by Prasanta | Sep 1, 2020 | Uncategorized
(I’m not quite ready for the porch swinging to end! But I know those days are coming.) Porch Swing in September by Ted Kooser The porch swing hangs fixed in a morning sun that bleaches its gray slats, its flowered cushion whose flowers have faded, like those of...
by Prasanta | Jun 21, 2020 | Poetry, Seasons, Summer
Solstice Lament A leaf, flower, blue egg blossom in brief— short season of thaw before heads scurry in holes. For now, irony— gaining inches of darkness while days shimmer in verdurous splendor, efflorescent interval. Light soon dissolves— night spreads...
by Prasanta | Sep 23, 2019 | Poetry, Summer, Uncategorized
1540 (As Imperceptibly as Grief) – By Emily Dickinson As imperceptibly as Grief The Summer lapsed away— Too imperceptible at last To seem like Perfidy— A Quietness distilled As Twilight long begun, Or Nature spending with herself Sequestered Afternoon— The Dusk...
by Prasanta | Sep 18, 2019 | Autumn, Poetry, Seasons, Summer, Uncategorized
Porch Swing in September by Ted Kooser The porch swing hangs fixed in a morning sun that bleaches its gray slats, its flowered cushion whose flowers have faded, like those of summer, and a small brown spider has hung out her web on a line between porch post and chain...
by Prasanta | Jul 1, 2019 | Photos, Summer, Uncategorized
Summer means a trip to a lake. If you look carefully in the right third and about 2/3 way down, you’ll see a redwing blackbird sitting on these tall grasses or reeds. And of course, what lake visit isn’t complete without a giant pink flamingo floatie big...
by Prasanta | Sep 19, 2018 | Beauty, Change, Life, Seasons, Summer, Wordless Wednesday
Late Summer Roses But friendship is the breathing rose, with sweets in every fold. – Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. Would Jove appoint some flower to reign, in matchless beauty on the plain, the Rose (mankind will all agree). The Rose the queen of...
by Prasanta | Aug 31, 2018 | Haiku, Nature, Poetry, Quotes, Uncategorized
… and so the day slips the long mournings of trees last traces of gold © prasanta – August 2018 “August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.” ― Sylvia...
