens-mounted speedlights.

A Twelve-spotted Skimmer,
Settled in view.
Her gossamer wings,
Amazing see through.
Golden and glistening,
Spectacular light,
A gift to behold,
Such a beautiful sight.

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Tweet poem of the day.

This Beauty landed right in my front yard. I scrambled to get my camera & strobe lights set up, and luckily she (yes, it’s the female of the species) stayed for quite a while. She landed in our Euonymus at a height that was just perfectly aligned with our porch and made it very easy for a hand-held, walk-up “close encounter”.

For more on this amazing creature see: http://bit.ly/10Jz74P

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Another rainy day in Toronto

Stewartia pseudocamellia in my front yard

Stewartia pseudocamellia in my front yard

Weather for the ducks,
And meteorologically insane.
Some say that it sucks,
Others say a pain.
#Toronto can’t get enough,
Of early summer rain.

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A poem I tweeted earlier today, with a photo showing the upside of our really lousy weather: a beautiful landscape.

Good News Radio

14241060-antique-radio-dial

The corruption of the world,
Broadcast far and wide.
The receiver of the heart,
The source of truth inside.
Pick today the band,
And listen when you can.

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A poem I tweeted this morning in the “CamelBackStyle”; i.e. using line breaks as punctuation and no spaces between words.

This one turned out to be exactly 140 characters, including the title.

Formatting like this maximizes the content, but makes it un-readable to search algorithms. I’ve sometimes included hash-tags, but there again, you have to “waste” a space before and after to make them stand out. Such are the challenges to the TweetPoet.

This Autumn Day

Gingko biloba, in my own front yard.

Gingko biloba, in my own front yard.

Beneath the Gingko’s golden glow,
Reflecting lightly the year’s demise,
I found myself longing a deeper path,
The way, the want, the course to know.

Embracing all, the lifting sky,
Allowed aloft a lingering muse,
“When, if not now?” the clouds implore.
A moment’s Chance rolls by.

Break step the crushing mindless march!
Come about and lean renewed,
A tack held by the steady hand,
Of heart’s true love insured.

A clearing breeze this autumn day,
Restores where things belong,
Gives breath abroad eternal truth,
The tree, the sky, the heart are one.

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Notes:
I wrote this on Sept 30, 2010; just now getting all my misc bits of poetry moved to one place.

Gingko – A unique species of tree with no close living relatives (also known as the Maidenhair Tree). The tree is widely cultivated and has various uses as a food and traditional medicine. Its leaves turn a bright yellow in autumn. (See also: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ginkgo_biloba )

Break step – A command given to marching soldiers prior to crossing a bridge. It causes them to immediately change from their uniform and synchronized pace, to one which is random. This prevents the introduction of potentially destructive resonances into the structure of the bridge.

Come about – An expression used by sailors which means: to change course abruptly and dramatically. It requires a fast turn, steering into the wind, adjusting to the new direction and changing the way the sails are set to match the new course. This is also associated with “taking a new tack”; i.e. a new direction.

6:00 am in the Martin Grove

Photo by Jaber Al Nahian (Rijans)

Photo by Jaber Al Nahian (Rijans)

East Indian man,
Through bus stop glass,
Greets the morning sun.
Fingers wrap the heart’s Desire,
Another day to serve the One.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
That’s the beginning of the poem; the part I tweeted on May 10, 2013.

Earlier that day, while driving to work, I saw a solitary, humble prayer being offered up amidst the chaos of Toronto’s morning rush hour. When I saw his lips moving I had to turn away, and regretted my intrusion on his sacred place. But I do remember the glow on his face, his upright posture, and his gently clasped hands. The few silver streaks of hair told me he was about my age.

A few days later I learned more about the factory collapse in Bangladesh, and I wondered who his prayers were for.

Of course it’s completely presumptuous for me to assume some connection between the prayer of a stranger and a tragedy half a world away. But somehow I feel the connection was there.

For about 15 seconds, at Eglinton and Martin Grove, this stranger and I were introduced by Chance. Now I look for him every morning, but have never seen him since. I wish him well.