I think this scene is perfectly marvelous. And, I don't know where it is. Or even, for that matter, if it is a "real" scene. What with the ability of artists and technicians to concoct all manner of seeming reality out of 'whole cloth' (as people were wont to say at one time), one could take the pessimistic view and lose the pleasure of seeing a beautiful scene merely because it might not be "real". Real or not, I like it.

Now, for those fascinated (or worried) by the question of whether a "real" experience is better or more to be preferred than an "imaginary" experience (or perhaps more accurately, an "imagined experience") -- which should not be confused with the question of whether the content of a drug induced involunatry hallucination is "real" -- it seems to me that the question of whether "imagination" is as good as "reality" makes a fundamental assumption about the nature of "reality" which just may be false. I think that those people who vehemently insist that there is just ONE reality, and it is the SAME reality for everyone, are the same people who insist that we, human beings, are nothing but a remarkably complex collection of atoms, electrical charges and chemical interactions and that we have no uniquely, and non-corporeal, 'mental' or 'spiritual' component. In other words, there is no "ghost in the machine" (or deus ex machina). The machine simply runs itself. Of course, the assumption --- and it is an assumption --- that one must prove the existence of an un-seeable soul, spirit or other non-corporeal agent, for the simple reason that one can't see it, really ends the inquiry before it starts. If you're interested in this kind of inquiry, you really have to ask yourself from the get-go, why it is that you assume that you've got to be able to see, touch, taste, smell, hit, gouge, run over and otherwise mechanically manipulate in order for "it" to be "real"?

So, to bring this 'round back to where I started ... while writing this post, I realized that part of what makes this photograph/representation so inviting is, for me anyway, that it actually represents a "real" scene which has been 'created' and actually exists in the firmament. I'd still think it is a pretty and impressive bit of art work even if it were made from 'whole cloth'. But, for me, its (presumed) representational nature makes a difference in how thorougly I enjoy viewing this scene.

In "Don't Fact-Check the Soul" (New York Times, April 29, 2008), Rosanne Cash observes that creativity is "outside" linear time and that commitment and diligence are more valuable, and productive, than infatuation, or as she calls it, youthful inspiration.

And, she's right. The supposition that everything we do, say, or feel must be a 'confession', or a reflection of some unyielding superstructure which exists entirely independently of our mark, our contribution our development of IT, is a misguided Freudian-style bias which wholly robs the soul of its power to create life, beauty and harmony.

We --- each of us, and all of us together --- are the creators of what there is, how it is conceived and what comes "after" now. Someone who is inclined to wallow in victim-hood would demur, I am sure. But, the fact remains that we aren't mere observers of what has been set in motion by forces greater than ourselves and which runs independently of our contribution to it. We are the authors of life, the architects of beauty and the managers of our self-directed fates.

Don't look for the truth. Create it.

Mother Earth, much like old Mother Hubbard who lived in a shoe, with so many children she didn't know quite what to do, is groaning from her childrens' wanton fertility. Today, January 30, 2008, it is reported in the New York Times that it is estimated that Mother's children will increase from 6.6 billion today to 9 billion in 2050 -- an increase of 2.4 billion souls in 42 years.

I suppose if you're a PC maker, chewing gum manufacturer, software vendor or pharmaceutical manufacturer, this news will be met with great relish and renewed vigor to plan on how to profit from this inevitable invading horde.

But, what if you are someone who relishes open, unspoiled, unregulated, naturally majestic and aesthetically and spiritually inspiring spaces? What are you to do? How can you preserve your dreams without seeming to be (or being) reactionary? Is it inevitable that crowding, poverty, squalor, division and discord become the norm? Do we have any right to load Mother down so thoroughly that we return to the medieval norm, in which, as Thomas Hobbes put it, life was "nasty, brutish and short"? Do we, in other words, have the right to shirk our responsibility to leave future generations with some fighting chance of creating good, worthwhile, reasonably pleasing and productive lives?

Is is right that we escape our bodies, knowing that in our wake, we left our Mother bedraggled, besotted, bereft and not even a little bemused?

Saving our Mother from an iniquitous future, which will almost certainly involve mass genocides the likes of which no rational sane being willingly contemplates, is a little like a weight-loss diet or improving your health after a long endorsement of indolence and irresponsibility and sloth: You have to take it one step at a time, on a gradient. But, if you don't get started, no matter how long it will take you, no matter if you have no idea how to reach your goal, or exactly in what direction it lays, then your good intentions, as the saying goes, will "pave the path to Hell".

So, let's get started. One gradient step at a time. Let's make our Mother proud. Stop our bickering, maligning, carping and complaining. Get along. Join in the one goal that each of us must share, if we share anything at all ... and that is to leave Mother better off than she was when we first laid eyes on her. Let's all, each of us in his or her own way, leave the world a little better off than when we got here and, when we come back, we'll surely be glad we did.

“We act as though comfort and luxury were the chief requirements of life, when all that we need to make us really happy is something to be enthusiastic about”

Charles Kingsley

Today, I would like to grant myself the honor of paying tribute, as it were, to a fellow of my acquaintance, David St. Lawrence. David is a wonderful chap, cheerful, intelligent, hard working, good company and married to a lovely woman named Gretchen. David and Gretchen live in the hills and valleys of southwestern Virginia near the town of Floyd.

I say 'grant myself the honor', because I believe that it is my honor to have had the fortuity to meet and spend a few days of my life in David and Gretchen's home and environs. Why? Well, that's a good question. I'm not exactly sure I can explicate, in an organized concatenation of symbols and spaces -- in words -- why, exactly, I like having met David. Actually, why I like David and find him a valuable fellow.

(Which is, a lot, different than merely liking to have met him. You could have liked to have met someone because they are much uglier than you are, and it made you feel better to know there is someone worse off in the world, in terms of ugliness, than you are. Mind you, however, David is not ugly, but a rather handsome chap in his own right -- which I feel I must make clear lest someone skate through this tribute over quickly and draw an invalid inference.)

In any event, David and Gretchen live in a lovely and charming home just suited for the two of them and their two cats, Buffy, who is a sweet, cream colored, friendly and appreciative tiny cat, and Sherman. Sherman doesn't socialize much with those he doesn't know very, very well, so I really never got to learn much about Sherman, except that he is diffident, or timid, or shy or whatever the appropriate term might be. And, he is pure black. I also hear, through the grapevine that he is a more than passable hunter, and has recently taken pains to show David so. David, Gretchen and the cats live on a good sized parcel of property, once covered uniformly in trees and assorted creations of nature, but which now sports a central clearing within which they built their home a few years ago.

I suppose the best way I could describe David and Gretchen's home, from my point of view, obviously, is to say that it is well-ordered, peaceful, welcome and creative respite from the turmoil and strife and vagaries of the world. One feels, when one is at David's and Gretchen's home as if the world is alright and, despite the horrific matters that seem to threaten to inundate us all every day should we pay too much attention to the "press", everything will be alright. You feel, when you are around David and Gretchen, in other words, that "It's all good." as a friend of mind is wont to say.

I'm afraid I could, however, write for eons and not tell you enough salient facts about David to give you a full enough understanding of him and his nuances and the goodness which he brings to the world, and so, what I figured I'd do is let you see David for himself, by providing you this link to his very own blog:

Making Ripples

I invite you to make the acquaintance of Mr. David St. Lawrence and to join those many others who have found that David acknowledges portions of themselves which they had forgotten, or never had known, existed.

Cheers and salutations ....

It was a rather conservatively adorned day. Not too bright. Not too dark. "Just", as the baby bear is said to have said, "right". Oh, well, it wouldn't have been just right if you fancy a nice clear sky bright blue sun blazing kind of day. Today, however, I'd have felt even more depressed than I already was, had I had to suffer one of those glorious bright blue clear sky days. All I wanted, and perhaps all I needed, was some peace and quiet, some insulation from the spiritual -- or perhaps 'metaphysical' -- noise that almost invariably seems to pervade my subjective universe when I'm walking near where I work. And, it seemed like that is what I was going to get. At least until I rounded the corner and spotted him. That same fellow who has darkened my path many another day. That homeless street dwelling fellow loudly hawking the "Street Sense" newspaper on the street for "just one dollar". He is very loud and very invasive and makes you (or me, at any rate) feel as if I've committed some crime against humanity by passing him by without having contributed a dollar to him. I find myself having this conversation in my head in which he insists that it is my moral duty to buy this rag, this paper, even though I have not the slightest interest in what it is "reporting", for the simple reason that it costs "only" a dollar. And, then I feel bad and come up with a 'rational argument' in my head why I shouldn't have to buy it, and why he should get a job and why it is bothersome of him to stand in the driveway of the CVS and slow people down before they get to their cars in order to guilt-trip them into paying for something that 'no one' wants.

It doesn't matter whether I'm "right", whether he's "right", whether my imagination is over active or whether he's selling the next Pulitzer prize winning short story. What mattered to me, today, is that, instead of being left alone, I had to walk by his contribution to the metaphysical noise that I so desperately wanted to avoid.

Next time, when I first catch sight of Mr. Street Sense, I'll turn right around and walk all the way 'round the block in the other direction. That'll teach him!

Today is a new day. Of course it is. But, in particular, it is a new day for this, Magic Poet, blog. Up until now, I've treated it, more or less, as a neglected step child ... yearning for my attention, which I only sparingly meted out with the most stingy of dispositions. No wonder it never gave me anything back. And, in addition, I suppose I treated it like a disguise, instead of a river from which to wave to my friends and meet new adventures.

I'd quote some Emerson now, to the effect that I'm happy if I've changed one life for the better. But that would be entirely too erudite (and perhaps even using the word "erudite" is too erudite) and possibly pedantic (another one of those words) for this forum (or should I call it a "venue"?). And, it wouldn't be true. I won't be happy, at the end of my current life if all I've done is improve the life of one being, besides myself. A tiny little goal like that is a bit like admitting that you're a failure before you even get started. Goals were meant to be big. Life is meant to be lived. Not shyly diffident, but with head-high-chest-out-balls-to-the-wall-gusto.

Let me smell you
Let me have you
Let me eat you with my pie
Let me see you in the night
In my dreams
In the dark and glistening sky.

I am enamored of your soul
As much as I am intoxicated with your smell
Feeling my heart beat like a drum
When ever I chance upon your scent
Giving me ideas of wonders heaven sent

All that I am sometimes feels all that you are
And it then becomes nearly impossible
To know an unhappy thought, a moribund joy
To know anything that is not graceful and free
This having begun the moment I met thee.

13 November 2007.1
Copyright by Scott Weible
All Rights Reserved

there will never be a time when i am not with you
never an instant when i am less than enthralled with you
never a thought in my head that you are not the one
that the others who caught my eye might have been better

and this is because you are the essence of the beauty of life itself
you make my blood warm as you approach, even in the most disheveled state
and you, even in your most intemperate times, smooth my wrinkles
make me feel as if the energy of the universe is flowing through me

i know that there are those moments when our reactions throw us against each other
so please hold fast as you run into me at high speed and i will catch you
and i promise that i will not recoil, i will not rejoice in your misery
for that would be jubilation at my own death, my own annihilation, my nothingness

of course it can sometimes feel hard, as our passions seemingly seek to incinerate us together
hoping, against all hope, that this match made in heaven, is consigned to bitter hell
but that is the jealousy of dubious and debauched alien spirits, feverish at our approach
appalled at the immortal and unforgettable beauty of our allness, our love, our souls together.




31 October 2005.1
Copyright by Scott Weible
All Rights Reserved

Climb Aboard

Climb aboard little darling

Climb with me to the heavens

Let’s go where spirits soar

And, love each other ever more

Let’s laugh amongst the grasses

As we crest that long, long hill

Before we plummet with lovers’ gleefulness

Straight down in to the blue green pond

And when the fireflies are on their nightly parade

I want you to give me your arm

Let me smell your pretty scented hair

While we relax beneath those bright, sparkly stars

Oh, how good it is to be me

When I am with you

When we are on our path together

When love is as it should be

When you are mine


5 June 2007.1
Copyright by Scott Weible
All Rights Reserved

-the imposter

-well, it wasn't you after all, but an imposter, masquerading as love, covering for a damaged, unintentionally critical heart
-it wasn't the beacon that i had hoped for, although she seemed like she knew where she wanted to go
-it was not the essence of the artist's heart, the beauty that creates and enlivens all eyes, blesses the soul,
-no, it wasn't you, after all this time, after all this searching, after all of the trials, tears and tribulations of the hunt,

-the hunt? the hunt? the hunt, for what? for a woman? for a love? for a companion? for a heart as pure and true as you
-you who elude my grasp, elude my soft and gentle kisses, elude any snare that might retard a spirit's flight
-you who rise above and far beyond the pettiness of this eventually moribund existence to occupy my thoughts,
-my heart's words, the sounds of the notes of music that pervade the breezy afternoon when the band is inspired?

-i thought it might be you. i was, sure, in fact that i loved her, and, in truth, i do. more than my heart can stand, almost
-more than i thought it possible and not have found you. i love her in her beauty, in her skill, in her talents, in her directness
-in the way that she emulates the soul of the artist that i know you Are, that i know you exude from even your most intimate pores
-yes, my eternal love, i love her, as i have loved many, as i may love many more if you do not, first, save me

-if you do not show me mercy and swoop down from the heavens (and from Zeus' own table) and take me, lead me
-encourage me to accompany you along a path of greatness, of understanding, of a translucent love that is never shy,
-never bashful to report upon it's own goodness, and to exhort all others to match it, to revel in how sweet a love can be
-how utterly endearing My love will always be, no matter the year, the lifetime, the universe; no matter if at home or at God's table.

- i had really thought she might be you, my darling, sweet essence of the bird's soaring flight, unruly spirit who cares,
-cares not just for me, not just for the others, but for an excellence of manner, deportment, of understanding and grace,
-who unstifles the imagination, gives free reign to the creations of cooperative souls, striving to erect a monument
-to that purity of creation that is stoked and fired with the emotional resonance of those multitudes of who have loved by your example.

16 December 2002.1
Copyright 2002, by Scott Weible
All Rights Reserved.

My new book, "The Fourteenth of Love" is soon out! It will be ready in time for Valentine's Day, 2006, and I'll autograph every copy! I haven't set the price yet, but it will be printed in black ink on 8 1/2" x 11" cream colored cotton bond paper, and I include regular mail shipping in the price. To get more information about purchasing "The Fourteenth of Love" phone me at (866) 378-2350.

Scott

You

You turn me on.
You thrill my soull.
You light my day.
You are my stars at night.

You give me goose bumps.
You fill my pages with rhyme.
You open me to all goodness.
You give me yourself divine.

And, I love you without measure.
And, I lust of your many treasures.
And, I'll cover your path with petals.
And, I'll give you my all eternal.


Scott Weible
16 December 2005.2
Copyright 2005
All Rights Reserved.

6 February 2006.1

i sit here in the cool chilling night
memories of your warmth to tide me over
until that moment when my lips can have you again
and your heart envelopes me in a joyous welcome

with you far away beyond my mortal grasp
i am, nonetheless, bound to you as undeniably
as light accompanies the Sun, and joy a true kiss
pleased as pleased can be that you love me

sweet dreams my love, sweet dreams


Scott Weible
Copyright 2006
All Rights Reserved.

Muse

muse of my glistening honored soul
you sooth me like a sweet summer rain
you infuse me with the wonder of a child
and you are to me unspeakable joy and life

more than you may know,
my goodness thirsts for you
the sweat from my toiling brow
rejoices in courting your pleasures

and when we have gone on beyond these names
it will be my joy to search for you again
until that next moment of beauty and awe
when i may, again, embrace you fulfilled.


Scott Weible
6 May 2006.1
Copyright 2006
All Rights Reserved.

beyond the moon

beyond the moon there is a wonderousness
where all that you are and all of my love coalesce
and form a simple indestructible bond of loyalty
consecrating for our union our own unfettered affinity

this is not a thing, it is not a place, not a solid hold
but an effervesence of the purest of intentions to be,
here, and there, amongst the clouds and the moss alike
willing to be, willing to see, willing for life's adventures

with you near me, life blossoms into more and more
and the light seems to light more,
while the darkness recedes and covers no more
and i know, at last, who i meant to have, to hold, to love.


Scott Weible
6 June 2006.1
Copyright 2006
All Rights Reserved.

Voice

thank you for unlocking my voice
for giving me that honest bright beauty
which drives men on to greatness
and which coalesces their love into action

thank you for the essential awe
which you fashion about me with your breaths
when i have the fortune to have you
and hold you close to me in my adoration

for you have triggered a fountain of awareness
surging within me as the sea at high tide
bringing a multitude of life's fundamental energies
into an expression of that light which gives a reason to be

thank you for being the muse who i have needed
and the lusciousness who i have long lusted for
no less than the comfort of my eternal soul
finally knowing the warmth who its words salute.

Scott Weible
18 December 2005.1
Copyright 2005
All Rights Reserved.

for you

for you i would traispe across vast wastelands
for you i would raise the dead into the heavens

for you i will bear gifts of love and gifts of heart
for you i will imagine no other beside me in warmth

for you i shall be a man of integrity, a vessel of trust
for you i shall not shy away from the duties of love

for you i must imagine the Earth to be our wedding bed
for you i must conceive of the Universe to be our home

and, for you,
i will give my all,
and my life,
and my promise
of myself
for ever more

___
Scott Weible
28 December 2005.1
Copyright 2005
All Rights Reserved

Most of my poems do not have titles. So I use the date I wrote them for the title ... the day, followed by the month, followed by the year, followed by the number of the poem I wrote that day. This one is the 1st, and only poem, I wrote on June 4, 2006. I hope you enjoy it some.

Scott Weible
__________________________________________________

4 June 2006.1

you are the poetry which feeds my soul
you are the light which makes my day
you are the waters which lap at my shore
and you are the woman i could not love more

you are the stars which adorn my moon
and you are the river which carries me home
you are the bosom from which i suckle and sigh
and you are the reward for which my heart vies

you come to me in the middle of the long hot night
flowing through my dreams like an angel in flight
assuring me that what you offer me is mine to keep
and leaving me thankful that it is with you i am honored to sleep

nothing i could do or say
matches the gladness i have each day
at being honored to love you as i may
and knowing you are my wife this life to stay

Scott Weible
Copyright 2006
All Rights Reserved

As my first post, I'd like to post the poem I wrote for my wife for our wedding!!!

And

and when I found you
strolling about the wooded glen
listening for beauty and harmonious joys
breathing your sighs of satisfaction
it came to me without effort
that you were all goodnesses,
that your light welcomes my needs, my wants
and your desires accept my toil and my breath
and that as we are together again after so long
ready for another round of houses and cars
of gardens and carriages,
of sultry tones and musical tapestries
there will be no limit to our communion
no restriction upon our amalgamation
and nothing under this Sun, our Moon
and all the stars from here to eternity
which will not willingly agree with our happiness
together, for this time, in love and admiration

and so, let us set sail for our new adventures,
let us join together in a union of unlimited splendor
and let us know that fertile release and renewal
which comes from this a genuine and honorable love
itself a temple of warmth and shelter and vigorous life

Scott Weible
17 March 2006.1
Copyright 2006
All Rights Reserved