.
Hammered and chiseled
Heart of the shining matter
Better days unknown
.
Gleams soften edges
Chinks mirrored in the armor
That which makes a man
.
Achievements bred in
Suffering bled out unduly
Glisten onward home
.
.
Hammered and chiseled
Heart of the shining matter
Better days unknown
.
Gleams soften edges
Chinks mirrored in the armor
That which makes a man
.
Achievements bred in
Suffering bled out unduly
Glisten onward home
.
Uncle Tree's House 
Beautiful.
Thank you, Pearl!
Very nice to see this, Uncle Tree.
nice post. I love the part about being chiseled. that was really sweet and caring with a scent of love. What a great poem!
http://lotsofcheats2.wordpress.com/
I’m glad you came by to look, Maj One. Thanks!
It was sweet of you to stop in and say so, son Sora. Gracias!
I had to think about this for a bit. it is a good thing when the name of the homestead is “I have accepted all I am become”
Yes, Mark. That is the ‘honest to God’, living, loving truth.
I am my Dad’s pride and glory, for home is where
the heart resides at every given moment.
And yet we look down on the proud.
So what? It’s okay to have pride
as long as it doesn’t have you?
This devilish trick question
makes no sense to me.
I love this picture.
I hope you come to love me2, Pearl. 😉
(I couldn’t resist saying that.)
“Lead me knot…” Ha-ha!
Too late. Hugz, girl!
I knot.
I Tai chi.
I Magnin?
You play dress-up?
I knot tell a lie. But everybody does.
Thai Chi shoes are where I draw the line, however.
I think we should get serious now. ::cough::
Serious and Robust, yes.
Oh, where is my catalogue?
You should get that cough checked out.
The flu is running rampant with the devils
that possessed the swine. (Luke 8:33)
I almost drowned myself last week. Yikes!
Hi there Keith,
I love this picture!
~ Kate
That’s awesome Uncle (both picture and verse) It is a cherished feeling when taking good care of ones health enables a father to switch gears and become a good friend once the father job is done.
You are blessed Uncle Tree
Thank you, Dusty!
Hey, I like your new tone. (Don’t think I didn’t notice.)
You are right though, I feel lucky and blessed, which is about
the same thing. My dad is one of the friendliest guys you’d ever
chance to meet. He is way, way more than a friend though.
78 and going strong, he lives to play golf, and is a Cardinal
(baseball) fanatic. He had a bit of cancer taken off his ear last week,
so he’d been on my mind a lot lately. He can only hear in one ear,
and that’s the one they fixed. He can’t wear his hearing aid, and Mom
complains that he is blasting out the sound on the t.v. downstairs.
He can’t wear his glasses, either, until Wednesday, but other than that,
he was in good spirits and doing well when last I talked to him.
Have a fine Sunday, my friend, and thanks again for listening.
It’s good to see you, Kate! Glad you like.
dear Keith,
I wish you could have joined me on my walk last night. I strolled along the river for almost 2 hours, because I just couldn’t leave Cara Luna unattended in his upward climb to a magnificient sky high view.
It has been a most challenging summer – but autumn is arriving in wonderful ways, and I am embracing It with a full heart and hands to gather leaves 🙂
shake some my way UT 😉
love ~ Kate
p.s.
You do have an amazing Dad! Here is a warm hug for him and his full recovery!
so this is your real blog… i left my comment on your ‘unreal’ blog!
🙂
again thanks for your visit… leading me to your amazing world…
i’m being hammered hard in my life now and reading this poem was great!
🙂
Yes, human being, this is my first real blog.
If you are really in Iran, I’m practically flabbergasted! Amazing worlds do
pop up unexpectedly when we courageously roam into new frontiers.
Sorry to hear about your hammer downers. That territory I know.
Thanks for being brave, human person, brave enough to talk to a tree.
A lovely poem for your Dad UT. He seems to still be a young man. [Making you even younger 🙂 ]
Best wishes for his speedy and complete recovery.
Thank you for the kind wish and the compliment, Bonnie!
My dad is living proof of what clean livin’ does for one in the long run.
2 hours is quite the long stroll, Kate. I bet it’s still nice and warm around Tampa.
We had our first frost of the season early this morning, believe it or knot.
30 degrees caught me by surprise. I’m not even ready for winter!
I did get up rather early this morning, in time to watch the full moon set.
The sky was clear and the wind still as Cara Luna changed from the
brightest white to a hue of yellowish-orange, before adding a light shade
of pink, and then violet, as it slowly continued to drop behind the trees.
P.S. I’ll tell Dad you send hugz and good wishes. Thank you. Luvz, Keith
I think it is beautifull, at least how it sounds dear uncle, dear dear dear tree. I just have one problem, I can barely understand a think, a read it several times, and there are words I do not get, which when I check them in the dictionary, I can also do not seem to make sense. Can you show me a simplified version of it? just without the complicated words for me, like the part that says Glisten onward home, I can not get it.
I am chancking my mind, maybe is not such a good idea I am thinking, because the magic of the poem can be lost, and I do not want it dear uncle.
I love you and I want all you things to be great as they are and will be.
Dear, dear Mariana,
You remind me of a deer in the headlights, standing stunned
in the middle of the road, looking me straight in the eye
with an expression of perplexus grande written all over your
dear, deery face. That is completely understandable.
I see haiku’s as a chance to write in a rather vague, or non-specific
manner. There are so few words that one doesn’t have the time
or the space to explain exactly what one is trying to convey.
I try to avoid cliches(?) like “a diamond in the rough”. This piece is all
mixed up. I tried to show the commonalities between a finished
wooden sculpture and a well-used, well-worn suit of shining armor.
Reflections, bright ones especially, do not allow us to see the fine
edges that distinguish an object from the space that surrounds it.
Buddhists are into that spark that resides deep beneath the skin.
That self-same spark is Shakespeare’s “glossy essence”, i.e. the soul.
At the end of our lives, are we to be measured by our achievements,
or by all that we have suffered and won through pain and persistence?
Sharp points have simple meanings. They can stick to you, and
therefore stay with you for a lifetime. Dents, chinks and scars, my dear.
Some of them cannot be fixed, only endured. And having indeed
endured them, they can become trophies, or a place to hang your hat
at the end of the day, so to (figuratively) speak.
Glisten onward home? The Shining…all the way to the grave. R.I.P.
Luv you, too! Hope that helps a teeny weeny bit. UT
jua, I loved your description of me is hilarious, you are always making me laugh dear uncle.
I like your description about haikus, but I also think that they are used many times sadly, for trying to look misterious and having nothing to say. I think you have to distinguish haiku writters, it is not a very easy thing to do.
Very interestig, first I muts tell you that it is clear to me that you do not ever write a clishe, but I did not know you tried to do it on purpose, but I think it is a good policy to write well. Also interesting your holistic way of describing things, really great.
I got it now, buddha an sheakespeare, neat.
Ou, I see what the cryptical phrase means now, hard to get impossible for me.
Cool reflection about the ending, I once read a quotation that said something like this “aren t our eyes filming cammeras, that records all our actions and deeds we perform during our lifetimes and when we die the roll is sent to the purgatory to decide were will we spend the rest of our life in, (Heaven or hell maybe).” Hope you liked my badly told quote.
I read it all at once and it was more clear to me, I wont lie to you and say that now it is easy to get it quickly but If I practice I am sure I will.
It helped me and tought me a lot, thank you very very much uncle tree.
Your welcome, dear niece.
My next post will be right up your alley, I think.
It’s high time I turn another cliche on it’s head.
This time around, I’ll let you answer my question.
Your quote was about the Akashi records, I believe.
Don’t bother yourself too much over not understanding me.
I’m sure others have felt the same way, but for some
reason or other, they don’t come out and tell me.
I don’t mind explaining my thought processes, really! Bye, UT
no need to sharpen your pencil further, dear tree.
no dull points, edges clear, mystery intact.
You are amazing!
xo
think i understand Mariana… and you too Uncle Tree…
she is a scientist… she is after the why… the answer… mysteries just entice her to probe more… to examine (even to dissect)… so that she can see what’s going on… and how… and why…
while
the poet or in general the artist is not completely aware of the scheme of the things happening in his or her poem or art… s/he recreates the mystery s/he is in… in her or his own style… s/he presents the world with a mystery… a question…
but
the collaboration between the two is what our world needs… when a scientist who has got a beautiful mind and a passionate heart tries to understand the world through art…
this is what i call ‘creaticism’…
and dear uncle… yes i’m REALLY in Iran… and i’m REALLY glad i have friends like you to encourage me…. to give me heart…
namaste!
It’s nice to know you think so, Kate. I’ll take it to heart. Thanks!
Creaticism, human being?
As in, creation and criticism eloping together?
“…not completely aware of the scheme of things”
I’m afraid that’s rather true of us all at this point in time.
Granted, some of us may be closer to the truth than others.
Mariana’s research may one day lead to a new discovery, or perhaps
to a new realm we’ve yet to investigate. It might even be an
accidental find, for sometimes we stumble and trip over
things until we look for the cause of the misstep.
Iran, huh? That brings many a question to my mind. Too many.
I guess I’ll be content to know you’re a bridge builder, if nothing else.
Glad to have made your acquaintance, too. It’s mystifying. Good day! UT
human being said-
“the poet or in general the artist is not completely aware of the scheme of the things happening in his or her poem or art… s/he recreates the mystery s/he is in… in her or his own style… s/he presents the world with a mystery… a question…”
This is amazing, to see someone write these words. I never know how to say this, and you have said it perfectly. All of it, but especially this part. So often I write something that someone sees literally, as strictly about self, or as something that needs explanation, and I almost never can really explain.
[But Uncle Tree, I notice you do it well. Admired.]
Thank you, great comment.
–Pearl
Oh, but Pearl, if I create the main scheme behind the plot,
I would think I should be aware of it. If I were to unconsciously
veer away or change the hero’s motive midsteam, then I might say I
wasn’t aware of the scheme. Or then again, perhaps the scheme changed
during production when some new idea filtered it’s way through my
brain’s soft and icky outer layers. I’ve ‘had it’ in a variety of fashions.
If I help someone to feel something, I don’t care if that particular feeling
was intended or knot, as long as their being (human) actually felt some
thing or other. I’d love to hit on the universal, but I’m knot all that worldly.
I rarely do anything for no good reason.
No one wood understand it if I did.
Admiration? Oh, Lordy, I’m not worthy.
Give me time. Hugz! UT
Tree? You, knot worldly?
Hmm.
Well, it’s those roots then. I’m sure of it.
You wrote this: If I help someone to feel something, I don’t care if that particular feeling
was intended or knot, as long as their being (human) actually felt some
thing or other.
Now this is interesting. It seems to be our job, or a poems job: making [helping] someone feel. So, if that does happen, perhaps you’re right in it Knot mattering what “language” it happens in. That I wrote of the moon and someone read it as Mars? I’ve always said that once I’ve written it, it’s no longer personal, so if you read it Mars, I guess I have to let you.
Uh, you do see I am not talking “You”, in the literal sense, right?
Hmm, it’s all knot making sense, now that I’m reading it.
::sigh:: I must have one of those trances coming on. Or one of my spells.
BTW–Myself, I like to write in that trance state I ocassionaly find self in. That’s when I get poetry. We created the main plot or knot, I find I sometimes write with a bit of blind foresight [how’s that for a contradiction?], the full story only revealing itself to me over time, after the fact, after the writing is long done.
Wonder if that makes sense.
Hmm, what would Sylvia Brown say? On second thought, never mind that.
Thanks, Tree, for letting me ponder once again here.
You make sense just fine, Pearl.
Concerning trances or spells we get into as we write, I wonder
if I’m actually getting stuck on the right side of my brain. It’s no use
talking to me for an hour or so afterwards, because…you know,
I won’t be fully present to give you my undivided attention.
Ideas, for me, do come from “out there” somewhere
even though I know they’re not really knots to be unwound.
Sylvia Brown is beyond “out there”. Way.
Time to go, kind lady. I’ll leaf you with this. If I may quote myself:
“For the sake of intention, I stumble aimlessly
and grope for the words that lift me up,
hoping, that in the process, I can lighten your burden.”