Bloomsday 2017 . . .
Trifolium Trio
(NYC 06 2017)
Today is Bloomsday.
Title Page:
Ulysses by James Joyce
(NYC 06 16 2017)
Re(ad)-Joyce.
– rPs 06 16 2017
Postscript: Reconnect with the original wwv Bloomsday story here:
https://wildflowersofthewestvillage.com/2010/06/16/bloomsday/
Slanted December Sunset Light . . .
Green Side of the Path
(NYC 12 2015)
Why the sudden inclusion of Poetry to Wildflowers of the West Village? The answer can be traced back five years and some months to an “Ode to Onion Grass” that served my intent in art history, an extended appreciation of Albrecht Dürer.
Most of my poems shared at Wildflowers of the West Village have been subtitled “for insert historical figure’s name here.” Each strives to serve as a summation of sorts. Their existential whole, their individual presence, how has it remained felt in the accompaniment of my own one life? The poems answer.
How my educations, my ethics, my politics, my essential tastes in entertainment and recreation have been directed somewhat can be referenced by their keyword names in their broad honor.
Antecedents. Progenitors. Kin.
The cadence of my rhetoric,
Clear enough to my mind,
Best to share my best,
Universally, no gratuity.
A poem lives by readers, not sales. Sails in my sights have been those boats engaging the Hudson tidal stream. I see them when running the river paths. Running from something? No, on my feet, I am not. My pace may rather be equated to running for something, toward something, pushing for sustained strength, pausing, still, to watch a small town arrangement of wildflowers greet the west wind and the slanted December sunset light.
Green almost Loden bathed in Gold.
– rPs 12 09 2015
Postcript: “Green Side of the Path” photo starring Artemisia, Persicaria, Solanum, Malva, and Galinsoga.
Day Without Art 2015
(an oxymoron for Aristotélēs)
Sweet in sustenance
Swims this combustible
Carbon water brain.
This blob tells me,
Compels me,
Yells at me.
Scanning other computers
All commuters,
In unison, yeah.
Cloud composed, composer,
Lack of composure.
Just right, suppose, or.
Sophistry some-ocracy, yes,
Suppository idolatry, yea,
Each on purveys.
Hey!
Hey!
Hey!
This Is Politics:
Opinion. Rhetoric.
Not Poetry Poetic.
Enduring Rain (NYC Late Autumn 2015)
— rPs 12 01 2015
Wildflowers of the West Village 