(I’m exploring poetry through images by tapping into the extensive collection of theLibrary of Congress on Flickr. There are some amazing images shared with the public and more coming every month or two, it seems. What can inspire you? Be sure to cite where you got the image from. Use Alan Levine’s Flickr Attribution tool and your life is a breeze.)

flickr photo shared by The Library of Congress with no copyright restriction (Flickr Commons)

This will only take a moment
so sit quiet
and still
and let me rummage
through your head

This map of You
is defined not by
longitude and latitude,
nor by crude compass
but by the crevasses
of your cranium

Who you are becomes
what you may be so that
where you are going is
when things take shape although
why this is so,

I don’t rightly know.

Thanks for letting me look
at what you cannot see
yourself, but can only feel with
fingertips as you brush your hair
each morning.

The real You is hidden
from view, beyond the contours
of your face, your eyes,
your public mirror.

Close your eyes;
This will only take
a moment.

Process Note: The Library of Congress has this whole collection on Flickr of Mystery Photos (odd images) and it challenges visitors to make guesses. This one is a classic. The woman seems so happy! But look at that contraption being lowered on her head! Don’t worry. She is not getting electrocuted. It is a phrenology machine, apparently, and her life is about to be analyzed through the bumps on her scalp. Go figure.

Peace (it’s rather bumpy),
Kevin

(I’m exploring poetry through images by tapping into the extensive collection of the Library of Congress on Flickr. There are some amazing images shared with the public and more coming every month or two, it seems. What can inspire you? Be sure to cite where you got the image from. Use Alan Levine’s Flickr Attribution tool and your life is a breeze.)

flickr photo shared by The Library of Congress with no copyright restriction (Flickr Commons)

I glance your hand
on the edge
of my peripheral vision

A palm open with fingers outstretched,
as if to collect the gift of
the notes of my solo

But this muted melody is mine
and mine alone;
I’m not sharing

this song with you tonight.

Process Note: This image in the Jazz Collection struck me for the two things nearly outside of the frame. The hand coming in from the top left and the face of Cab Calloway in the lower edge. I ended up ignoring Calloway, and yet, look at this eyes watching Jonah Jones playing his trumpet. I was more intrigued by the hand. It is outstretched in joy? I suspect it must be one of those “Oh Glory, Give Us More” moments of a listener (white?) and yet I wanted Jones to remain inside his trumpet, ignoring the world. The world can wait. The notes are still in the air. They are his.

Peace (in jazz),
Kevin

(I’m exploring poetry through images by tapping into the extensive collection of the Library of Congress on Flickr. There are some amazing images shared with the public and more coming every month or two, it seems. What can inspire you? Be sure to cite where you got the image from. Use Alan Levine’s Flickr Attribution tool and your life is a breeze.)

flickr photo shared by The Library of Congress with no copyright restriction (Flickr Commons)

This waiting
is killing me.

Just knowing
something will happen,

And here we are,
prisoners of frozen time.

Process Notes: This image is from a collection of “stereo images” from the Civil War. I’m not sure exactly what that is but I think it is when you put the image into a pair of old-time 3d glasses, and the juxtaposition of both left and right gives you a 3d feel. I was struck by this picture — of the three Southern soldiers as prisoners, just waiting. And they will wait forever, frozen in this mirrored moment.

Peace (takes its toll)
Kevin

It’s interesting … the concept of where ideas come from. I was watching this performance by Colin Hay (formerly of Men at Work) of an excellent song called Waiting for My Real Life to Begin, and thought of where our Muse comes from.

Where does music come from? Where are the seeds of sound planted in all of us? That’s where today’s poem emerged from — the wondering.

Peace (planted and nurtured),
Kevin

I saw this quote from EB White about writers writing slanted (or something like that), and while I suspect White was after the metaphor of politics, I was stuck with the imagery of the writer, leaning over.

“I have yet to see a piece of writing, political or non-political, that does not have a slant. All writing slants the way a writer leans, and no man is born perpendicular.”

― E.B. White

Peace (off-kilter but still stable),
Kevin

Today’s poem is inspired by a patent I saw shared via the Library of Congress for a baseball glove. Our house has lots of baseball activity — from players to fans. In April, before any game has started, anything is possible. You can dream of the season ahead.

Peace (in Spring’s potential),
Kevin

I was off daydreaming about something — trying to put together some ideas on a project — when I realized I was staring at and being mesmerized by the blinking lights of our modem on the floor of our living room, by the television. So odd. The mathematical phrase of “mean, mode ..” came late, first as an alliterative stretch but then as something more … I also went for the “found poem” look here, on purpose.

Peace (in the movement of ideas),
Kevin

It’s April and I am writing poems, with different visual media apps and platforms and whatnot.

Peace (in the share),
Kevin

I was reading a book about music and came upon the word, Entrainment. I was intrigued.

Entrainment in the biomusicological sense refers to the synchronization of organisms (only humans as a whole, with some particular instances of a particular animal) to an external perceived rhythm, such as human music and dance such as foot tapping — from Wikipedia

That got me thinking of a poem, as I listened to some jazz while I was writing. (You can view the poem here, too, if this image doesn’t work right)

And thanks to a Snow Day (ah!), I was able to do a podcast of the poem:

Peace (inside the spaces between the notes),
Kevin