from POND
11.17.2018
8.46 p.m.
38 degrees
Pyx this blackness, holding within its blackness more consecrated blackness,
owlish trees nearly erased along their frayed canopy.
Night. One would think I’d only have to write it once. Night
Darkish reticence now, with everyone half asleep against the intrusion of cold.
11.21.18
9.10 a.m.
33 degrees
Paeans, these multiflora rose-hips reaching for us to notice them.
Overstepped by the sun, the cloudiness is gone, the hoarfrost wet.
Needing this clarity -- sunken leaves, small sandy clearings on the pond’s bed -- doubt sinks too, while everything in the pond sleeps, even through the morning sun.
11.19.18
11.59 a.m.
37 degrees
Pacific little pond, so still it looks solid.
Old sky low, mist filled.
No sign of the life packed in on the bottom breathing evenly.
Deep boot-prints elongated by warmth; proof of Bigfoot or some other large nocturnal beast?
1.1.19
7.08 a.m.
52 degrees
Pain that surpasses comprehension. From the pond our house-windows are amber lit,
opaline and deceptive. The sun is not up yet butthings are stirring – the cardinals sound alarmed,
night’s prodigious clouds are dragged across the murky sky by a dubious warm breeze,
death speaks through the clanging halyard on Karen’s lawn, and the early pond is black.
1.2.19
7.59 a.m.
26 degrees
· for
Protégé of the wind, ice has covered half the pond overnight,
ordinary in January, and I’m reminded of Donne’s gold in the
nicking around the pond and reflected on the ice like gold to airy thinness beat,
Donne who instructs us why, during this valediction, we must not mourn.
1.27.19
8.27 a.m.
18 degrees
Paddocked by the woods on one side, the corral on the other,
ominous cracks and pops repeat the pond’s settling,
newshawking that the ice may be safe, and then again…
detritus of silence silenced by this ratcheting racket.
1.28.19
11.25 a.m.
27 degrees
Pandoura dirt-road…lane…hill…lane, played by the breeze,
opens today's entry, the kind of day that makes 27 feel mild.
Nimmer of birds, the hawk, must be close by, though not.
detectable even through the stripped scrubland in brightest sun.
*****************copyright John L. Stanizzi
The poet writes: 'A brief word about the pieces I've
submitted. They are from a one-year-long project called POND -- The poems are acrostics. Everyday, at different times during the day, I visit our pond with notebook and camera in hand. I jot down some notes, take a picture or two, if a good photo op. presents itself. Then I head home and write a four line acrostic using the letters P, O, N, and D. The other caveat, which makes the project so interesting to me, is that I cannot use any of my first words more than once. I need a different P, O, N, or D word every day; I began the book on November 9, 2018 and completed it on November 8, 2019, without ever missing a single day.'
*****************copyright John L. Stanizzi
The poet writes: 'A brief word about the pieces I've submitted. They are from a one-year-long project called POND -- The poems are acrostics. Everyday, at different times during the day, I visit our pond with notebook and camera in hand. I jot down some notes, take a picture or two, if a good
photo op. presents itself. Then I head home and write a four line acrostic using the letters P, O, N, and D. The other caveat, which makes the project so interesting to me, is that I cannot use any of my first words more than once. I need a different P, O, N, or D word every day; I began the book on November 9, 2018 and completed it on November 8, 2019, without ever missing a single day.'
11.17.2018
8.46 p.m.
38 degrees
Pyx this blackness, holding within its blackness more consecrated blackness,
owlish trees nearly erased along their frayed canopy.
Night. One would think I’d only have to write it once. Night
Darkish reticence now, with everyone half asleep against the intrusion of cold.
11.21.18
9.10 a.m.
33 degrees
Paeans, these multiflora rose-hips reaching for us to notice them.
Overstepped by the sun, the cloudiness is gone, the hoarfrost wet.
Needing this clarity -- sunken leaves, small sandy clearings on the pond’s bed -- doubt sinks too, while everything in the pond sleeps, even through the morning sun.
11.19.18
11.59 a.m.
37 degrees
Pacific little pond, so still it looks solid.
Old sky low, mist filled.
No sign of the life packed in on the bottom breathing evenly.
Deep boot-prints elongated by warmth; proof of Bigfoot or some other large nocturnal beast?
1.1.19
7.08 a.m.
52 degrees
Pain that surpasses comprehension. From the pond our house-windows are amber lit,
opaline and deceptive. The sun is not up yet butthings are stirring – the cardinals sound alarmed,
night’s prodigious clouds are dragged across the murky sky by a dubious warm breeze,
death speaks through the clanging halyard on Karen’s lawn, and the early pond is black.
1.2.19
7.59 a.m.
26 degrees
· for
Ben.
Protégé of the wind, ice has covered half the pond overnight,
ordinary in January, and I’m reminded of Donne’s gold in the
nicking around the pond and reflected on the ice like gold to airy thinness beat,
Donne who instructs us why, during this valediction, we must not mourn.
1.27.19
8.27 a.m.
18 degrees
Paddocked by the woods on one side, the corral on the other,
ominous cracks and pops repeat the pond’s settling,
newshawking that the ice may be safe, and then again…
detritus of silence silenced by this ratcheting racket.
1.28.19
11.25 a.m.
27 degrees
Pandoura dirt-road…lane…hill…lane, played by the breeze,
opens today's entry, the kind of day that makes 27 feel mild.
Nimmer of birds, the hawk, must be close by, though not.
detectable even through the stripped scrubland in brightest sun.
*****************copyright John L. Stanizzi
The poet writes: 'A brief word about the pieces I've
submitted. They are from a one-year-long project called POND -- The poems are acrostics. Everyday, at different times during the day, I visit our pond with notebook and camera in hand. I jot down some notes, take a picture or two, if a good photo op. presents itself. Then I head home and write a four line acrostic using the letters P, O, N, and D. The other caveat, which makes the project so interesting to me, is that I cannot use any of my first words more than once. I need a different P, O, N, or D word every day; I began the book on November 9, 2018 and completed it on November 8, 2019, without ever missing a single day.'
*****************copyright John L. Stanizzi
The poet writes: 'A brief word about the pieces I've submitted. They are from a one-year-long project called POND -- The poems are acrostics. Everyday, at different times during the day, I visit our pond with notebook and camera in hand. I jot down some notes, take a picture or two, if a good
photo op. presents itself. Then I head home and write a four line acrostic using the letters P, O, N, and D. The other caveat, which makes the project so interesting to me, is that I cannot use any of my first words more than once. I need a different P, O, N, or D word every day; I began the book on November 9, 2018 and completed it on November 8, 2019, without ever missing a single day.'
Wonderful work, John! Thanks for all you share with the world! We have the pond, photo, poem connection in common! :-D :-D So happy to see your writing published here! Thanks, Bruce! Alicia
ReplyDeleteIt's our pleasure, Alicia, just as it's our pleasure to publish you.
ReplyDelete