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Sunday Poetry

To Wahilla Enhotulle

Alexander Posey 1873 –1908

^{(To the South Wind)}

O Wind, hast thou a sigh
Robbed from her lips divine
Upon this sunbright day—
A token or a sign?

Oh, take me, Wind, into
Thy confidence, and tell
Me, whispering soft and low,
The secrets of the dell.

Oh, teach me what it is
The meadow flowers say
As to and fro they nod
Thro’ all the golden day.

Oh, hear, Wind of the South,
And whispering softer yet,
Unfold the story of
The lone pine tree’s regret.

Oh, waft me echoes sweet
That haunt the meadow glen—
The scent of new-mown hay,
And songs of harvest men;

The coolness of the sea
And forest dark and deep—
The soft reed notes of Pan,
And bleat of straying sheep.

Oh, make me, Wind, to know
The language of the bee—
The burden of the wild
Bird’s rapturous melody;

The password of the leaves
Upon the cottonwood;
And let me join them in
Their mystic brotherhood.

This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on November 16, 2024, by the Academy of American Poets.

More about this poem, and this poet here.

Poem-a-Day: Miscarriage

Christine Stewart-Nuñez

Gauzy film between
evergreens is a web

of loss. Get closer. Reach
to touch the shimmering

gossamer and your finger
pushes through. Remember

filling that space with desire?
Someone else might grieve

the spider who abandoned
this home; others grow anxious

waiting for a deer’s walk
to wreck it. But you—

you grieve the net of thought
spun inside your own womb:

intricate and glossy and strong.

More about this poet and this poem here.

Legacy

Ted Kooser 1939 –

I have spent seventy years trying to persuade you,
to manipulate you with the poems I’ve written,
to remember my people as if they’d been yours—
to flesh out in evocative detail my parents,
my grandparents, cousins, uncles and aunts—
knowing that one day I’ll be gone, and without me
to remember them, the poems I’ve written
will have to go it alone. I owe my people
so much, and I want them to enjoy—if not
immortality—a few more good years in the light,
my grandfather patching a tire for a quarter,
his brother weaving a rag rug on his sun porch,
my mother at her humming sewing machine,
my father un-thumping a bolt of brocade,
measuring for new draperies. Perhaps they were
for you, to draw open and see on your lawn
Cousin Eunice Morarend playing her accordion.

The Warrior’s Plume

Bertrand N. O. Walker 1870 – 1927

On the plains and in the vales of Oklahoma,
Grew a flower of the Tyrian hue,
The color that is loved by the Redman,
That tells him light and life,
And love are true.

Long ago it flamed in beauty on the prairies,
Lighting reaching vistas with its glow;
Ere advent of the whiteman and his fences,
Told the care-free, roving hunter
He must go.

The throng, the herd, and greed have madly trampled
Prairie, woodland, valley, and the height;
Crushed the feath’ry flower and rudely blighted
Its pride and life and beauty,
And its light.

Today ’tis found in silent glades and meadows
Where by twos and threes it greets the May.
Like the scattered braves who loved its color,
It has passed, been trodden out
Along the way.

As the oriflamme it flaunted through past ages
Went to gladden the fairness of the earth;
So the greatness of the Indian will linger
In the land that loves them both
And gave them birth.

This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on November 10, 2024, by the Academy of American Poets.

More from and about this poet on the page.

Peace & Justice History 11/13:

https://www.peacebuttons.info/E-News/peacehistorynovember.htm#november13

𐓷𐓘𐓻𐓘𐓻𐓟/Wahzhazhe/Osage

Elise Paschen

^{Wa-zha’-zhe, name of the Osage tribe . . . who came from the stars.
—“The Osage and the Invisible World: From the Works of Francis LaFlesche”}

The first language

𐓷𐓘𐓻𐓘𐓻𐓟 which Eliza,

her grandmother, spoke.

I try to learn

the words 𐓣𐓟

from a book, a dictionary.

What was my mother taught

as a young girl sitting

on the front stoop

of her grandma’s house

inhabited by half-brothers

she revered. Her favorite,

Hunky, hand outstretched,

showed her how to catch

the wild horse

𐓤𐓘𐓷𐓘 𐓷𐓘𐓲𐓟𐓸𐓣

unbridled in the pasture.

She knotted a paisley

bandana around her

neck. This language

for throat 𐓰𐓪𐓲𐓟

and tongue 𐓵𐓟𐓺𐓟 –

words she learns

to speak but then

forgets. She loosens

𐓷𐓟𐓵𐓣͘ the rope

from the horse’s crest.

^{The Osage orthography}

^{𐓏𐒰𐓓𐒰𐓓𐒷 Osage
𐒻𐒷 words
𐒼𐒰𐓏𐒰 𐓏𐒰𐓊𐒷𐓐𐒻 wild horse
𐓈𐓂𐓊𐒷 throat
𐓍𐒷𐓒𐒷 tongue
𐓏𐒷𐓍𐒻͘ rope}

More about this poet on the page at https://poets.org/poem/wahzhazheosag

Cover Snark: Yet Another Terrible Wolf Placement

by Amanda · Nov 11, 2024 at 3:00 am

Welcome back to Cover Snark!

One Kiss by Traci Hall. A brunette man and woman are lying on a striped towel on a beach. Their proportions look off with big heads and tiny shoulders and arms. A scraggly terrier that also looks both too big and too small is looking at us the reader while the two people go in for a kiss.

From Mabry: This guy is suffering from sliding bicep syndrome, plus his forearm seems to be stolen from a 7 foot tall basketball player. And then there’s the nipple that’s trying to leave the scene altogether.

He also looks like one of the Property Brothers.

Sarah: Ok the proportions and perspective here are really weird to the point I feel like I should give everyone a warning. Like, uncanny valley vaguely nauseous proportions.

The ARM. the size of the head! his neck! I’m queasy now.

Lara: They must have used a funhouse mirror filter of some kind.

Sarah: Did he get stung by something?

Wolf Instinct by S.R. Griffith. A shirtless man is putting on a camo colored baseball camp. A white wolf his howling at his crotch while full moon rises in the background.

From Jen: Awkward wolf placement. Is he a wolf shifter? Or is he banging this wolf? The wolf appears to be complaining about the dude behind him.

Lara: Oh that is some champion poor placement! Worst/best I’ve seen!

Sarah: Please stop making covers where it looks like some indifferent dude is about to hump an animal.

Amanda: Isn’t the saying, “In this world, nothing is certain except death and taxes and bad animal placement on shifter romance covers”?

Jacked by Dixie Painter. Two headless figures of a man and woman are most of the cover. He is shirtless and she has on a blank tank and leather jacket. A jaguar prowls between them, but the bottom third of the cover is just a stack of logs.

From Susan: Blow it up for best effect. Lots here to play with.

Sarah: Wood.

Elyse: WHAT COULD ALL THE WOOD REPRESENT.

Sarah: Honestly I have no idea. What could it be?

Burning for Love by Evangeline Anderson. A shirtless bearded man is surrounded by a lot of lens flare. His arms are crossed. His right arm is made of metal and he appears to have a metal lens around his right eye.

From lils: Well “something” is burning! Is it love or an effect of the mess hall?

Sarah: This is a visual representation of what some of my headaches feel like!

Amanda: What in the J.J. Abrams is with all the lens flare?

It’s Fall!

Autumn

And I might get a doggy in a little bit. I hope we all enjoy the day!

Have Some Friday Comics

Also, a question. On Kids Baking Championship, one of the items required is a chocolate-dipped item. One young baker decided to use butterscotch instead of chocolate. They tempered it, they dipped their item, and presented it. When asked about it, since it wasn’t chocolate, they stated that their technique was the same, and the item was dipped; also, that the butterscotch right there among the chocolate in the same area of the pantry.

So. While chocolate is not butterscotch and vice-versa, does this item count as a chocolate-dipped item? Discuss in comments.