Angels we have heard...

  
If you accept the notion of angels, then...in my view...they are all around us:  In those almost unreal fluffy clouds, as well as the gray and grimacing ones.  Perhaps you will join me here, and look, see, and accept, with affection. That is what I do, every day...outside in our remarkable natural world, and inside, with those things that bring us joy and somehow represent our individual spirits. Some things from our childhood, and what we pass on to our children, and to our grandchildren, stay with us, resonate...make us smile...

Photo: c Denée Barr 2012

This feature is a joyful collaboration with vocalist, Denee Barr, who sings the Christmas carol. The words of the song are based on a traditional French carol known as Les Anges dans nos campagnes (literally, "Angels in our countryside") composed by an unknown author in Languedoc, France.

Angels 

We Have 

Heard 

on 

High...

 

 Sweetly singing o'er the plains...

  And the mountains in reply     

Echoing their joyous strains!

The most memorable feature is its chorus singing this amazingly drawn out phrase: Gloria in Excelsis Deo! 

(Latin for "Glory to God in the highest")

Where the sung vowel sound "o" of "Gloria" is fluidly sustained through a lengthy rising and falling melodic sequence:

Glo-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-O-ri-a in Ex-cel-sis De-o!

Gloria, in excelsis Deo!    Gloria, in excelsis Deo!

 

And repeating!

Angels we have heard on high
Sweetly singing o'er the plains,
And the mountains in reply
Echoing their joyous strains.

Shepherds, why this jubilee?
Why your joyous strains prolong?
What the gladsome tidings be
Which inspire your heavenly song?

Kay Weeks; Content and still photos.  Angels, all!  Vocal and video:  Denee Barr.

Journey with Birds (Poem)

I rode those cotton-candy clouds
so gently home to soul; 
And those who traveled with me
flew beak-closed to the wound.

They laced my skin with sutures strong,
and some were blue-gray-brown.
When darkness hailed, we cut a path
through skies both tall and narrow:

Frail apart, now joined as one,

in wing, and bone, and marrow.

 

On December 3, 2012

Poem/Photos: Kay Weeks

Flat-Head Moon (Walking Poem)

 

 

The Waxing Gibbous Moon is just a little off, not quite yet the Full Moon held close to our romantic hearts.  But she is fully adored by some of us...as she takes her celestial  journey and grows and shrinks and grows back. Over and over again in our lives. Best to take a look at her now!

Flat-Head Moon..................

Just at dark, I walked that path

to the street mail box,

then saw you, looking quite round,

and once again, was held

gaping and wordless in your spell.

Photographing your pale head

from every angle and through fragrant

pines and bleak skeletal limbs,

I carried all that weight of paper

back up the path

to my house and to theirs…

Distributing theirs in a neat pile

onto a rustic bench on the porch.

Opening my door to warmth...

  

I quickly laid it all out on a day bed

with sleeping cat, 

and deemed  most every piece of mail 

to be money-seeking, and thus manipulative,

damaging to my soul...  

So packed it all up in my arms,

went outside to that blue re-cycle bin,

and committed paper to rotational “GONE,”

however engaging the ornaments and Santas…

Inside again, I shrugged and thought 

of shopping catalogs (all of them)

as small compelling blights

upon the sky’s intent to smile...

And, once again, Dear Moon,
paid silent homage

to your growing—not yet perfect—

but sublime, and giving face.

On 11.27.12

Jacuzzi with Kay Weeks

Missed the Crescent Moon (Sonnet)

I recently learned that I will probably have to move from this wonderful Carriage House on the hill. At first I accepted it and began to explore new places. I will again, of course, but this morning in the gray and chilly weather, the overall mood prompted this verse. I decided to break up the stanzas of my Sonnet into four acts--a play-like structure--to denote the lapse of time in this pensive, but creative, state.  The sadness will pass, I am sure.


Act I    Dark, but awake 

Missed the crescent moon; I’ll tell you why: 
My heart just turned the corner on her joy;
Explication, sure—instead I lie; 
I’m one with talking winds, that age-old ploy. 

Act II    Inside and outside 

Trees repeat my gloom, their spindly game; 
I’m glued to music, art—romantic love, 
When suddenly I jump the tears, the frame; 
Leap into life and see the first gray dove. 

Act III    A little later 

Digression rules my hours, I overlook 
Small tasks that hooked my day on something real; 
Standing near the stove, its mouth that cooks, 
Yet I’m the soulful stomach, nix the meal.  

Act IV  Next night, repeats...

Can’t get my arms around the chilly air;
I feel it grimly moving; don’t know where. 

 _____________________
Kay Weeks, poem and photos
November 15, 2012

The Color of Water (Haiku)

         What is the color of water?         

I almost asked her,

but knew the answer myself--

transparent, like love...

10.19.12
Photo: Fountain at The Bellmoor Inn, Rehoboth Beach, Delaware

Kay Weeks, 10.19.12   
Poem and photos

Battery-Operated ME!

	Mostly the digital camera shouting: "Change the Batteries!"
	No…OK, Shut up!  These things talk to us, to me, anyway! I pay attention and do it—listen and do it! I realized when my computer mouse went kaput yesterday and I had to borrow a battery from the Television Remote (capitalized because of its importance!) How my place is battery operated, and I think we ALL are to some degree…with All those droid voices we bring in every day--Telling us what to do!! So that’s how I feel. Just put Me in the battery charger, and plug me in! Go    Go    Oops, Worn Out!  GO  GO  Stop!! In no particular order: Cell phone LED candles (4 using two different kinds of batteries--D and AA) Big Flashlight for power outages Small flashlights to prevent over a cat in dark Crook-necked reading light Small molded listening device, aka hearing aid TV Remote DVD Remote Digital camera Computer mouse Holiday lights, strings of them! Strangling me! Batteries are KING, god, QUEEN, at the control! Change me, move me, OK, I will, because when it comes right down to it, I am trying not to use electricity… Except the battery charger says “Plug me in.” But I still think I’m doing the right thing, Well, Don't YOU? Battery-operated Kay Weeks With artist Margaret Scott September 1, 2012

My Stink-Bug Dream

Drawing: Margaret Scott.

Rhaphigaster nebulosa
Come closer Dear, (Blush),
But then you did,
And so I asked, then told you,
To leave. When you refused,
I picked you up, wings and all,
Folded you in a piece of soft
And gentle tissue (no brand name)
And sent you to a watery grave: Flush.

My dream was this:
For every time in life
That I have spoken or low-muttered
An angry word--or thought one--
Or did something
That was just a tad unkind (even
Though warranted), a Stink
Bug (Asian or European…no matter)
Appeared on the ceiling.

In the morning, to my dismay,
But not surprise,
The solid-paint-like-upside-gray wall
Of Stink Bugs in the sleeping room,
Woke me up, simply sent me reeling.

Refrain:
Rhaphigaster nebulosa
Come closer,
But then you did, and, once again,
I asked you to leave.
It isn’t fair, but that’s where
I must reside: On some level
Of lower-animal-hybrid-violence—
For you invasive crawling bugs.
So I am asking you once again:
Stay away! You see, my Dear,
Only YOU can help me nurture
My sweet-positive-gentle
Oh-so-Motherly side.

Kay Weeks
On 8.24.12

Note: I did received comments from Bob Fitzpatrick, CA; Kaye Keeble, CA; Kay Boren, FL;
Cindi Ryland, Ellicott City, MD. While trying to post them, however, I was put through numerous IDBlogspot hoops, so gave up.  Never that much security  before.  Thanks, KW.