Look-back Imagination

Here is another one of my daily poems that I think turned out pretty well. Again, it needs lots of work, I'm sure, but I'm posting it now anyway. I thought of this poem while sitting outside near a dirt road with imprinted mud tracks from some car and I began to think about what it might have looked like before people, and then I decided to keep on going back in time. And then I decided to make it a mountain and I decided a lot of other stuff too that didn't actually happen, but I had fun with the images at least. Hope you enjoy it too!

Pilot Mountain

Before chiseled rubber left streaks on this concrete road,

before concrete, hot and sticky like a summer day,

before pounds of fleshy feet pressed down this neck

of the woods into a dirt-worn deep-tracked trail,

before mud stuck between the toes and walked with me

down the mountain to my home carved from stone,

before the rocks grew like trees into boulders and waves

of gray, crashing into crags to make this mountain,

before any gathering of continents or contentious oceans,

back when the chunks of the earth, its salt, its gravel,

its blood and soul lay scattered in this black corner of space,

what hands of light built this ball we live on, brooding

over the deepness, pulling out water, intelligence, and order?

Before I looked back on this traveler’s way, so perfect now,

before I’d peered into the valley’s distance and observed

a family of birds create nests from twigs, I understood nothing.

Photography

Well, my daily poems continue. This one was inspired by the quote that goes with this poem and a talk I had with my sister this afternoon. As I've stated earlier, I don't really have time to edit well these poems so there's a lot more that I can do with these poems I'm sure, but I thought this initial draft was fun so I'm posting it. Hope you enjoy it too!

Photography

            "I had been able to realize a desired image:

            not the way the subject appeared in reality

            but how it felt to me and how it must appear

            in the finished print" – Ansel Adams

I imagine fixing the tripod to the steady spot,

pointing the lens towards the desired

direction, this time a waterfall near the end

of day, the moment many people forget

happens at all, much like most art, lost

in that moment without a way to capture

the truth of the emotion. I imagine placing

glass plates, color filters in key corners

to block glare or to remove a feeling

that wasn’t there. Angles shifting with precision;

distance being important; vision preceding

the snap of the shutter, nothing is careless 

to the art. Back then, photographers knew

they had to be careful: limited film, materials,

all the tricks of the trade appeared as difficult

as they actually are. It can't be faked by playing

around later; either you know the waterfall breathes

as you do, standing at the edge of the world

watching mountain teeth swallow the sun

and the lungs of the waterfall slow their pulse

in awe, trees burning white, the world only black

and white without colors to distract us from

the way it must appear for us to understand.

Turtle Pantoum Variation

As part of a challenge from a good friend of mine, I am, during this month of June, writing a poem a day. Most of these poems are pretty terrible and in need of more serious revision than I can give them at this time (since I'd working full time as a camp counselor right now). That being said, whenever I write something that I think is at least fun or as more potencial than the others, perhaps, than I'll post it here. This first one is, thus, hopefully the first of many this month. It's a pantoum with some minor modifications at the end.

I Found A Turtle Guarding Its Hole

I searched for words beneath a rock

and found a turtle guarding its hole.

I asked him to move, but he wouldn’t talk.

I wanted nature to make me whole,

and found a turtle guarding its hole,

undisturbed and moving slow.

I wanted nature to make me whole,

but how I didn’t know.

Undisturbed and moving slow,

wind fell through the forest’s leaves,

but how I didn’t know.

Robin songs stole in like thieves,

wind fell through the forest’s leaves,

and noon light settled on the ground.

Robin songs stole in like thieves

like treasure could be found.

And noon light settled on the ground

around the spot where I now stood

like treasure could be found.

There was no silence in the woods.

Around the spot where I now stood,

I first ran away from home.

There was no silence in the woods

or laughter from where I’d come.

I first ran away from home

without thinking about consequence

or laughter. From where I’d come,

children scoffed at family moments

without thinking about the consequence.

That nature, I’ve tried to leave behind.

Children scoffed at family moments

I remembered too late to turn back time.

That nature I’ve tried to leave behind.

I wanted nature to make me whole.

I remembered too late to turn back time

and found a turtle guarding its hole.

I asked him to move but he wouldn’t talk.

I searched for words beneath a rock.

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This pantoum isn't based on any personal experience except for the fact that I saw a turtle just yesterday. 

As you can see, a pantoum is a rather strange poetic form, yet I feel it's oddly captivating at the same time, similar to a villanelle. If I were doing this correctly, than the  lst and 3rd lines would also be part of a final quatrain on its 2nd and 4th lines. Somehow, I accidentally used the first 2nd and 4th lines again at the end, but after realizing my "mistake" I liked it, decided to keep it, and added back in the 1st and and 3rd lines as an ending couplet that shouldn't technically be in a pantoum. If you had the patience to read through and understand this paragraph, pat yourself on the back right now. 

Thanks for reading and I hope you've enjoyed this!