Updates from March, 2017 Toggle Comment Threads | Keyboard Shortcuts

  • Kurt Brindley 9:38 am on March 11, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: clocks, , Daylight Savings Time, Emily Dickinson, , , , , presentiments, , , , Women Poets,   

    Emily Dickinson on Daylight Savings Time* 


    Presentiment – is that long Shadow – on the Lawn –
    Indicative that Suns go down –

    The Notice to the startled Grass
    That Darkness is about to pass –


    *Admittedly, it’s highly unlikely that Ms. Dickinson while sitting alone upstairs staring out her pondering window penned this pensive poem about Daylight Savings Time; that being said, it’s time to throw open those curtains, spread sunshine on those foreboding winter-fouled floating dust mites of presentiments and drag those lagging Clocks for-ward and on-ward to-ward that Fresh Breath of presentiment-less and Carefree Air affectionately known as Spring, yo!**

    **What’s with all the “yos” lately, yo?


  • Kurt Brindley 10:17 pm on March 5, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: appearance, , juxtaposition, order, , vice,   


    the last is the first to know
    that the first must needs be
    the last to be let go


  • Kurt Brindley 1:20 pm on January 12, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   

    Poetry is for Girls 


    I may occasionally write the junk, but rarely do I read it.

    And it is not because I don’t like it that I rarely read it…

    It’s because it, the really good stuff anyway, is so durn hard to read.

    I’m talking Poetry here…

    Poetry with a big, bold capital P.

    And it is so hard for me to read (And by read I mean read. I mean really digging into the poem and fighting through the initial confusion and the complicated and often archaic words. I mean, not just reading the poem, but studying it and trying to close the gap in time from when the poem was written to when the poem is being read by learning about the poet and where and when and why and how he or she is from and where and when and why and how he or she lived and then coming to my own understanding of what I think the poem means and then trying to apply that meaning to my own life and where and when and why and how I live it. That’s what I mean by read.) because it takes more than a little bit of effort to read it.

    I certainly don’t have time for all that junk.

    (More …)

    • cindy knoke 1:27 pm on January 12, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      It’s beautiful~


    • sanseilife 1:31 pm on January 12, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      Your poem not junk. Have a sunny day.


    • artemisdelmar 1:39 pm on January 12, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      This is a great piece of poetry!


    • wscottling 2:05 pm on January 12, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      What I couldn’t get out of my head as I was reading this is that many of the classic poets of days gone by were… men. Dante, Shakespeare, Frost, Milton, &c… And man was some of that stuff *dense*. I used to write poetry too, but couldn’t read it either. A lot of times, it just made my eyes itch.

      But here’s the thing. Poetry like that wasn’t meant to be read silently. It was meant to be spoken aloud by bards. Even much of today’s poetry is meant to be read aloud. That’s why it’s written the way it is. And that was my key to unlocking it.. I can’t read poetry, but I can *read* poetry, if you get my meaning. Try that, or try and find someone else reading it out loud online. It helped me get through my English Lit courses. I would have never passed it if I hadn’t found Chaucer’s *Canterbury Tales* and some others online in audio form.

      Liked by 1 person

    • From The Pews 2:46 pm on January 12, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      WOW!! Talk about filling and throwing so much into that Heart of the Eternal Void.
      I must congratulate you! You eased us into many complexities and profound topics all with the slight of the Keyboard dancing around Poetry.
      And as a WoMan…thank you ;)
      Keep up the awesome style and subtleties!!


    • pranabaxom 3:47 pm on January 12, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      Ah! now I know why I write poetry. It is short😊


    • Katie Marie 8:42 am on January 14, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      I used to think poetry was light and fluffy until I came across a collection of the poems by world war one soldiers. While I will never be a poetry aficionado I now have a greater appreciation for it.

      Sunshine on a rainy day was lovely :)


    • packinglifeinwords 2:29 pm on January 14, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      Yes both writing and reading poetry need courage! That’s why I love poetry. Wonderfully written- honest and interesting!

      Liked by 1 person

    • addictionandresourcesnwalker 7:50 am on January 21, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      very well done,


  • Kurt Brindley 6:27 pm on November 25, 2016 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , ,   

    This Is A Poem That Isn’t 

    This is a poem that isn’t
    But probably it could
    Even though it shouldn’t
    And even if it were
    It more than likely wouldn’t



  • Kurt Brindley 10:31 am on July 9, 2016 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,   

    Poetry Is My Balm 

    Many of the haiku and other poems in Short Verses & Other Curses were written as a therapeutic balm in response to my cancer. I don’t know why or how I survived all that nonsense but I suspect writing the poems helped at least a little.

    Recent events make it seem to me that my country is suffering such a life-threatening and cancerous disease so I was naturally drawn to some of the poems I wrote for the collection. To some degree they helped again, if only as a temporary distraction from present reality.

    I doubt if these poems have any healing power potent enough for all the ills sickening my nation; however, it is out of love and desperation that I shall share them with you now.

    For the next day or so, please feel free to download the collection. If any of the poems move you in any way, I ask that you share your thoughts here in the comment section. If you have any other poetry that you believe will help relieve a troubled soul, I ask that you also share those with us as well.

    You may download the collection by clicking on its book cover.
    Short Verses


    Thank you to all who downloaded a copy of the book and especially to those who left me such kind, encouraging comments. They mean very much to me.


    • The Estranged Mom 10:24 pm on July 9, 2016 Permalink | Reply

      Thank you for sharing these poems with us. I’m in the midst of some difficulties right now, and your words were a balm to my soul today. I haven’t finished the compete volume yet, but so far I feel comforted. I hope others find the same to be true.


    • joliesattic 1:33 am on July 10, 2016 Permalink | Reply

      Thanks for sharing. I too was so distraught over what happened and more so finding out just today. Normally my social media gets on the horn but not a word about this and that hurt worse. As I was festering about the event, I found one of those maudlin framed quotes we see from time to time and surprisingly the first line fit for the angst I was boiling over with. It said, “People are often unreasonable, illogical and self-centered; Forgive them anyway.” – Mother Theresa


    • Mick Canning 2:43 am on July 10, 2016 Permalink | Reply

      Thank you, Kurt. I downloaded it and have read a few of the haiku; I will finish them when I have some free time. I like what I’ve read so far!


    • shivasiddula 5:49 am on July 10, 2016 Permalink | Reply

      Thank you. I read a hundred of them. Tried to understand the emotions, hopes, peace, faith and realisations hidden in those words. Wonderfully written book. Good gift to your followers.


    • pedometergeek 12:04 pm on July 10, 2016 Permalink | Reply

      How generous you are…and this world needs more generosity and love right now (not that it always doesn’t, but…). ~nan


    • Robyn Elliot 5:20 am on July 11, 2016 Permalink | Reply

      I still dip into the verses, Kurt. I initially read them last Christmas when I was experiencing emotional difficulties; for me, there is something deeply enlightening contained within them. I would heartily, and gratefully, recommend them – particularly to buy, to continue to support Kurt with his art. We can never understand the mystery of life, and therein lies the magic.


    • Ava 5:05 pm on July 11, 2016 Permalink | Reply

      Kurt, this is unrelated to your post, but a friend of mine blogged about the covered bridges of Astabula County and I thought you might find it of interest. https://brucestambaugh.com/2016/07/10/the-bridges-of-ashtabula-county-ohio/

      Liked by 1 person

      • Ava 5:06 pm on July 11, 2016 Permalink | Reply

        Oops – misspelled Ashtabula. Mea culpa!

        Liked by 1 person

        • Kurt Brindley 7:20 pm on July 11, 2016 Permalink | Reply

          I was given an Ashtabula ball cap bought in an Ashtabula store that was spelled “Astabula” … so, no worries. :) Thank for the link. I’ll check it out. The bridges there are wonderful.

          Liked by 1 person

    • andysmerdon 5:54 am on July 28, 2016 Permalink | Reply

      Thanks Kurt – I read your book sometime ago – this has reminded me that I need to read it again. Cheers mate.

      Liked by 1 person

  • Kurt Brindley 11:00 am on April 23, 2016 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , bliss, , , , , , , , , , ,   

    GLITTERS OF BLISS! | A Relating to Humans Poetry Feature 

    by Priyanki

    If the clouds could come & give me a ride
    I would sit on them & sway away in delight
    And ask them to take me in their cozy coat
    Covering me all in the softness galore
    Ask them to take me in the world up away
    High up in the clouds where they say fairies stay.
    As I reach there, I will learn a few skills to tap & whoosh & fulfill some wish
    Wishes of all those who are in need.
    Those wishes of cute eyes of kids crying for help.
    The ones who are lost in war, with no one to help.
    Those unanswered prayers of people with disease, the ones suffering & asking for relief.
    Those hard to be fulfilled wishes & prayers with which are linked the needy’s care.
    Wishes of such kind seems impossible in today’s time. There is so much going around in those with dirty minds,
    Those who cause chaos & all the mess.
    & are killing ruthlessly & causing much stress
    I may sound kiddish to dream of fairyland & bring glitters of kindness with me in my hand
    However it may sound, but I don’t mind
    As long as I wish to bring some good in Mankind.
    Often I wonder where does the “kind” go from man.
    Maybe I’m thinking too much, what can I do, I’m a woman.
    I was born to think,
    That’s what many say.
    Woman think a lot
    They are made that way, and I think again, “Thank God that I think.”
    It’s my thinking that makes me ponder, to be a better being.
    Everyday I think & try to reach my soul.
    today my thinking wants to take a tour
    In the world of clouds, where they say Angels live.
    With a hope to bring in my palm, some glitters of bliss
    So I have few powers to whoosh away the pain
    That causes chaos often unexplained.


    To learn how to have your poetry or other work profiled here, visit the Relating to Humans feature.


  • Kurt Brindley 1:08 pm on March 17, 2016 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , Holy Land, , , , Luck o' the Irish, , , , William Butler Yeats,   

    I Am Of Ireland by William Butler Yeats 


    ‘I am of Ireland,
    And the Holy Land of Ireland,
    And time runs on,’ cried she.
    ‘Come out of charity,
    Come dance with me in Ireland.’

    One man, one man alone
    In that outlandish gear,
    One solitary man
    Of all that rambled there
    Had turned his stately head.
    That is a long way off,
    And time runs on,’ he said,
    ‘And the night grows rough.’

    ‘I am of Ireland,
    And the Holy Land of Ireland,
    And time runs on,’ cried she.
    ‘Come out of charity
    And dance with me in Ireland.’

    ‘The fiddlers are all thumbs,
    Or the fiddle-string accursed,
    The drums and the kettledrums
    And the trumpets all are burst,
    And the trombone,’ cried he,
    ‘The trumpet and trombone,’
    And cocked a malicious eye,
    ‘But time runs on, runs on.’

    I am of Ireland,
    And the Holy Land of Ireland,
    And time runs on,’ cried she.
    “Come out of charity
    And dance with me in Ireland.’




  • Kurt Brindley 2:05 pm on February 3, 2016 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: 2015chronicles, , book recommendations, , Chronicles of a Blogoholic, , , , , , , ,   

    A Prolific Poet 

    Somehow I managed not to share this (age is a possible factor) very kind recommendation for Poems from the River that was posted by our good friend at Chronicles of a Blogaholic, who, with her daily musings and photography, brings us all a little bit of sunshine and happiness.


    Chronicles of a Blogaholic

    “Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought
    and the thought has found words.”
    Robert Frost

    Poems from the River

    There’s a blogger I’ve been following since I began my blog. He’s one of the first bloggers that found my blog and liked one of my posts.

    Ever since that day, I’ve been following him daily. His stories and photographs are an inspiration.

    Last week I ordered his book of poetry, Poems from the River, which arrived yesterday. His collection of poems are tender and beautifully written.

    If you’re interested in visiting Kurt’s blog and buying his book, please check him out at: Kurt Brindley. I believe Kurt Brindley is and will become quite a prolific poet.

    Shine On

    View original post

  • Kurt Brindley 10:56 am on January 29, 2016 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , Gothic Literature, Gothic Poetry, , , , , prophets, , The Raven,   

    “The Raven” – Read by the Master of Mystery and Scare 


    The Raven

    by Edgar Allan Poe
    (published on this day in 1845)

    Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
    Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
    “‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door-
    Only this, and nothing more.”

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
    And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
    For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
    Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
    Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
    “‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
    Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
    This it is, and nothing more.”

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
    “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
    That I scarce was sure I heard you”- here I opened wide the door;-
    Darkness there, and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
    This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”-
    Merely this, and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
    Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice:
    Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
    Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
    ‘Tis the wind and nothing more!”

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
    In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
    Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

    Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
    By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
    “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
    Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
    Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
    Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
    Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-
    Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
    With such name as “Nevermore.”

    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
    That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
    Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have flown before-
    On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
    Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
    “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
    Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
    Of ‘Never- nevermore’.”

    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
    Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
    Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
    What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
    Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
    To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
    But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
    She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
    Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee
    Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
    Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
    Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! –
    Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
    On this home by Horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
    Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!”
    Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil!
    By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
    Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

    “Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,” I shrieked, upstarting-
    “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
    Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
    Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
    On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
    And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
    Shall be lifted- nevermore!

    Via PoeStories.com

    [This version of the poem is from the Richmond Semi-Weekly Examiner, September 25, 1849. It is generally accepted as the final version authorized by Poe. Earlier and later versions had some minor differences. Source]


  • Kurt Brindley 1:37 pm on January 1, 2016 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Andy Smerdon, , , , , , , , Pleasant Street, , , , ,   

    Kicking the Year Off – Write: Poetry 

    Another day has passed
    Another year has passed
    And, woe, others shall pass anon
    Who amongst us needs such a curse
    As that which forever to us will elude
    As that which forever to us will delude
    Yea, instead, choose to seek thine peace
    In that which shan’t ne’er forsake
    For ’tis thy present


    Often, we of the Newsletter Love share our writings and whatnots amongst ourselves; and occasionally some of it makes its way to this here blogspace. Today, to kick the year off in poetic style, and to spread around some of our newsletter love, I share here a selection of the newsletter submissions from Andy Smerdon, Pleasant Street, and Priyanki. I thank them for helping us to send out and in the years in poetic style. You can read all their work in the current edition of the Newsletter Love. Additionally, I invite you to visit their sites, check out their work, and follow along with them.

    I thank you all for hanging out with me here like you do. It means much, very much, to me.

    Have a Happy & Healthy & Humorous New Year, my friends.


    Poetry by Andy Smerdon

    Stop, listen, what’s that sound
    It’s another heart
    Along side yours
    Beating time
    A drum
    You know
    We all know
    It’s ours to share
    Not just with our kin
    Not controlled by the skin
    We believe we have that right
    To pick and choose who gets our light
    Yet demand this gift of all we see
    When love is something, to be shared and free.


    Poetry by Pleasant Street (formerly Rose Red)

    Snow angel

    In the dog days of Winter dreaming of green
    I get weary shoveling, and
    struggling to remain upright
    scraping those windows yet one more time
    coffee spilling into the snow
    leaving an ugly brown stain
    a fog rising above the crater-
    Shit, I really needed that.
    I turn my head toward the apple tree
    but it does not answer

    I remember how July damn near killed me
    melting into my clothing
    certain that they would find them
    in a pile, my body nearly gone
    just a grimace where my head used to be.
    I think of this memory heading into the wind
    and I know that I’ve never felt
    so alive in the dead of winter
    never felt so sure that I no longer
    want to toss it all in

    I want this feeling of life
    dichotomy of sunlight and frigid air
    both bathing
    both massaging
    both surrounding me
    with their life-giving forces
    hot and cold-dark and light
    and I drop the ice scraper
    for one moment of pleasure
    like some idiot thinking she is 8 years old

    -forgetting the sadness in the house-
    to make a snow angel
    squinting from the sunshine in my eyes


    Poetry by Priyanki

    Keep flipping the pages

    Lost in the books only to be found
    The best place to be profound
    Unfolding, unwinding so many mysteries.
    There is so much to seek
    so much to explore
    All I feel is to be engrossed in more.
    Sometimes I’m short of time
    Finishing daily chores of my life’s book
    That is also prime to me
    As it gives me a sense of my being.
    As I move & flip each page
    It gives me a feeling of success,
    Success of moving on
    For not sitting on a page for too long
    But I’m also a human being, at times get stuck in life’s routine.
    Wherein I just sit & ponder, about all the life’s wonder
    All that I got so far.
    Did I ask for, or was it an unexpected rain shower…
    Then I think , oh! I should have been prepared,
    Carrying an umbrella would have taken care.
    It would have saved me from all the mess
    Oh! look at me? I’m drench all wet,
    What shall I do now? Sit & cry
    Or dance in the rain & enjoy
    Jump in those puddles & let it all go
    Or standstill & heighten my sores.
    Oh! Let me ask my soul before I go
    What does it wish,
    What does it say…
    Shh!, Let me hear to that voice, it’s coming from deep inside
    You know I need to focus more, the outside noises are making me deaf
    Then my brain gets lazy, stops working hard to listen to what lies deep within…
    & tries to find that easy way,
    Of sitting on that page of life’s book & not taking the pain to flip or move
    & see what’s coming next,
    May be a rainbow or the warmth of sun
    But for that it needs to make that turn.
    What did you say?
    It happens with you too! Oh really!
    Is that true?
    Don’t you worry
    U & I will this time
    Silence those noises, disturbing our mind.
    All those noises that cause chaos.
    & make the turn, that sounds so hard
    take the turn of flipping that page
    Those pages of our life’s book
    Which needs to be closed,
    For better outlook
    To see what life is holding next
    A new beginning is waiting ahead
    No matter if the page is interesting, still you need to keep moving,
    keep exploring to learn more & you may find that pot of gold
    Crossing the life’s rainbow
    I don’t want to say at the end.
    Life surprises me every now & then
    And if the page was mundane then all the more you need to change.
    Life’s book is a mix of all
    You name the genre
    It has it all.
    Each of yours life is gifted with it
    Fiction, comedy, mystery or thrill
    Suspense or action we all go through.
    We all are readers of life’s book…
    Good or bad, slow or fast
    Read it in your stride…
    But just remember one little thing,
    Keep turning & keep flipping
    To keep finding new meanings,
    Waiting for you on the next page.
    Yes! You can
    Now that you think
    All you need to
    Is keep reading!


    • Leland Olson Hoel 2:43 pm on January 1, 2016 Permalink | Reply

      The position of our planet in this universe gives many four seasons,
      we are so blessed, they correlate with our four seasons of life.
      If we are very lucky we can weave them altogether back and forth,
      each day, each night, sustaining us till it all comes out just right.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Kurt Brindley 2:58 pm on January 1, 2016 Permalink | Reply

        Beautiful, Leland. Thank you for sharing it, my friend. Here’s to 2016 and it coming out just right for the both of us…


    • jade0207 2:58 pm on January 1, 2016 Permalink | Reply

      These are some amazing poets. Thank you introducing them to me!

      Liked by 1 person

    • Priyanki 3:49 pm on January 1, 2016 Permalink | Reply

      Thanks for this opportunity Kurt. It’s such a pleasure to be a part of your blog. Happy to see my poetry here. Wishing you good health & happiness always.

      Liked by 2 people

      • Kurt Brindley 11:37 am on January 2, 2016 Permalink | Reply

        Thank you, Priyanki. The pleasure is all mine. Your well wishes are greatly appreciated and I wish for you and yours more of the same.

        Liked by 1 person

    • Priyanki 3:54 pm on January 1, 2016 Permalink | Reply

      Can you please correct the URL from “jollyprivi” to “jollyprivy”. Thanks 😊

      Liked by 1 person

    • Pleasant Street 9:01 pm on January 1, 2016 Permalink | Reply

      Happy New Year Kurt! Thank you for this opportunity to share with these talented writers. It truly is a blessing to me.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Kurt Brindley 11:39 am on January 2, 2016 Permalink | Reply

        Thank you, Pleasant Street. The pleasure and blessings are all mine. And thanks so much for reading “Leave” and writing a review. That means a lot to me. Have a great year.

        Liked by 1 person

    • andysmerdon 2:01 am on January 2, 2016 Permalink | Reply

      Cheers Kurt – I feel honoured. I hope your 2016 is grand :) ps I’m still loving your latest – Short Verses and Other Curses.

      Liked by 2 people

      • Kurt Brindley 11:41 am on January 2, 2016 Permalink | Reply

        Cheers back at ya, mate. The honor and pleasure of sharing your work is all mine. Thanks for taking the time to read the new book. I appreciate it much, my friend.

        Liked by 1 person

  • Kurt Brindley 4:47 pm on December 24, 2015 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , , , , sarcasm, , , ,   

    Haiku, Senryū, and the Subtleties In Their Similarities and Differences 

    If I had a bit more courage and a lot more scholarship, I would have discussed the similarities and differences between a haiku poem and a senryū poem in the introduction of my newly released book of poetry Short Verses & Other Curses: Haiku, Senryū, Tanka & Other Poetic, Artistic, & Photographic Miscellany. However, seeing that I am woefully deficient in both, I will have to enlist someone adequately courageous and scholarly to discuss these subtleties for me.

    What little I do think I know about these two popular Japanese poetical forms is that both are diminutive in structure yet powerful in purpose and meaning, with haiku typically involving nature settings and the zen-like moments often evoked by them and senryū typically involving the vagaries – and vulgarities – of the lives that we lead, often by employing humor and sarcasm. But then, what do I really know about it…

    I have no answers
    I know just that grass will grow
    and that leaves will fall

    For those of you who appreciate a little more scholarship and authority, here is what Richard Hass, former U.S. Poet Laureate, has to say about haiku in his beautifully edited and translated book The Essential Haiku: Versions of Basho, Buson, & Issa (Essential Poets). (I find no direct mention of senryū in the book; though it seems to me much of his discussion of haiku can also be applied to senryū as well.)

    Robert Hass:

    The insistence on time and place was crucial for writers of haiku. The seasonal reference was called kigo and a haiku was thought to be incomplete without it.

    If the first level of a haiku is its location in nature, its second is almost always some implicit Buddhist reflection on nature.

    When the hokku [what haiku were originally called] became detached from linked verse, it also cast off the room the tanka provided for drawing a moral (thought not all tanka do moralize, of course) and what was left was the irreducible mysteriousness of the images themselves.

    There is so much to consider about these two subtle yet so often at the same time plain-spoken Japanese poetic forms. Considerations such as:

    • Zen and its influence
    • the influence of China and its poetry
    • various poetic techniques found in much of traditional Japanese poetry, to include haiku and senryū, such as kake-kotoba (pivot words) and kireji (cutting words)
    • the 5/7/5 structure and its relevance to the Western haiku poet

    Hass’ book covers much of the list; however, instead of continuing to discuss about these poetic forms, let’s just experience some of the best of their kind and enjoy them as they are.



    Awake at night–
    the sound of the water jar
    cracking in the cold

    A petal shower
    of mountain roses,
    and the sound of the rapids

    How admirable!
    to see lightning and not think
    life is fleeting

    Spring rain
    leaking through the roof,
    dripping from a wasps’ nest

    Taking a nap,
    feet planted
    against a cool wall

    Winter solitude —
    in a world of one color
    the sound of wind


    Coolness —
    the sound of the bell
    as it leaves the bell

    He’s on the porch,
    to escape wife and kids —
    how hot it is!

    Cover my head
    or my feet?
    the winter quilt

    Flowers offered to the Buddha
    come floating
    down the winter river


    Don’t worry, spiders,
    I keep house

    The man pulling radishes
    pointed my way
    with a radish

    A dry riverbed
    by lightning

    All the time I pray to Buddha
    I keep on
    Killing mosquitos

    Visiting graves,
    the old dog
    leads the way

    No talent
    and so no sin,
    a winter day

    From the website HUBPAGES

    A horse farts
    four or five suffer
    on the ferry-boat

    the matchmaker
    speaks the sober truth
    only when drunk

    Zen priest
    meditation finished
    looking for fleas

    The face of her husband
    looking for a job —
    she is tired of it

    Richard Wright

    The watching faces
    as I walk the autumn road,
    make me a traveler

    An empty sickbed
    an indented pillow
    in weak winter sun

    A falling petal
    strikes one floating on the pond
    and they both sink


    Submit your poetry to help us send out 2015 and bring in 2016 with style


    • tunisiajolyn84 9:42 pm on December 24, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      Thanks for the lesson and the lovely examples. I learned something new today that I may use in my poetic arsenal in the future. Thanks again!

      Liked by 1 person

    • janjoy52 8:17 am on December 25, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      Fun offering! Merry Christmas Kurt and Happy New Year!

      Liked by 1 person

    • Mellow Curmudgeon 7:32 pm on December 25, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      I heartily agree with Hass’ and your assessment of the haiku ending this post as “some of the best of their kind” and was especially moved by the final 2 from Richard Wright.

      Typo: strikes on floating ==> strikes one floating

      Liked by 1 person

    • Mellow Curmudgeon 7:46 pm on December 25, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      Thanks for the link to the fascinating page about Richard Wright. The same website has an informative page about the traditional distinction between haiku and senryu, with a welcome remark that the distinction is not so important nowadays:
      Today many poets and editors do not distinguish between haiku and senryu, and there certainly is a gradual continuum between the haiku about nature and the senryu with more focus on humanity.

      The link is http://hubpages.com/literature/Senryu-Definition-and-Origins

      Liked by 1 person

      • Kurt Brindley 12:30 pm on December 26, 2015 Permalink | Reply

        While I’m no expert I would expect that the growing lack of distinction between the two is more a Western thing than an Asian, particularly Japan, thing.

        Liked by 1 person

    • Gradmama2011 1:39 pm on December 26, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      excellent… my knowledge of the subject just tripled. As an old writer, I’m new to poetry…a sudden discovery more or less… the examples of haiku and senryu is very informative. The petals on the pond have a sweet melancholy. :-) And the praying to the Buddha while killing mosquitos–so incongruent.

      Liked by 2 people

      • Kurt Brindley 2:20 pm on December 26, 2015 Permalink | Reply

        This makes me happy, Gradmama2011. Thank you for taking the time to leave me such kind feedback.


        • Gradmama2011 8:44 am on December 27, 2015 Permalink | Reply

          I’m glad to enjoyed my feedback, Kurt. :-)

          Liked by 1 person

        • Gradmama2011 8:49 am on December 27, 2015 Permalink | Reply

          I downloaded your book on my Kindle..enjoy your poems, and will read more of it to be sure! Thanks for making it available, it made a nice Christmas present. :-)

          Liked by 1 person

          • Kurt Brindley 12:39 pm on December 27, 2015 Permalink | Reply

            Perfect. :)


            • Gradmama2011 9:27 am on December 28, 2015 Permalink

              I like your haiku/senryu work… it actually makes sense. Just kidding…sense is good. :-)

              Liked by 1 person

            • Kurt Brindley 10:02 am on December 28, 2015 Permalink

              I’m both happy you like the writing and that it makes sense to you as well. Not always an easy-to-come-by combination in writing. :) I’d appreciate you writing an Amazon review if you find the chance. Many thanks for taking the time to read and for leaving the kind feedback, Gradmama2011.


            • Gradmama2011 10:14 am on December 28, 2015 Permalink

              thanks…I’ll see about the review soon. As for making sense… I admit that haiku often escapes me, I like poetry with a point that I get (:-) and much of it escapes me.

              Liked by 1 person

            • Kurt Brindley 10:26 am on December 28, 2015 Permalink

              Point/message is important to me, too; though, when it comes to poetry, it may not be as important to me as feeling.


            • Gradmama2011 10:30 am on December 28, 2015 Permalink

              I agree! I just like to have a clue…:-) I get subtle meanings, but sometimes it seems the words themselves drive the poem rather than create that feeling ya get after reading a poem–as the meaning and/or feeling sinks in.

              Liked by 1 person

            • Kurt Brindley 10:32 am on December 28, 2015 Permalink

              Yes. Well said…


            • Gradmama2011 10:41 am on December 28, 2015 Permalink

              thanks. I prefer writing longer pieces. I’m only recently into poetry, it is very satisfying and rewarding to me.

              Liked by 1 person

            • Kurt Brindley 11:37 am on December 28, 2015 Permalink

              Therapeutic in its doing…


            • Gradmama2011 12:21 pm on December 28, 2015 Permalink

              yes, keeps the mind on track

              Liked by 1 person

            • Kurt Brindley 1:11 pm on December 28, 2015 Permalink



    • slugline 12:02 am on January 3, 2016 Permalink | Reply

      I remember being in my college classes being ordered to write a haiku on the first day of class and not knowing anything about the craft. I wish I had this blog post on my first day! Wonderful work and examples.

      Liked by 1 person

  • Kurt Brindley 2:59 pm on December 16, 2015 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , , morning, , ,   

    When Dawn Winds Blow 

    When Dawn Winds Blow

    The bare limbs
    scratching at
    the aching dawn —

    It’s not that…
    Is it?


  • Kurt Brindley 1:39 pm on December 10, 2015 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,   

    Life Is 


    it’s funny, life is
    we are so busy living
    we forget to live


    Let’s Send The Year Out In Poetic Style
    See Newsletter Love (007-15) for details
    Must be a subscriber to participate


  • Kurt Brindley 2:15 pm on December 6, 2015 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , laws, , , , , , , , , ,   

    Restrictive We 


    restricted we are
    not by laws or by limits
    but by self alone


  • Kurt Brindley 1:54 pm on November 29, 2015 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: arks, , , , , , , , , , , ,   

    The Ark of the Moon 

    The Course Of The Moon

    the ocean of sky
    is sailed by such lovely arks
    lo! the moon embarks


  • Kurt Brindley 4:24 pm on November 27, 2015 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , impressions, , , , , ,   

    Memories Obscured 

    Memories Obscured

    distance redefines
    impressions fade over time
    beauty lingers on


  • Kurt Brindley 3:12 pm on November 24, 2015 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,   

    On Watch 


    that which would be missed
    that which would be desired
    just let it all go


  • Kurt Brindley 1:38 pm on November 12, 2015 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , , ,   

    What Must Be Must Be? 


    beyond the creek’s bend
    sight unseen still it must flow
    but how do we know


    • janjoy52 3:27 pm on November 12, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      And yet, forthwith, we must advance for the path to the past is forever closed. So be prepared as best you can. With light and sword and helpful hands. To go alone and yet beware for pain and tragedies must be shared.

      Liked by 2 people

    • Aimer Boyz 11:27 pm on November 12, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      You’ve captured wanderlust :)

      Liked by 1 person

    • Mary Job 6:03 pm on November 13, 2015 Permalink | Reply


      Liked by 1 person

    • laurietopin 11:00 pm on November 17, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      This mustn’t be
      Unless it must
      In that I place
      All of my trust

      Would love to get your guidance. I do not know how frequently you actually read my blog, but I am planning to come forward soon as a survivor of mental illness, with an autobiography. Any advice you can give would be so appreciated.

      FYI my blog is now under the website laurietopin.com. Looking forward to seeing you there!

      Liked by 1 person

      • Kurt Brindley 12:30 pm on November 19, 2015 Permalink | Reply

        Hello, laurietopin. Thank you for reaching out to me but I’m not sure what advice I can give you except be true… and interesting. Congratulations on your strength and determination and good luck with your book.

        Liked by 1 person

        • laurietopin 2:23 pm on November 19, 2015 Permalink | Reply

          That in itself is excellent advice. Thank you!


  • Kurt Brindley 12:22 pm on November 8, 2015 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , heat, , , , , source, , ,   

    Desire of the Moon 

    Heat Source

    even sans the source
    it emits a knowing glow
    let the ego go


  • Kurt Brindley 2:10 pm on November 7, 2015 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , , , Nippon, , , ,   

    Nippon Of My Mind 

    Nihon Magic

    where suns rising burns
    where hearts once touched long returns
    where glances love churns


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