things-by-bee

[things-by-bee]

untitled poem 11.16.24

I am alone,

on a page 

in a book,

and hundreds of leaves fold over my head.

my strands are so full

of my strange words

and the strange words of others;

we all double speak,

seldom more than single heard.

the waves of pages,

like beating wings,

are buffeting me.

they break with odd gifts

on my ever oddening shore.

but every fallen page

wilts my wire thin patience

til I babble and chatter.

in a sea of words screaming

PURPOSE,

my chatter sings.

I want to ask:

what PURPOSE? 

you are HERE. 

be HERE with me.

[things-by-bee]

grands of sand swirl, blow, alight, rest, awash,

in and out if the wind.

they are eager to heed the eldest call.

wistfulness is not known,

to them.

but other things are stubborn,

admirably adamant in their construction,

and stubbornly resist the tides of change.

one such thing lay dying in the sand.

many things will soon become unknown to it,

and many ancient secrets relearned:

the mountain it could not see from the peak.

but now, it finds a scarce comfort in the warmth

that envelops and presses in on it.

somewhere, another is wistful and grieving.

it will find many more pains and comforts

before its stubbornness is, too,

rolled over by the lull of change.

[things-by-bee]

lament (11.6.24)

a lament for today. steel string guitar

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here's a clip of me playing ravel's prelude in A minor (1913). hope you enjoy!

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this is not a political account, but for the love of god, if you live in the US and haven't already, please vote today. the fact is that the decision comes down to a mass sum of votes, and each vote does matter. you cannot make a million with a million zeros. so please, get out there and put your 1 in.

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a thoughtful ms. goldfinch having a moment of rest (10.30.24)

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squirrel activity . . . (10.20.24)

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a delightful little song sparrow looking for a wee treat. (10.30.24)

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a precious little western honey bee visiting a flower (costmary, I think). [10.30.24]

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some pictures I took on a little walk today. top to bottom: two robins, a grey squirrel, and a downy woodpecker

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moody b+w mallard

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a few relaxing canada geese in blacksburg, VA

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unknown mushroom (likely a bolete of some kind) found at pandapas park, VA - 10/13/24

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hi, this is just a clerical post to denote the shifting of my blog towards mainly photography (and changing of my blog name to my nickname)! I will still post poetry (and music) when I write something I feel is worth sharing, but I anticipate the soft majority of my posts will be photography from here on.

here is a daddy long legs(/harvestman) I photographed on a leaf for your enjoyment. cheers!

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Eurasian bullfinch/domherre. Värmland, Sweden (June 24, 2021).

[things-by-bee]

...

this is why I prefer to focus my study on pre-revolution russian composers ^^;

welcome to shostakovich research! here's some stuff to know

1- Trust no one. Not even Shostakovich. Sometimes what Shostakovich says about Shostakovich isn't the exact truth about Shostakovich.

2- You may be reading a harrowing document detailing the restrictions faced by artists in the mid-30s USSR, and then the next letter you read will include jokes about goat shit. This is normal.

3- The more you learn, the more you will discover you don't know. Now is the perfect time to celebrate being an insufferable know-it-all, because that feeling will evaporate as soon as you learn how to spell "Zhdanovshchina."

4- You will soon develop a desire to wear round spectacles and speak in Russian idioms and literary references. Resist it.

5- You will read about a whole cast of Soviet musicians and intellectuals, as well as scholars, political figures, and academics. None of them agree with each other on anything. Have fun.

[things-by-bee]

busiest of bees

busiest of bees, I am the pollen that rests gently under your beating wing.

your fantastical flights and perennial passions allure and amaze me, as I hold to you against the wind.

like a mother and her fledgling's first flight, I fear the moment we may cast off and fly apart; all this time has told that I should wish for you to deliver me home.

but I cannot hold your fluttering flight down, nor could I bear to cease your surge towards your true place; you flow through the currents of the sky with such grace and zephyr.

busiest of bees, the hope for me is to carry on held to you against the wind.

the breeze may, in time, cast me further away, but for now, let me rest gently under your beating wing.