Painting by Lorland Chain
imagination
imagination
caught on a coat
sleeve –
buttoned up
modesty
.
Yi Ching Lin
Posted over on her site Yi's Bits
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No Savvy, Kemo Sabe
::INSIGHT::
What we see, we have already "read" as our visual cortex filters our perceptions down through the doors of our experiences. What we read is immediately transposed perceptually to some kind of image that is compatible with our imagination. Here you will find much to read, and lots to see.
Glenn Buttkus
Glenn Buttkus
dVerse Poets
Blog Archive
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2010
(1997)
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September
(127)
- Attending the Third Annual Willow Ball
- You Have
- On An Evening Like
- River City Blues: Part IV
- River City Blues: Part III
- Classic Ballroom Dances
- 5 Is An Einstein Prime
- We Stirred Tomorrow
- The Pit
- Lion's Mane Dialogue
- A Birthday Habdala For Basil Bunting
- From A Book of Divinations
- You Are Not Here
- Fall
- What Do You Do
- Letter To A Friend
- Thespian Prime
- Scott and Zelda
- Picking Pears
- Scent Packing
- Etiquette
- I Am Man--Smell Me
- Odore Naturale
- Acqua Di Parma
- Autumnal Equinox
- When I Think of Barbara Swafford
- The Blog Party
- There Is Still Life
- Covered Bridges
- Reflection
- Borrowed Beauty
- How Can You Be Crabby?
- We
- Home, But Not
- Misty Morning in September
- Dead Sea Scrolls
- Theories of Time and Space
- Bus Trip
- Rabbi's Razor
- Omnibus Omega
- The Scent of Rosemary Conjures
- Something Like A Warm
- On A Thin, Grey Line
- There Are Half
- A Poet
- Signals
- Altweibersommer
- Summer Naugahyde
- Tall and Tailless: Primate Pride
- O What the Hell?
- Pieces of 8
- Days Of Our Lives
- Diabolica
- Lascivious Loop
- Hourglass
- Infinity
- De Campos
- Bag of Groceries, a Knot
- Angelica & Bob On Line
- We Are Still
- The Duke of Oil
- Three-Quarters
- Exit Strategy
- Now Comes the Days
- Ensign Prime
- There Are Moments
- We Are Remembering
- And Jehovah Wept
- The Scream
- Je Est Un Autre
- Imagination
- Good Old God
- Submarine Films
- The Briefcase
- Fast Train
- Small Talk
- Night Arrives
- Loose Change
- The Truth and Lies of 9/11
- Nine Years and Counting
- REM
- Burn a Bible Day!
- What About Sunsets?
- Run Silent, Run Deep
- Guernica
- Obama!
- What People Give You
- In Between What We
- Going Home
- Restrepo
- Ode To Ovum
- Birth Giver
- When Pressed
- from "A Provisional Poetics"
- 3 Poems
- Under A Neglectfully
- Wednesday Dawns Gray-Grey
- Deer
- Lovely Lamentations
- A Morning Like Any Other
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▼
September
(127)
1 comment:
Imagination and constraints are nearly
incompatible; strange bedfellows at best.
The most you can do, and certainly your
poetic and photographic and musical
and personal emotional expressions
only “capture” a tiny portion of the
big glow that pulsates within you
and your aura, and your influence on
the rest of us. For God’s sake, woman,
you write a poem a day most of the
time; hundreds of those poems show
up on my site, and get carried elsewhere
like tiny treasures found under the seat
on the subway, in the back of a drawer,
on the sidewalk, in the park by the roses.
Imagination is the warp drive, the nuclear
cosmic power source that drives everything.
One does not stifle it, or use it up. It is
inextinguishable, inexorable, bawdy, lusty,
bold, textured, and voracious–and we
can dip into it while in chains or while
making love, or in slumber, during gardening,
after a feast, or during it; today, right now.
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