Category Archives: poetry

The Language of Living Things

birds, nature, photography, poetry, Uncategorized, writing, , , , , , ,

How do birds chirp? This is a question I asked myself yesterday while taking a walk and listening to a songbird.

Do they have vocal cords? Do they blow air through their nostrils? Or is it something I can’t even fathom, like maybe a hum that starts in their bellies? I’d like to know the answer.

Somehow, the universe must have heard my question, because last night my husband turned on the TV to watch NOVA, and the episode was about how animals communicate. And although it didn’t specifically answer my question about how birds sing, it did have some fascinating things to say about the language of animals.

Did you know, for example, that male spiders have a vocal language when they mate, and that whales have certain hit songs that spread from ocean to ocean like the British Invasion of 1964?

We humans have much in common with other animals when it comes to language, and I’m not just talking about our mating behavior. Take Zipf’s Law, for example, which I learned about for the first time last night on NOVA. According to Zipf (by the way, I’m not sure how to pronounce Zipf, but he probably could tell me if he were still alive, since he was a linguist), there’s a universal rule when it comes to language.

Using computers, linguists have analyzed large texts in several languages and have found that if you rank the words in order according to how often they appear, there’s a mathematical relationship (Zipf’s Law):

  • The frequency of word #1 is two times that of word #2,
  • the frequency of word #1 is three times that of word #3,
  • and so on.

If you plot it on a graph, it makes a straight line (slope) from upper left to lower right. And the same graph happens no matter what language you use. It even works with vocalizations of dolphins, elephants, and birds!

I don’t pretend to know much about animal language, but it’s already changed how I react when I listen to the birds sing.

I wonder if they write poetry, too?

Hanging Out with Bats

humor, music, nature, photography, poetry, Travel, Uncategorized, writing, , , , , ,

Tucson has a large bat population. In 2008, there were about 200,000 bats living here. Who knows how many more there are now. Most of them migrate north from Mexico in April and stay until October.

By day, the bats hang out under bridges, emerging en masse at sunset for their nightly feeding frenzy. People gather near the bridges to watch the bats take off. Bat-watching is excellent and cheap entertainment.

Several years ago, a small group of folks in Tucson came up with the slogan, “Keep Tucson Shitty,” in response to Austin’s “Keep Austin Weird.” They did it as a joke, and it was embraced by another faction who were upset about the sudden gentrification of the scrappier parts of downtown. But “Keep Tucson Shitty” never caught on. Too many people were appalled and resented anything resembling a put-down of their beloved “Old Pueblo.”

I can understand why they would be appalled. I love Tucson’s beauty, its character, its blending of cultures, its mountains and sunsets and desert flowers. The last thing we want people to think of when they think of Tucson is excrement.

However, I think I’ve come up with a solution that will satisfy everyone. How about the slogan, “Keep Tucson Batty”? It might just be the compromise this town needs. On the one hand, it lets others know that Tucson’s a nature-loving town that values its bats and supports sustainable lifestyles, while on the other hand it recognizes the scruffiness that sets us apart from Phoenix.

I’ve even written a song (well, the lyrics, anyway) to go with the slogan. It’s sung to the melody of that Cuban classic, “Guantanamera,” with apologies to Jose Martí (Cuba’s national poet who wrote the lyrics originally used in the song).

I call my version “Guano-tanamera.”

Chorus:

Guano-tanamera, don’t step in guano-tanamera

Guano-tanamera, watch out for guano-tanamera

 

Verse 1:

I am a bat on a mission

For tasty bugs I am wishin’

Rather eat flies than go fishin’

Can’t drive, I don’t have ignition

Can’t fry an egg in the kitchen

But I have perfect night vision

 

Chorus:

Guano-tanamera, don’t step in guano-tanamera

Guano-tanamera, watch out for guano-tanamera

 

Verse 2:

We bats cannot go out shopping

For tasty tacos and toppings

That’s why each night without stopping

Out from the bridge we come popping

Over our guano you’ll be hopping

Or all your floors you’ll be mopping

 

Chorus:

Guano-tanamera, don’t step in guano-tanamera

Guano-tanamera, watch out for guano-tanamera

 

Verse 3:

Although I look kinda scary

I’m just a little bit hairy

My name’s not Tom, Dick, or Larry

But I can fly like a fairy

Over the town and the dairy

And City Hall where folks marry!

 

Chorus:

Guano-tanamera, don’t step in guano-tanamera

Guano-tanamera, watch out for guano-tanamera

 

Chorus:

Guano-tanamera, don’t step in guano-tanamera

Guano-tanamera, watch out for guano-tanamera.

 

Hovering

birds, nature, photography, poetry, , , , ,

Yesterday, while walking with a friend along the Rillito River, we stopped to admire a small wall that had been decorated with tiles. It depicted a desert scene, complete with cactuses, bees, flowers, and bats. There was a poem written in smaller tiles along the length of the wall. I’d seen the wall before and had read the poem, which is by Wendell Berry and is titled, The Peace of Wild Things.

I decided to snap a quick photo with my phone. Not wanting to hold up our walk, I gave the design a cursory glance and then decided to zoom in on just one cactus. My choice was almost random; there were many other images that I could have chosen, but this one seemed particularly colorful and I thought it would look good on Instagram.

After I got home and edited the photo, I noticed something almost miraculous. Right underneath the section that I had shot were the words, “Peace of Wild Things.” I thought it was a fitting photo for the day before Earth Day.

Untitled

And then I went for another walk, today, actual Earth Day, and I was lucky to spot a number of wild things, including the Anna’s hummingbird pictured at the top of this post. I also spotted several other birds, lizards, and flowers — all before arriving at my destination, a coffee shop where I enjoyed an Americano and a blueberry scone.

I felt lucky to be alive on this peaceful Earth Day morning, able to take a walk along a trail where wild things abound. I let my mind hover over that thought while sipping my coffee, much like that little hummingbird with her bright red flower.

Happy Earth Day Everyday.

 

 

Rapping It Up

music, poetry, writing, , , , , ,

Day 30 of the Nano Poblano (a.k.a. NaBloPoMo — National Blog Posting Month) challenge is finally here! Thanks for reading, thanks for writing, and thanks to the “cheer peppers” who made it all happen and cheered us on by “liking” our posts. I read the posts of my fellow bloggers religiously and learned so much from all of you.

I’m proud of myself for sticking with it, even though some days were a little rough. Somehow, I managed to eke out 30 different pieces, including:

  • two posts made within 15 minutes of midnight
  • one post consisting of only one sentence
  • two posts that were nothing but questions
  • one that included a video of me singing and playing guitar
  • a poem made up of 14 shorter haiku poems
  • many other posts, some with a bit of history, some just plain silly
  • no cat photos, and only one post with pictures of what I had for lunch

Even though I thoroughly enjoyed NanoPoblano, I’m looking forward to a little down time in December. (Did I just say down time in December?) This year, for the first time since I was a kid, I couldn’t wait for December to get here. I mean, I literally couldn’t wait. As soon as I returned home from New York yesterday, I changed both of my wall calendars to December without realizing that I was two days early.

There’s one thing I meant to post this month and didn’t. It’s a little embarrassing, but here goes: I don’t know how to rap. I don’t know much about it and I think I might be terrible at it. I’d like to learn, though, so that maybe I can use it in my songwriting projects. But how do you learn to rap? The same way you can learn almost anything these days: YouTube! I watched a few videos and I learned that some rappers (I think it’s called freestyle?) compose on the spot by thinking ahead to the end of the phrase before mentally writing the first line. I decided to try it, so I looked around the room for inspiration. I was in the kitchen. On the table was a glass, some cheese and crackers on a plate, and a vase of flowers. I grabbed my pad and pencil, and here’s the result. I may not win a Grammy, but if I make you smile it’s all worth it.

I had no support, I had no backers,
all I had going were these tasty crackers

I needed a genie to grant me three wishes
instead of all these glasses and dirty dishes

I wanted to be strong, I wanted magic powers
or maybe just a bunch of beautiful flowers

I had me some treble, I had me some bass
but I needed something else, like a flower vase

I asked that genie, pretty pretty please
can you bring me some money, or maybe just some cheese?

And on that note, I’m rapping up this edition of loristory. Happy December!

Featured image photo by Anita Peeples

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I Brake for Poetry

poetry, , , ,

Can you think of a more boring and uncomfortable place to spend a couple of hours than an auto repair shop waiting room? The room smells like rubber and fumes. The coffee tastes like rubber and fumes. The television, usually set to the news channel I love to hate, makes me fume. To my mind, there’s nothing pleasant about an auto repair shop waiting room … but wait. Could it be an opportunity for creativity?

I wondered that one Saturday afternoon in 2011, while sitting on a hard plastic chair in a Brake Master’s waiting room, sandwiched between the coffee pot and a rubber tire display. Desperate to escape this situation but unable to do so, since my only method of transportation was currently up on a lift, I did something rarely done in an auto repair shop waiting room: I wrote poetry.

Specifically, I challenged myself to write three-line poems about random objects that I saw while sitting there. Here’s what I came up with. They might not be very good, but they passed the time. You might want to try this method of escape next time you’re in an uncomfortable situation. (Brake) drum roll, please!

FLOOR
I walk through life as if there is a floor
and a ceiling
and something of substance in between.

TELEVISION
The woman in the box prattles on, oblivious
thinking she's all that matters in this room
I accept this, knowing it is true.

FAN
Fans are useful in the tropics
where orchids spring from steamy earth
and bodies cling to gauzy shirts.

SANDALS
She slipped off her sandals and left them by the door
hoping they'd still be there when it was time to leave the cage.
You never knew about a hungry lion.

COFFEE POT
If a kitchen had a double agent, it would be the coffee pot
keeping things lively
while watching your every morning move.

BATHROOM
Bathrooms should be outrageous spaces.
A woman I know has the best one.
It's purple and is decorated with boobs.

MAGAZINE
The glossy magazine calls to me
with parted lips and false eyelashes
but I resist and choose reality, reluctantly.

CHAIR
I sit here and await the verdict
when all I asked for was an oil change
and some honesty.

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Branded on Black Friday

poetry, writing, , , , ,

BRANDED

Who are you wearing?

Whose name’s on your shirt?

What’s on your label,

your purse, and your skirt?

Where did you buy that, and

where was it made?

Is it a knock-off?

How much have you paid?

Did you go shopping

or order by mail?

Visit an outlet store?

Find a good sale?

Did a designer

initial your dress?

Is that a Gucci?

Oh wait, let me guess!

What’s in your closet?

Did you pay enough?

Or did you just order

a bunch of cheap stuff?

Can you keep up with

her wardrobe, or mine?

Is yours generic,

or top of the line?

What does it say

on the soles of your shoes?

Do you insist on

the higher-priced booze?

Are your kids’ crayons

imported from France?

Do you have signatures

sewn on your pants?

Black Friday is here!

(so the ad-man demands) …

but can you imagine

a world without brands?

Maybe Monday

poetry, writing, , ,

A poem inspired by a conversation I had recently, and also just because it’s Monday:

MAYBE

Maybe I use the word “maybe” too much,

imagining motives that might or might not be

the actual meanings for certain behaviors,

when maybe I need to just think and keep mum.

Someone’s suggested a savvy solution:

stay silent, stop guessing, and simply say “hmm …”

However, if I’m to hum “hmm …” for an hour,

what will become of my quizzical questions?

Will they queue up in my querying mind?

Will I develop a wrinkled expression,

willfully wandering, seeking solutions

to confounding conundrums?

Will I go crazy?

Hmm? Well … maybe.

Mountain Man

poetry, writing, , , , ,

Today I attended the funeral of my brother-in-law, Jerry. He was married, had two sons, worked for 30 years as a self-employed building contractor, and loved nature. He climbed all 46 of the Adirondacks mountain peaks. The room was packed with friends, neighbors, and family who came to say goodbye. There was a tremendous outpouring of love for Jerry. My mind is so full of all of the beautiful reminiscences, quotes, anecdotes, stories, and descriptions of the man that I am at a loss as to what to say on this page tonight. All I can do is tell you a little bit about him through the following poem that I wrote for him.

For Jerry

When I think of you, Jerry,

I think of mountains

and oceans,

your arms and hands

gentle yet well-suited

for climbing

and fishing

and building.

I think of your smile

and of fatherhood

and of sticking with a plan,

and of your interest

in our family

and in many things

other than yourself.

I’m so sorry you are ill

but I’m thankful that you feel no pain

I hope for your recovery

and yet I know that you are climbing

the steepest mountain of your life.

(Is it number 47?)

And we are here with you

calling out to you,

steadying your feet,

handing you a rope,

but we don’t need to do that

you can handle it

you with those mountains in your eyes.

Some of us are up ahead,

and others of us, well,

we aren’t too far behind

we’re keeping our eyes on your light

shining like a beacon on the mountainside.

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Haiku Hour

poetry, writing, , , , ,
Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

Haiku Hour

Can’t sleep, up at five
check my phone for messages
someone liked my post

I eat my breakfast
granola and some coffee
now to get to work

I could try haiku
I get a pad of paper
broken pencil point

maybe I’ll give up
go back to bed and dream of
being late for school

but something tells me
try again, you idiot
so what can I do?

another coffee
a sharpened pencil this time
and an eraser

it’s five thirty now
the sun has not arisen
birds are still asleep

my street is quiet
I don’t hear any traffic
writing time is now

ten minutes have passed
I have not written a word
the page is empty

maybe I should try
a little meditation
and see what happens

find a quiet spot
close my eyes, breathe in, breathe out
repeat my mantra

buzzing in my ears
I feel like I am floating
a dog is barking

five barks in a row
silent for a moment, then
seven barks, then five

secret learned today:
all the world is poetry
glad to be alive.

© Lori Bonati, 2017

Badge 2017

Sea of Cortez

poetry, writing, , , ,

It’s Day 12 of the Nano Poblano blogging challenge. I’ve managed to get through days 1 through 11 without too much trouble, but today I really struggled to think of something profound, interesting, funny, or newsworthy. My mind was a blank, so I looked in my blog closet. (That’s where I keep all of my old, wrinkled, dusty ideas.) But my blog closet was empty, except for a bunch of hangers. Well, there was one thing hanging in it. A t-shirt. The t-shirt said, “I went to the Sea of Cortez, and all I got was this lousy poem.”

Just kidding. I don’t really have a blog closet, or a t-shirt that says that. But that’s how I felt, until I re-read the old poem below and thought to myself, “I kind of like it.” So here it is, my old raggedy t-shirt of a poem. I hope you like it, too. Tomorrow I’ll post some Sea of Cortez photos.

Oh, and by the way, I went to Nano Poblano 2017, and so far I’m getting a lot more than a lousy t-shirt. I’m bringing back a lot of great souvenirs (your posts).

Sea of Cortez

Thin white clouds as flat as sheets
lay pressed and cool against the sky
while underneath, the warm sea surged
like liquid glass on wrinkled sand.

A bent man in a canvas chair
sat silently and watched the waves;
his hearing ran out long ago
and so he listened with his heart.

Two boys with skin as pink as shrimp
dug holes and filled them up with stones,
then threw them at some guileless gulls
just to make them fly away.

The old man saw the flat white clouds,
the pink boys, and the pale blue sky
and felt the pounding of the surf,
a pulse that came in measured beats,

A song of stones hurled into space,
of blood thundering through the veins,
a sound that only mermaids speak
and only hearts can understand.

© Lori Bonati, 2017

Badge 2017