In Sanjay Gandhi National Park, Mumbai, India
Archive for: December, 2010
what do you do with those blank pages in a notebook, lab book, or journal? Not the ones at the beginning or end, but the pages you accidentally miss while writing, or skip when they stick together. Do you go back and use them for something else or just let them lie empty?
somehow I missed these pages
nestled in a mountain of thoughts
two blank pages that appear
in the heart of the furor
blank and waiting
a pause, lull in the ringing sound
a moment without movement
an empty page, not the beginning
nor the end of the journey
but a moment forgotten, ignored
how many blank pages are there?
prolonged moments of sublime nothing
between the rise and the fall
these empty pages are a testament
to all those moments that leave no mark
a child on the street, begging for coins
a glass of scotch among old friends
the ticket taker on the train
or the quiet taxi driver.
moments that mean nothing, but are everything.
I shall fill these empty pages
with moments from the void
that were, but are never remembered.
begin with three pairs
wear pair one for one day
wear pair two for one day
wear pair three for two days
you now have two pairs that are cleaner than pair three
now start the cycle again, but this time
wear pair one for two days
wear pair two for two days
wear pair three for two days
you still have two pairs that are cleaner than pair three
continue extending the days
after each cycle, the "fresh" underwear
will always seem much cleaner
wear pair one for three days
wear pair two for three days
wear pair three for three days
repeat forever and enjoy your field season.
On a spice plantation in India,
it echoes through the cashew trees. The song
that slowly changes, the song they all sing.
The same song they sing on the Beaufort docks,
while mending their empty shrimp nets. The song
that sharply rises, the song they all sing.
And on a coffee farm in New Guinea,
among the hog hands of Carolina,
in the California vineyards, the song.
A somber hymnal, the song they all sing.
How can it be that men who work the earth,
from distant nations, alien cultures,
all sing the song? In their own languages,
yet still, the same song. The song they all sing.
The drought is too long, the rains are too short,
the frost too early, the spring comes to late,
and no one remembers a time before,
when they could not predict changing seasons.
And the ones who see sing a song. The song
for a broken world, the song they all sing.
Hydrothermal vents, we often see the outside of them, covered in the rich and diverse communities that thrive in the chemical-rich waters or standing alone spewing fourth great black effluent. Below is the tip of a hydrothermal vent.
What do they look like within?
Heavy metals are deposited on the inner wall, including copper, nickel, zinc, iron pyrite, and gold.