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DAR Flag, Grand Hyatt, Droid Shots, Washington, D.C., June 2014, photos © 2014 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.





Independence Day—
a place to stand
for all who have fallen





The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”


This tablet with her sonnet to the Bartholdi Statue of Liberty engraved upon it, is placed upon these walls
in loving memory of Emma Lazarus

Born in New York City, July 22nd, 1849
Died November 19th, 1887



-Quote on the bronze plaque from the Liberty exhibit in the base of the Statue of Liberty, originally posted on red Ravine in the piece Going To New York. It was presented by philanthropist Georgiana Schuyler in 1903, twenty years after Emma Lazarus wrote her sonnet. Originally displayed on the interior wall of the Statue of Liberty’s pedestal, it was placed in the Liberty exhibit in the base of the monument in July, 1886.


Good Reads:
Throwback Thursday: When John Adams Thought Independence Day Was July 2
Exercising the freedom to NOT celebrate Independence Day
What the Declaration of Independence Means to Americans Today


-posted on red Ravine, Friday, July 4th, 2014.

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icycles.  33/365 #GroundhogDay

icicles. 33/365, Droid 365 Squared, Minneapolis, Minnesota, February 2014, photos © 2014 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.




Groundhog, woodchuck, whistle pig—
six more weeks of winter?
The frozen tundra
in my backyard
may cause my mind to splinter.






-posted on red Ravine, Sunday, February 2nd, 2014
-related to: Vote For Punxsutawney Phil!

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by Willa Cather

Evening and the flat land,
Rich and sombre and always silent;
The miles of fresh-plowed soil,
Heavy and black, full of strength and harshness;
The growing wheat, the growing weeds,
The toiling horses, the tired men;
The long empty roads,
Sullen fires of sunset, fading,
The eternal, unresponsive sky.
Against all this, Youth,
Flaming like the wild roses,
Singing like the larks over the plowed fields,
Flashing like a star out of the twilight;
Youth with its insupportable sweetness,
Its fierce necessity,
Its sharp desire,
Singing and singing,
Out of the lips of silence,
Out of the earthy dusk.

___________________________________________

“Prairie Spring” is in the public domain and was released by Poem-A-Day from The American Academy of Poets on December 29th, 3013. Launched during National Poetry Month in 2006, Poem-A-Day features new and previously unpublished poems by contemporary poets on weekdays and classic poems on weekends.


Willa Cather was born on December 7, 1873, in Virginia. She grew up in Nebraska and studied at the University of Nebraska, before moving to Pennsylvania, and then to New York. Cather is best remembered for her novels depicting frontier life on the Great Plains. “Prairie Spring” was first published in 1913 as the prologue to Willa Cather’s novel O Pioneers! Although Cather received widespread recognition as a novelist, her first published book was April Twilights (1903), a collection of poetry. In 1923, Cather was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for her novel, One of Ours (1922). Cather died in 1947 in New York City.


♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦


After our New Year’s book cleaning, I pulled out all of our poetry books and was inspired to read poetry every day. On a frigid winter weekend, when the air temperatures will drop to -27°F in the Twin Cities, it helps to read poems about spring. I felt closest to Willa Cather when I traveled through Nebraska on frequent road trips to New Mexico where she met D. H. Lawrence in 1924. I stayed in the Cather room at the Mabel Dodge Luhan House and wrote about her after one of those trips in Valentine.


-posted on red Ravine, Sunday, January 5th, 2014

-Related to posts: Discovering The Big Read, Midwest Poets & Writers — When Can You Call A Place Home?, The Vitality Of Place — Preserving The Legacy Of “Home”, The World According To Mr. Schminda (et al.)

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Heartbeat Of A Dragonfly, Droid Shots, Minneapolis, Minnesota, January 2014, photos © 2014 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.




New Moon, New Year—
I make no promises.
Only hope for a year filled with light,
soft shadows off the heartbeat
of a dragonfly.






-posted on red Ravine, Wednesday, January 1st, 2014

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Fire For The Autumn Equinox, Droid Shots, Minneapolis, Minnesota, October 2013, photo © 2013 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.






What matters to her,
after all is said and done—

long walks in the rain;
sparks to light the blackened night;
a place to spread her ashes.






Fire 1 20130921_221742

Embers — After All Is Said & Done, Droid Shots, Minneapolis, Minnesota, October 2013, photo © 2013 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.




-posted on red Ravine, Saturday, October 12th, 2013

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Last Harvest, Droid Shots, Minneapolis, Minnesota, September 2013, photos © 2013 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.




Unpredictable—
September. Cattail wind tousles
vine-ripe tomatoes;
early autumn showers christen
my oldest friend’s wedding.






-posted on red Ravine, Sunday, September 15, 2013

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by Ester Johansson Murray




           My country friend
           Comes bearing gifts:
Large, brown eggs with thick shells,
Tactile pleasure to cradle one
        in my palm,
Then, gently poached,
          a pleasure to eat.

         She labeled the jelly jar
        "Honey from our Hives".
I envision green fields of alfalfa
with throaty, blue flowers providing
the amber, viscous sweet;
then, worker bees gather, transport,
store it in hexagonal
wax cells of honey-comb.
Their hive a communal home,
with an insect society so complex
I can't understand it.
         But this I know,
savoring honey is like
partaking of a sacrament.

         Here in town, I watch
the furry, brown and orange
workers fly in from God-knows-where.
They harvest the blossoms,
gather honey,
wallow in pollen,
then, airborne with cargo
they vanish.
         Except, if day fades,
some bed down among
stamens and pistils—
sleep-over guests.




_________________________



About Ester: Ester Johansson Murray is a graduate of the University of Wyoming and taught at Cody High School for several years. Now in her 90′s, Ester was born and raised in the Cody area, the only child of Swedish immigrants. She is a member of Writers of Wyoming (WOW) and has had three stories published in the WOW Anthology, From the Heart.

Ester has served the Park County Historical Society as Secretary and President. She was recognized by the Wyoming State Historical Society with an award for her three books and several published articles on Wyoming history. Ester is a member of “Westerners International,” an organization that enjoys and studies the culture of the early American Western Frontier. She is generous with her time in researching history for others.

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Ode To A Black Bee

Ode To A Black Bee, Droid Shots, Minneapolis, Minnesota, August 2013, photos © 2013 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.




Coneflower summer—
the accidental black bee,
my unsuspecting lens.
The photobombing imposter?
a Great Black Wasp.






-posted on red Ravine, Thursday, August 22nd, 2013

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Footprints, California Coast, circa 1995, b&w Tri-X film, Canon EOS Rebel SLR
film camera, © 1995-2013 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.




Water pools
on an aging bluff—
webbed footprints
deposit a longing
for things that never were.






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bluff

A bluff—a high bank above a river, a headland of precipitous cliffs—is created when elements of Earth go to battle. In nearly all Earth’s processes, one element is pitted against another, and the weaker is washed away, swept off, compressed. What is weakly held together breaks down easily. Bluffs come from such processes. Such bluffs were susceptible to prevailing winds, others to movements within the Earth, others to scouring ice. Some are layered up with the sand of a long-ago sea or the pebbles of a former stream or with the fossils of animals. Many bluffs come to life when water cuts down through seams of Earth layers, creating slippage and collapse. The ocean, the ever-ongoing movement of waves against the shore, carves other bluffs, as at the edge of Puget Sound and along the California coast. Rattlesnake Mountain in Nebraska was shaped by upward sweeping winds. Nana Wyah, the sacred Chickasaw Bluffs in Oklahoma, were renamed after the Trail of Tears. Mount Rushmore, carved into Lakota sacred land, is a granite bluff. And Bluff is a little town on the banks of the San Juan River in Utah, ringed by its namesake landform. In Islands in the Stream, Hemingway writes: “The house was built on the highest part of the narrow tongue of land between the harbor and the open sea. It has lasted through three hurricanes and it was built solid as a ship. It was shaded by tall coconut palms that were bent by the trade wind and on the ocean side you could walk out of the door and down the bluff across the white sand and into the Gulf Stream.”

-Linda Hogan, from Home Ground: Language for an American Landscape



-posted on red Ravine, Tuesday, May 28th, 2013

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Minneapolis at night. Crossing the Mississippi.

Minneapolis At Night: Crossing The Mississippi, Droid Shots, Minneapolis, Minnesota, April 2013, photos © 2013 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.






Lost city of lakes
an Instagram river ignites
your Polaroid skies.

Mississippi churning
across the dark drive home
a mist quietly settles.








-posted on red Ravine, Saturday, May 11th, 2013

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Royal - 152/365

Royal – 152/365, Archive 365, BlackBerry Shots, Minneapolis, Minnesota,
February 2011, photos © 2011-2013 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.




Midwestern writer
pretending to understand –
what love left behind.






-posted on red Ravine, Saturday, March 2nd, 2013

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By Silver Grey Fox




This morning driving along a section of pines

the roadside vista reminds me of my glimpse

of the piney woods sections outside Houston

in Texas with the mixture of pines and shrubs

and the temperate nature of the forested area.

Then, rather suddenly I notice a bald eagle,

its white head distinct above its black raven-

colored body, sitting atop a solitary pine.


And, for a moment I pause on a turn-off

to observe its falcon-like instinctive pattern

of behavior when searching for and seeking

prey. Only for a moment, so it seems, am I

privy to its activity as it circles, then swoops

down earthward to snatch what I can’t quite

see until it climbs back above nearby brush.


Then, there, visible in its talons, is one of the

larger snakes I have seen in this section of

South Florida. Oh, sometimes I wish for the

spontaneous nature of such feathered creatures–

for the eyesight, for the instinct, for the ability

to move so gracefully at times and then also

having the speed to so naturally snatch its prey.


Ah, with the eagle nestled back somewhere

now in this piney woods to enjoy its catch,

I continue my drive back into my morning’s

activities—banking, shopping, laundering…

a far cry from my moment’s enjoyment with

the eagle sighting. Such is our connection,

my bird and I, such is our likeable difference.




_________________________




About Silver Grey Fox:

As a writer-poet, I continue trying to gain an understanding of the enigma that is mine and that which was the late Theodore Roethke’s own. He once said, “What I love is near at hand.” Thus, there is so much yet left to be explored; plus, as he noted, “Being, not doing, is my first joy.” What with nature’s beauty all around, and my continuing to reach out and touch, feel and appreciate such, along with having opted to re-open myself to love and life, I continue seeking to more fully define my identity, so I write and write some more.


_________________________


Links Of Interest:

On Theodore Roethke — Theodore Roethke (1908-1963) — Poetry Foundation

On Gary Snyder — Gary Snyder (b. 1930) — Poetry Foundation

On Amiri Baraka/LeRoi Jones — Amiri Baraka/LeRoi Jones Bio

On Black Holes — Black Holes — NASA Science Astrophysics


-posted on red Ravine, Thursday, February 28th, 2013


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Santa At Holidazzle - 178/365

Santa At Holidazzle – 178/365, Archive 365, Droid Shots, December 2012, Downtown Minneapolis, Minnesota, photo © 2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.



Christmas Day. Presents opened, eggnog half gone, phone calls East and West. Longing, joy, gratitude, loss. What to leave behind, what to keep. Emptiness. Love.

Reading Dylan Thomas aloud, Christmas Eve. The moon-buried sky over a village churchyard in Laugharne. The close and holy darkness must have haunted him. A child’s sugarplum dreams—tufted hooves flick mediæval snow off the rooftop Castle of Abercorran.

Waiting for Santa—
the frigid windless night
soothes and comforts me.



Looking through my bedroom window, out into the moonlight and the unending smoke-colored snow, I could see the lights in the windows of all the other houses on our hill and hear the music rising from them up the long, steadily falling night. I turned the gas down, I got into bed. I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept. –Dylan Thomas, A Child’s Christmas in Wales

Laugharne is a town in Carmarthenshire, Wales on the estuary of the River Tâf, and home to Dylan Thomas from 1949 until his death in 1953. Thought to have been an inspiration for the fictional town of Llareggub in Under Milk Wood, the Township was originally known as Abercorran. The name was changed to Laugharne after the English Civil War.

-posted on red Ravine, Tuesday, December 25th, 2012

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By Marylin Schultz




Dragonfly, Cody, Wyoming, photo © 2012 by Tracy Clark. All rights reserved.





Dragonfly


No audible cry do I hear,
but am drawn to see your plight
mired in mud, frozen there.
I offer a small branch of hope.


luminous lapis blue eyes
recognize reprieve in faceted lens,
delicate pattern of wings against
sky and soft distant mountain.


Freed from earthy prison,
this was not your final sunrise
after all.


On my morning path
as though resigned to her fate
patiently waiting.




_________________________




About Marylin: Marylin (aka oliverowl) is a freelance writer living in Wyoming. She has written essays for a weekly column in the Ventura Star Tribune and collaborated with her grandson on two illustrated books for children. She currently writes with the Cody Writers. Her previous pieces for red Ravine include the travel essay Rollin’ Easy, Writing Practices Kindness and Cloud, and two memoir pieces, Images From The Past, and Two Little Girls & A World At War.

In 2010, Marylin was published in the book, From the Heart — Writing in the Shadow of the Mountain, a collection of work from members of Write On Wyoming (WOW), a group of authors and aspiring writers living in northeastern Wyoming. Her contributions to From the Heart include two works of fiction, To Love Bertie Lou and The Appointment Book, and a collection of haiku, Seasons in Wyoming.




-related to posts: dragonfly revisited — end of summer, first dragonfly, Flying Solo: Dragonfly In Yellow Rain , Dragonfly Wings — It Is Written In The Wind, Shadow Of A Dragonfly, haiku 4 (one-a-day) Meets renga 52

-posted on red Ravine, Friday, November 23rd, 2012

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Camp Savage – 4/365, Archive 365, Camp Savage, Savage, Minnesota, June 2009, photo © 2009-2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.




Independence

Banging fireworks against pre-dawn chatter.
Red night, white galaxy, blue smoke
in the air, flowers made of fire.

Freedom does not rest
or sit softly on her laurels.
She is war-like and stubborn,
not blind to the truth.

“Fight for what you believe in” she liked to say.

Independence remains passive,
13 stripes, 50 stars
but fiercely springs to life
when freedom is stripped away.

never rest easy –
in the dawn’s early light
there is much work to do





ABOUT THE PHOTOS:

Liz and I stumbled on Camp Savage in 2009 while out on a day trip to take photos. I was shocked and surprised because I had no idea such a place existed in Minnesota. The Nisei (second generation) at Camp Savage were translators of language, maps, and documents during World War II. When Marylin submitted her piece about her childhood friend whose family was sent to a Japanese internment camp, I was inspired to go back and take a look at these photographs again. It’s the first time I have consciously written haibun (more about the form at haiku 4 (one-a-day) meets renga 52). I like working in the format of both prose and haiku. Independence Day in the United States reminds me of all the ways that people fight hard to gain freedom, independence, and equality, even within our own country. Below are the words on the plaque at Camp Savage:

_______________________________________

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Independence, flag at Camp Savage, Savage, Minnesota, June 2009, photo © 2009-2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.

During World War II, some 5,000 to 6,000 Japanese American soldiers, members of the U.S. Army’s Military Intelligence Service, were given intensive and accelerated classes in the Japanese language at Camp Savage.

Their subsequent work translating captured documents, maps, battle plans, diaries, letters, and printed materials and interrogating Japanese prisoners made them “Our human secret weapons,” according to President Harry Truman, who commended them following the war.

The Military Intelligence Service (MIS) program began in the fall of 1941, a few weeks before Pearl Harbor, at the Presidio in San Francisco.

For security reasons it was moved in May, 1942 to Camp Savage, a site personally selected by language school commandant Colonel Kai E. Rasmussen, who believed Savage was “a community that would accept Japanese Americans for their true worth — American soldiers fighting with their brains for their native America.”

The 132-acre site had served as a Civilian Conservation Corps camp in the 1930s and was later used to house elderly indigent men.

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Plaque At Camp Savage, Savage, Minnesota, June 2009, photo © 2009-2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.

Conditions there were extremely difficult in the early months of the war, when the first students studied without desks, chairs, or even beds. By August, 1944 the program had outgrown Camp Savage and was moved to larger facilities at Fort Snelling

Most of the English-speaking Japanese Americans, known as Nisei, were from the West Coast area. Some were already in the U.S. military service when they were selected for the language school, while others were volunteers from the camps in which American citizens of Japanese ancestry had been interned following the bombing of Pearl Harbor.

According to General Charles Willoughby, chief of Intelligence for General Douglas MacArthur, “the 6,000 Nisei shortened the Pacific war by two years.”

-erected by the Savage Chamber of Commerce, 1993



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ARCHIVE 365: Since the completion of BlackBerry 365, I have missed a daily photo practice. There are so many photos from my archives that no one has ever seen but me. So I asked skywire7 if she wanted to do a daily practice for one year, taking turns posting an unpublished photograph from the past.

Archive 365 is a photo collaboration between skywire7 and QuoinMonkey featuring images from our archives. We will alternate posting once a day in our Flickr sets from July 1st 2012 through June 30th 2013. You can view our photographs at skywire7 Archive 365 set on Flickr and QuoinMonkey Archive 365 set on Flickr.

-posted on red Ravine, Independence Day, July 4th, 2012. Related to post:  Abraham Lincoln & Nikki Giovanni (On Poets & Presidents)

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Leaving Minnehaha Falls At Dusk, Droid Screenshot of the Night Sky, Star
Chart over Minnehaha Falls, Minneapolis, Minnesota, March 24, 2012,
photos © 2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.




NIGHT VISION


Leaving Minnehaha Falls at dusk,
a woman brushes by in a black beret.
On her forearm, a Libra tattoo.
On her face, the rising crescent Moon.

“Look,” I say, “Venus & Jupiter.”
She pauses, points, “Back there, that’s Mars.”
Seven Sisters, one hundred and eighty degrees—
the astrological Underworld.




After a Pampered Chef party in South Minneapolis, Liz and I stopped to take photographs at Minnehaha Falls. When we climbed the limestone steps to leave the park, a sliver of Moon rose next to two of the brightest stars. When I pulled up the Droid Star Chart app, they proved to be planets. Venus and Jupiter hovered over the waxing crescent Moon with the Pleiades close by. Right behind me, a stranger pointed out Mars.

According to Shamanic Astrology, March, 2012 begins the Underworld Saga where Venus (the feminine) and Mars (the masculine) only meet when they are with the Sun. Mars is always retrograde when it is opposite the Sun. This year it will be retrograde in the sign of Virgo for 81 days, January 23 to April 13, 2012. In 2113, Mars dips below the horizon and into the Underworld, a time of chaos and surrender in service to people and the greater community. Read more about the future at Shamanic Astrology and the predicted night sky at Sky and Telescope.

Star Chart was introduced to my by my brother when he visited last Fall and pulled up the night sky right over our heads. I highly recommend it. My second favorite app of the month is The Photographer’s Ephemeris. With TPE, you can instantly access information on the exact rise and set of the Sun and Moon, your altitude in relationship to the landscape, and times when the Sun and Moon will be at an optimal location in the sky for your photograph. When Liz and I were at the 50-foot bottom of Minnehaha Falls, we saved our location in TPE giving us all the info we need to return at an optimum time to photograph the Moon over the falls. Venus and Mars are alright tonight.

-posted on red Ravine, Saturday, March 31st, 2012

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Spring walk.

Spring Walk, Droid Shots, Minneapolis, Minnesota, March 2012, photos © 2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.




Let the essays compose themselves.
Two yellow finches and a strong March wind—
skywriter’s delight.






-posted on red Ravine, Sunday, March 11th, 2012

-related to post: haiku 4 (one-a-day) meets renga 52

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