Little Minds

Little Minds

Let us wander in the mountains,
Where the peaks are shining high
And the streams that run in valleys
Reflect the sun and sky.

Let us loiter by the ocean side
And look out to the sea,
Where the waves are racing landwards
To those like you and me.

The mountain does not know us.
The ocean heeds us not.
By neither are we needed—
Who will each be soon forgot.

With you and I forgotten
And all our strivings vain,
The peak will still be shining
And the wave will crash again.

******

And that is why it’s mindful
To climb up on the hill
And to walk beside the ocean,
So our little minds are still.

There’s a mind, that we are part of,
That in silence can be heard,
Though it does not know of language
And never speaks a word.
 
We can hear it if we listen
In the pauses of our thoughts,
As we learn to be accepting
That we’re each a string of naughts.

From nothing, we have risen—
And to nothing, we’ll subside.
We can joyfully embrace this—
Or, try, from this, to hide.

******

It is difficult for some of us,
Who strive to be the heroes,
To let go of their little minds
And realize they’re zeros.

So do not say these things to Trump
Or speak of this to Modi.
Make off, instead, with Donald’s pants—
Or run, with Naren’s dhoti.

They may try to hide their penises
And all the world may laugh—
And then perhaps they might perceive
Their little minds were chaff.

They might go then to the ocean
Or climb up on the hill—
And for once be no more needy,
As their little minds are still.

******

We once could see the starry sky
With its myriad specks of light.
We knew that we were nothing then
But now have lost that sight.

And so had kings and emperors
Who ruled in times now past.
Now even common folk forget
That none of us will last.

Let’s each release the little mind;
Breathe in, breathe out, be still—
So each can hear that ocean wave
And look out from that hill.

But being only mortals, we
May seek reminders, so
We need at times to see that sky
And hear that ocean roar.

2018 October 26th, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York 

  

Morning in the Mountains

Morning in the Mountains

When the mists of night are rising
From the valleys to the hills
And the morning sun is shining
As the eagles take to wing,
Then the children wake from slumber
As the mother lights the fire—
And they rise from bed and shiver
As the birds of morning sing.

The peaks on high are glowing
And their colors change to white.
They shine as clouds surround them
And the shadows dance with light.
It is morning in the mountains
As the sun has chased the night.

2018 March 3rd, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York  

Morning in Berea

Note: To see the images in this post in a somewhat larger and clearer format, please single-click on any one image. Then use either your keyboard's right and left arrow keys or click on the thumbnails to view the other images in turn. Captions will not be visible.

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P.S.  I will search for the credits and links to the images that are currently missing those, and add them later.

Note that the images after the end of the verses and in the notes that follow are not directly related to Berea or Kentucky. They are related, instead, to a phrase (Crees and Cajuns) and a word (Appalachians) used in the verses.
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Morning in Berea

Morning in Berea, Kentucky
https://www.instagram.com/p/BIZ56GZhHSX/

Ah mountains, I have dreamed of ye,

that rose like isles from a feathered sea.

The distance clad your waves in blue,

and nearer ye were green in hue.

And when the mists rose up at morn,

that soul that now is mine was born

that keeps that treasure, in its heart,

revealed by sun and nature's art.

  

Those mountains, in my dreams, I see,
that rose like isles from a cloudy sea.
The distance draped their waves in blue,
and  nearer they were green in hue.

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To Cecil, Deborah and Sharla I say,

"My thanks for the 'likes' that you gave me today,

  but Cecil had posted those mountains of blue—

and writing my verses was all I could do."
   

******

Early winter sky, Newfound Gap Road, by Kristina Plaas
Great Smoky Mountains National Park
Sing to Me        ভোরের আশার গান

Morning Glory, Haywood County North Carolina
http://vacationorholiday.blogspot.com/2009/03/north-carolina.html

Noah (Bud) Ogle Homeplace, built late 1880's, Roaring Fork Motor Trail,
Great Smoky Mountains, by L.D. Coffey
LD Coffey Pics     https://www.facebook.com/ldcoffeypics

View from Blue Ridge Parkway, autumn

So I thank you all kindly for the “likes” for the verse,

though my use of the "ye" made it worse. 

I have tried to rewrite it, so the gods will not smite it,

as I'm stuck with the scrivener's curse.

For the lines that I scribble--they often are drivel,

but at times they have sound and have sense.

So I'll scribble my drivel, but then I will quibble,

and erase and rewrite what I'd scribbled.

The lines that I write are written despite

what my reason might tell me is right,

for Ms. Muse is dictating, and I merely am writing,

and often not hearing her right.

But then she will tap me and gently correct me

or give me a slap and a scold.

And then I will grumble—but slowly or swiftly

I'll do as Ms. Muse might direct me.

******
  

When Cecil posts pictures of the blue Appalachians,

or those of ancestors of Crees or of Cajuns,

I feel in my heart then a singing and so

I type then that song as my drivel and go.

  

2016 August 6th, Sat.

Brooklyn, New York

Cree encampment

Cree boatwomen
http://usclibstore.usc.edu/Edward-Sheriff-Curtis/The-North-American-Indian-V-18

Cree couple in front of tepee (tipi)

Souwangesheick and his squaws, Cree Indians

Cree man
http://usclibstore.usc.edu/Edward-Sheriff-Curtis/The-North-American-Indian-V-18

Cree woman

Cree man

Cajun house and a tree, by Floyd Sonnier
https://www.floydsonnier.com/

Cajun cafe and a tree, by Floyd Sonnier
https://www.floydsonnier.com/

Back porch waltz, by Floyd Sonnier
https://www.floydsonnier.com/

La Boucherie Des Cajuns (the Cajuns' butcher shop/meat cooking?), by Floyd Sonnier
https://www.floydsonnier.com/

Cajun boy and girl in Mobile County, Alabama

James Carville, canny and vocal political consultant,
known as "the Ragin' Cajun".  He is from Louisiana, as
is quite evident from his speech, but  he may not be of
Cajun descent.

Acadian to Cajun

http://www.medschool.lsuhsc.edu/genetics_center/louisiana/article_cajunhistory.htm

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Notes on "Morning in Berea"

 

A) Connection to Berea, Kentucky
  

Mu Facebook friend Cecil has been living in Kentucky for a very long time.  I had first "met" him on Facebook via a cousin of mine, who had also been in Kentucky for a while, during and after her college years. She had followed another cousin to college in Berea, in eastern Kentucky (part of Appalachia).  She had subsequently lived for some years, deep in the wooded hills of Kentucky, in an isolated cottage not reachable then by road.  She had bravely lived there--without modern utilities and conveniences, while still enjoying the wilds.

Of course, other than the pictures of the mountains and some references to them in the verses, those who have actually lived in Berea or other parts of Kentucky might find little in this post that relates to their lives and experiences there.

Do feel free to add these and other things and thoughts in the comments, at the end of the post.
 
-- Arjun
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B) Context for the verses

I was a latecomer to Facebook, but I have been spending a bit too much time on it lately--mostly "sharing" posts that I think merit this for various reasons, and also commenting on some posts, occasionally lapsing into verse in my comments.

Cecil had recently posted a picture of blue-green mountains, rising from the mist, taken in Berea, Kentucky.  Seeing it, I wrote the first two stanzas above--as a comment to his Facebook post. Subsequently, I added a third stanza, which was a repeat of the first, but with the archaic "ye" replaced.

Soon after, I wrote, in a follow-up comment,  some rhymed notes of thanks to Cecil and to some others who had read the verses and "liked" them on Facebook.  I also apologized for my acquired habit of fussing over my verses--by revisiting them and trying to "fix" them.

I have now combined those two versified Facebook comments and and have posted them together, here (above) at the Daily Poet blog, as "Morning in Berea". 

    

I  have included, at the start of the verses, that photograph of the mountains, taken from Berea, that Cecil had posted on Facebook. I have also added, after that, some more images from the Appalachians as well as some images pertaining to Amerindians. Both of these are often the subject of Cecil's Facebook posts.
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C) Crees and Cajuns

I should note, however, that neither the Crees nor the Cajuns, whose faces, figures and dwellings are pictured here, were residents of the Applachians at the times of the photographs and sketches.  The Cree happen to be one of the largest surviving Amerindian tribes. They were found, in historical times, to be mainly living in the region from Lake Superior westwards. But most of the survivors are now stretched over Canada, with some Crees still left in Montana.

The Cajuns are mainly of "mixed blood"--as are we all, come to think of it. So it might not be correct to refer to them as "Amerindians." Indeed, they are mostly descended from French and other European settlers in Acadia, a French colony in northeastern North America, which later became part of eastern Canada and northern Maine (the most northeastern U.S. state).

The Acadians, who were mainly Catholics, faced persecution, imprisonment and deportation after British victories in the northeast.  Many fled south to Louisiana--at that time a Spanish colony.  Both while in Acadia and after resettling in Louisiana,  they intermarried with local Amerindians and others. Their common speech used to be, until quite recently, a distinct form of French.

But anyone who has tasted Cajun cuisine will note the influence of Amerindians and also perhaps of Africans.
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D) Appalachians and Appalachia

I have used the term "Appalachians" here as shorthand for the "Appalachian Mountains".  The main spine of these mountains begins in eastern Canada.  It then runs roughly southwest along much of the eastern U.S., mostly parallel to the Atlantic coastline, and ends in the southeastern U.S. state of Alabama.

Long ago, when these mountains were younger, they were as high as the Rockies are now.  Over the eons, they have been weathered down to their current much lower heights.

The main spine of the Appalachian Mountains
http://nowiknow.com/the-mystery-of-the-appalachian-bend/

Great Appalachian Valley
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Appalachian_Mountains

The term "Appalachian" may also be used to refer to a resident of Appalachia--a hilly region, with some distinct cultures, that spans part of the Appalachian mountain chain and runs from New York State through western parts of most of the mid-Atlantic states to areas in the Carolinas, Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi.  All of West Virginia is in Appalachia. The eastern parts of  Ohio, Kentucky and Tennessee lie in the western section of this region.

  

Appalachian region of the United States
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Appalachia

   

Departure-II

 
Departure—II

“So tell me then, my father,
The reason you depart.
How long will you be staying
From all of us apart?”

“I am going now, my daughter,
To that land that’s over there—
To trade the things I’m taking
For the other things we need.

“I will climb upon those mountains
To that windswept pass on high,
And I’ll walk beside the glacier,
As the cloud goes streaming by.

“And I’ll follow then the streamlet
To the river’s gorge and hear
The roaring, rushing waters,
As they tumble cold and clear.

“Descending past the boulders,
Towards the valley—shaded, green,
I will view the river, coursing
Through the plains below, serene.

“To that land beyond the mountains,
I am going, through that pass—
But when I am returning,
I do not know, alas!

“But when I come from there, love,
I’ll come with things for you
And mom and all the others—
So be a good girl, do!”

“Go then, my dearest father.
Be careful on your way.
We’ll wait for you, our father,
And for your safety pray.”

Arjun Janah
2015 Dec 13th, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York
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Please see also:  Departure
      
     

Morning Glory

     

Morning Glory

  

Haywood County, NC (image from web)
from a Facebook post by Sharon Lawson

The dawn was breaking over hills of blue.

It touched the hilltops and the mists below.

From where I stood, it seemed that giant waves

Were frozen still in near and distant rows.

   

And right before me, in a splash of sun,

The colors of the leaves were seen to glow—

The greens and reds, the lights and darks beside,

As in the distance, hills and sky communed.

   

The sky? Can I describe it now with words?

I will not try, except to say it was

 A wonder—cirrus touched with rose of dawn,

In early morning's blue and indigo.

  

2015 June 6th, Sat, 10:47 pm

Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York

   

Innocence

Innocence
  

Jaldhaka Valley, Kalimpong subdivision, Darjeeling district, W. Bengal
http://dooarsecoviillege.blogspot.com/2013/04/jhalong-beautiful-tourist-destinations.html 

 


















(You can click on an image to see it enlarged. Use the esc key
or click the X in the black border to get back to this post – if
you still want to...;-)

Samthar Plateau, Kalimpong
http://www.makemytrip.com/travel-guide/darjeeling/samthar-plateau-nature.html

While walking on a wooded path
beneath the Himalaya,
I came upon a cottage small
and glimpsed, within, a fire.
And there I paused, to chat awhile
and drink a bit of tea
that those within, of humble mien,
in kindness, offered me.
And then – I went my way, refreshed
from the warming drink and more...
And though I climbed those misty hills
as I had done before,
that little bit of friendliness,
that welcome sip of tea –
it altered all that I perceived
and even altered me.

And since that time, by currents moved,
I’ve wandered near and far
and seen the best and worst of men,
in peacetime and in war.
But still, that little interlude,
upon a mountain way,
remains with me, in memory,
in a corner, tucked away.
And when I’m down in spirits from
the things I witness, then
I reach within and so retrieve
that memory again.
And strangely, it restores my calm
and gives me back my sense –
that little chat, that sip of tea –
that taste of innocence.

2015 February 17th, Tue., 9:34 pm
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
  

High Upon the Mountains

     
High Upon the Mountains

 

Sun, Sky, Mountains and Lake
  

   
   
   


High upon the mountains
and on the alpine plain,
I wandered -- and in dreaming
I walk those ways again.
 
******
   
For here, in Mammon's city,
I travel to and fro,
but only to my workplace --
and rarely walking slow.
    
But if I live to see them,
I'll climb up mountain trails
and meet, on high, the eagle
that soars on feathered sails.
 
I'll watch, as dawn is painting
the eastern sky in light,
and though it's cold and windy,
I'll shiver in delight.
 
And walking on the plateau,
beside the lake of gold,
I'll find, perhaps, the spirit
that once I knew as mine.

Where lichen clings to boulders
And the wind that's freezing blows,
I'll walk, in liberation,
and vanish in the snows...
     
******
 
High upon the mountains
and on the alpine plain,
I wandered -- and in dreaming
I walk those ways again.
  
2014, December 9th, Tue.
(2nd-to-last stanza Dec. 13th, Sat.)
Brooklyn, New York
   

There in the Hills

 
There in the Hills
  

Noah "Bud" Ogle Homeplace built in the late 1880's, located on
the Roaring Fork Motor Trail, Great Smoky Mountains, U.S.A.
Source: https://www.facebook.com/ldcoffeypics

  

  














There, in the hills, where the grasses are green,
There I will live, in the valley serene.
There, in the morning, I’ll climb up the trail,
To be with the mists and the clouds, as they sail.
 
There, in the noontime, I'll sit in the shade
And chew on my morsels, with water I brought
From the spring on the hillside, so cold and so sweet.
And there I will sit and be lost in my thought.
  
2014 September 6, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
   

Descent

    
Descent  
               
When the wind has fallen quiet,
You can look out at the sky,
You can see the fires celestial,
As they’re burning, up on high.

When the dawn is still a whisper,
You can wake, within your tent.
You can shiver and then bundle,
On your downward trek, intent.

Where the peaks rise up in splendor,
Where no eagles dare to soar,
In that white and barren fastness,
You can trek across the snow.

In the valley, by the glacier,
Where the ice is heaped and strewn,
You can breathe a little easy
And can feel the warmth of noon.

Where the glacier spawns the river,
You can drink from crystal streams.
You can walk on mountain pastures
And be lost in happy dreams.

Where the river roars down canyons,
Where the raging waters flow,
You can listen to that roaring,
And the sound, primeval, know.

In the forests of the foothills,
You can hear the tiger growl.
You can glimpse the deer and otters
And the sudden flights of fowl.

Where the hills gave way to corn fields,
Where the sky is smiling wide,
You can row upon the river.
With the current, you can ride.

In the flatlands of the delta,
Where the crops are growing green,
You can see the rice-fields shimmer
In the afternoons serene.

In the shade, among the fruit trees,
With their fragrance in the air,
You can while away the noontimes,
Or at insects, sit and stare.

You can fish in tranquil waters,
You can bathe in morning’s light.
You can watch the cows at sunsets,
And in children’s smiles delight.

You can travel to the outskirts
Of the city and its grime.
You can labor in its alleys,
And be old before your time.

You can leave at last the city,
On the river, flowing strong.
You can watch the boatmen rowing,
Catch the lilting of their song.

Where the river meets the ocean
And the vistas open wide,
You can see the sea-gulls wheeling,
You can feel the turning tide.

In the endlessness of ocean,
Where the land is lost to sight,
You can drift, across the sunset,
To the starry, starry night…

Let the ones, who are ascending,
Plant their puny flags on peaks.
To the one, who is descending,
They should listen, when he speaks…

2014 May 9th, Friday, 11:55 pm
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
   

Mountains

Mountains

I shall walk towards the mountains,
I shall climber past the vines,
I shall tread upon the needles,
As I climb by scented pines...

I shall mount, where lichens linger,
As the mists are speeding through.
I shall leave the clouds beneath me
And I'll see the dappled view...

I shall see the verdant valley
With its silver, winding thread.
I shall see, by golden terrace,
The rhododendron red.

I shall see the light and shadow
As they race across the hills,
I shall hear the peasant calling
To his oxen as he tills...

I shall drink of green and golden,
I shall sip of distant blue.
I shall watch, with clouds dispersing,
Olympus rise in view...

I shall view the peaks that glisten,
Reflecting dazzling sun...
I shall have my glimpse of heaven,
By dint of climbing, won...

2013 June 28th, Fri.
Brooklyn