Bent Light
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Thu, 03/12/2015 - 20:12The light rays bend
off the thin layer
of hot air
resting on the summer pavement.
I remember seeing these magical puddles
appear and disappear
when looked at from just the right angle
riding in the family car
on the way to the lake.
After the inevitable thunderstorm
other light rays,
sunlight through the end of a shower,
would bend into beauty.
What other illusions
bringing beauty to this world
am I taking for granted
or perhaps not even seeing?
Sweet Briar
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Wed, 03/11/2015 - 21:28“The only thing wrong with privilege,”
I remember a college professor once saying,
attributing the quote to Virginia Woolf.
“was that not everyone has it.”
I was sitting in an English class
at a small private
liberal arts college
in Ohio.
I had grown up in a college town
not much different than Wooster
so I didn’t even notice
my own privilege.
Instead, I only saw those
with greater privilege than I.
In the news today,
I read about a small private college
in Virginia
that is shutting down.
The plantation,
turned finishing school,
turned liberal arts college,
couldn’t survive
in the twenty-first century.
I imagine the students reading
Virginia Woolf,
longing for five hundred pounds
and a room of their own,
nodding their heads in agreement
with Woolf’s words about privilege.
I imagine the students reading
“Gone with the Wind”
comparing Sweet Briar to Tara
vowing they will never go hungry again.
I imagine the students reading
the Gospel lesson
about the Anointing of Jesus
and nodding in agreement
that it was a very beautiful thing.
I imagine the students reading
John Donne
and knowing that the bell tolls
not just for the closing of Sweet Briar,
but for all of us.
Mackerel Sky
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Tue, 03/10/2015 - 20:54A mackerel sky with contrails floated over a late winter field
as if Jackson Pollock had dripped white lines across the clouds.
The view out the windshield on the long commute to work
looked like a Neo Hudson School painting
with pink and light blue around the edges
the shades you might see on a baby blanket.
It was almost as if '
the sky
was giving birth
to a new morning
and a new season.
Writer's Angst
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Mon, 03/09/2015 - 21:02Searching for inspiration at the end of a long day
as the pets sleep sprawled out in various parts of the room.
Today’s news brought no inspiration.
Today’s work brought no inspiration.
Toady’s commute brought no inspiration.
I look around the house
The drift wood and sea pictures hung on one wall
a painting by my daughter hung on another.
A spray bottle sits on the piano
next to a metronome, barometer
and a wicker basket of old tin cookie cutters;
there’s a story in there somewhere.
But I’ve seen all this time and time again.
Still I search for inspiration
lest this evening’s poem
sound too much like a writing exercise.
Death, Dreams, and Poetry
Submitted by Aldon Hynes on Sun, 03/08/2015 - 21:01I’ve been having a lot of strange dreams recently, and have remembered enough of a few of them to write parts of them in the morning. Last Monday, I had one that was particularly striking.
The scene shifts to a man going out on a boat during a storm. He has four objects, including, four donuts, some sort of statue wrapped in black to throw overboard, and two other objects which I don’t know what they are. Later, the man, and his aunt are washed ashore. He was not able to throw the object overboard and did not eat the donuts. They have drowned and the whole dreams moves into a mournful wake.
A had a very strong reaction to this dream fragment, a sense of loss and a calling to reconnect with distant family members. I only have one remaining uncle, and two remaining aunts, and I haven’t been in touch with my uncle and his family in decades. Was this some sort of message to reach out to them?
I tried to track them down online, and sent off an email to a possible relative who might be able to help me get in touch with them.
Recently, my cousin died, and it turns out her memorial service was the day after I had that dream. I’ve slowly gotten bits of information. Perhaps that fed into my dream, but I haven’t figured much more.
Today, two more friends posted obituaries on Facebook.
Meanwhile, I continue to post a poem a day for Lent. There are times that it is a struggle to put together my thoughts and words. Other times, it feels like they come too quickly, too easily.
I’m thinking a lot about poetry as a tool to help people look at life differently. I think about it in terms of political discourse and all the hatred online. Since everything I do is tied to my religious and political beliefs, I suspect all my poems carry some of this to varying levels.
Today, a friend shared a poem on Facebook, and pointed to others sharing poems. Perhaps we can get more poetry shared online. I also got an indirect message from my father about one of my poems. He, and a friend both liked the poem which referenced times we had canoed together.
Now, my poem for the day is written. I’ve done some reading and shortly will head off to sleep to see what other dreams come, and then, tomorrow, to see if others have posted of death, dreams, or poetry online.
