Tuesday, September 19, 2006


9/19/06 It was cool this evening which enabled me to get this nice Katydid in my garden.

A poem and commentary follow for Poetry Thursday.



The evenings are cooling now
And on the Heliopsis in my garden
Rests at sunset a katydid,
Her antennae slowly caressing
The space around her.
She is so still that I can reach
My slim fingers out to the bloom
And pull her closer if I wish
Or run inside, return
With the camera to pull the moment
Closer, this moment close to the equinox
When everything runs together
Slowly coalescing into this instant.
The cool air is on my cheek;
soft fall its hands on my breasts
As the insect is being there
In her green skeleton
Wrapped in the pink light.
And what am I but an equinox child
Soft and pink and new
Wrapped for now in what people
Expect to see, middle aged and grey
Taking pictures of a bug.

Paul Decelles 9/20/06

This week's Poetry Thursday is all about finding our authentic selves, to "Peel away the layers and see what you discover. Then let that voice speak. " Implicit here seems to be the idea that we have some core which is somehow our essence. I know what Liz over at Poetry Thursday is getting at, but for me it is hard to get to that authentic self because I am not sure which self that is. After all I don't believe that the authentic self is an essence in the sense of some intrinsic nature. Rather it is a continuity of existence and experience. Getting at that authentic self is perhaps getting beyond what other people expect to see and perhaps even what you expect that authentic self to be. The authentic self may even involve a dream or wish of what you want to be, once you strip away all the external epectations, because are not dreams and wishes part of existence?

My submission is inspired by a confluence of events. First today, the 20th, is my birthday. Plus I have the first line of my blog entry on the Katydid. So I already knew there was a poem here. But then while coming in with my car pool partner, she remarked that I am an almost equinox baby.

Once I had those things, the poem unfolded itself while I was waiting for my first class to assemble.

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