Wet.

Explosion!

...of color here! 

This is fall 

in the High Country 

'full on!'

Shabby (and I like it.)

Shabby (and I like it.)

I peel off the chic and fancy garments adorning me on my day out  
(you know, the ‘dress-up’ type items of apparel that are posh 
enough to put on the dog!) My black pants 
(now amply decorated with clumps of prolific long white collie dog hair 
that has ‘attached’ only moments after my being home) 
and my floral, wispy blouse come off! I need my clogs, 
my shabby jeans and my loose, comfy cotton. 
The truth of it is, I prefer this ultra-shabby, sloppy, slipshod, 
uneven and mostly worn-out look above all else. 
Perhaps I can travel ‘incognito,’ as a bum or as 
a tramp named “Rose” or “Delilah” or “Rita.” 
I can pass myself off as someone 'too poor to have an opinion 
that would be considered.' I wish I could travel about as this…
and never have to dress up. And I will most likely come back 
in a second life as a frumpy old scarecrow 
left standing in a field with 
only the brave birds as my faithful friends.  

lg :-)

Deboxing Day!

You can find me here!

Futzing with Dollies

Another doll...:-)

Find me here: 

(for now...)

:-)

Futzing with Dollies

Silver Woman

Asheville (NC) Mime

This wonderfully amazing woman was one of my all time favorite subjects 

to photograph. Take a good look at the fabric of her dress, the veins 

and wrinkles on her skin, her buttons...Her face is so smooth and beautiful!

People amaze me! What a delightful thing it was to encounter her in 
Asheville, North Carolina one hot summer afternoon. :-)

Two best shots...to date.

First Visitation of a Hummingbird in Spring



(This has been hard! 

We are still trying diligently, 
to bring you a really good shot, here.) 
lg

:-)

Persevere...

until you get the prize.

These are (just) two of about 70+ photos we took of the first hummingbirds to arrive last week. For whatever reason, we did not get good result! Study the first photo (with me.) Now why (oh why!) is the bird feeder absolutely crystal clear in this shot and the hummingbird (except its beak) is an absolute blurrrrr of motion?!! Look at the contrast! This is an amazing shot! (My favorite!!) :-)

The second shot is the best photo (of too many, I might add.) Perhaps the camera would simply not cooperate! Or is it that this bird...was as fast...as lightening? (I've seen better shots of lightening, I might add.) 

Hence, we have dubbed this bird, "Lightening Bolt." 

We will persevere to bring you better, clearer shots (as the summer progresses as we have many hummingbird visitors...)  

lg!

(My) Childhood Shoes

(My) Childhood Shoes

I fancied myself free

I danced a waltz tonight

I danced a polka 123-123

I spun on rose petals and pressed on bike pedals

I ran across the bridge cement and metal

bang-bang to my secret place where silver fishes lie waiting

and streetlights play games that are highlights

I skid across the inclined face of the moon

slippery like cheeses down to Natti’s Gap

I plodded along walls that wall in the strong cities

I shook the dust off myself after being made fun of

I had holes

ran a mile

and then I ran another

I felt the cool clay of the cavern-cave

and splashed through the shallow icy water slip-sliding

over rocks to get stuck deep in Lake Michigan’s mud

I kicked up my heels

kicked the cat

and then I jumped over the house.



© Karen Powell

Morning Prayer

Morning Prayer

Be in my fanciful meanderings

Be in my midnight glide on a silver moon beam carpet slide

up and up I slip across the black tree fingers of the very next pine lined ridge

Up and up I sail to my friend

the white hot crescent 
cool night moon

Be in the spine of my cat as I perch myself

upon the very tip of the last long black prick hair 
on his slow curling twitch-twitch tail 
and as I find myself in the dull glint

of his slow moving yellow eyes

open wide

and watching

Be in the hint of gleaming light as it peek-peeks

out from behind 

my five year companion the Looking Glass Tree branch 
as it plays its own game with me

yes my game an early morning game

trying as it would to cover up my (other) sweet friend

my white hot bright morning star

yes my morning

star of the east

my own yes my very own

rising up game 

that I play

Be in the ill-tempered Appalachian wind

as it rises and it builds
piling up full out on the ridges below

and then letting loose like a mini swarm of sometimes ill-intentioned

climbing well weighted down Mack trucks

They race-roar their engines

steady they go

up and up to reach the summit

of this my fair mountain—

causing the dog to turn her head

and me to brace my body

Be in the folds of his gray-white beard

that he strokes

softly

then slowly  

again as he lies pressed down

on his sickbed

where he waits patiently

for a touch from

dear 

sweet one Jesus

and the medication

Be with the man

my man

husband of more than 20 years

alone in the next shade

of an off white room 


© Karen Powell

Newsflash!

My husband saw the FIRST hummingbird at the feeder today 

(April 22nd, 2014.) 

This is a most 'sure' sign of impending spring!! 

(I am so glad to have the little guys back.) :-)

These photos are from last summer, however, 

as we have yet to get the feeder up and running! 
(I rather randomly chose some photos from the archives. 
Some are quite good, I was surprised to find.)

I'm excited, as you can tell.

Although they are small, 
they live a dramatic lifestyle!

As these photos show, 

they are such lovely and fierce little creatures... 

Ahhhhh.

You can locate me here this week:

'Kicking Back' ;-)

(On) Family and Marriage

'Family'

(On) Marriage

(by K. Annie Powell)

Butter and bread

butter and bread

go together

Naturally

Honey and tea

honey and tea

are a complement to one another

Gracefully

You and me

you and me

fit together through and through

Phenomenally.

'Little Birdie'

Little Birdie

I don’t want this poem crafted

with stanzas

or to end with a shocking ‘surprise’

Most certainly I do not want this poem to gob-smack

you right in between your eyes

I want this poem to be like a muzzle that sneaks up behind for a little cuddle 
I want this poem to be soft, feathery, and brown
I want this poem to grow up right from the ground
I want this poem to be lighter than air
I want this poem to float everywhere
I want this poem to sing a sweet little song
I want this poem to just happen along
I want this poem to vanish as you turn your head
I want this poem to greet you as you rise up from your bed
I want this poem to fly fly away 
and to come back at the end of the day 
I want this poem to give you a thrill
I want this poem to meet you over there on the hill
and if you're in doubt the same time next year
I want this poem to reappear.


© Karen Ann Powell

"How Dark is the Night?"

How dark is the night

when your baby boy

has left you?
Lying-he lies
stretched full out
with her by his side
alone on a nubby white bed.

Their candle-
it seems 
all but snuffed 
full out
I cannot comprehend

no warmth in his small fingers

they curl up with the mourners

spread apart in the room adjacent

filled with grief stricken silence 
broken up by her sobs

I am 20…
(I am 20)

How dark is the night?

How dark is the night?

A mother sits looking
her head turned aside
leaving her baby to slip

slowly he slides...

downward but looking up 
grimy is the Appalachian 
black water tendrils

as inward they glide along the curve of his skull 
Confused is 
the look 
as farther he sinks

Black water, you lie!
You are a liar
There is no truth in you

How dark is the night?

How dark is the night?

Must I walk these halls alone

with my vision obscured

banging my shins broken now bleeding 

Once vital the helper-now helped

I scratch my head asking
over I turn this
one thing
I ask
“How dark is the night?”


© Karen Powell