On The Steppe

On the steppe there
Is a wall
Not very wide
Not very tall.
But you cannot go
'Round that wall
It all seems
Rather odd.

To get from here
To over there
You have to climb
The wall ... that's
Shrouded in
A mystery,
Portends, perhaps
Of god.

A mystery; no name
Or face
It came before
Before.
A mystery that
Defies space
And time -
Forevermore.

We must go from here
To there
So we must climb
The wall.
'Cause out there on
That lonely steppe
Is where we
Find ourselves.

But even as
we climb the wall
The mystery
Remains.
Yet in the climb
We find ourselves
Mysteriously
Reclaimed.

© 2006 and 2008 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved

A New Religion in a Book

Some folks believe
Most anything
That's written in a
Book.
Even if it's
Written by
A chef who cannot
Cook!

You can write
Of crazy things
Like gods up in the
Sky.
And folks will say
It must be true
'Cause books just never
Lie.

So, I am going to
Write a book
And I'll let you know right
Now:
I'm going to make a
Bundle
Let me show you
How.

I'll start a new
Religion
One with a brand-new
Look.
And like the other
Testaments
I'll write it in a
Book.

I'll make it really
Easy
I won't have any
Rules.
Just send me
Ten percent
Of all your money and your
Jewels.

The best part is my book
Will describe a
Palatial
Paradise.
And how a million
Buckaroos
Reserves
Eternity's
Surprise.

When you die.

© 2006 and 2010 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved.

On Vacation

The wind and
surf and
sand and
sea,
like a glorious
symphony,
collide at
eventide
to be
the catalyst
that sets
us free
temporarily...

From all that
threatens
sanity.
The sweetness
and the light
we see
sets us
free
so we
with certain
aimless, shameless
glee
can sing a song
just you
and me.

Tomorrow
we will wake
and be
renewed and
inexplicably
midst our
duties still
be free
to live
and love
creatively.

So thank you
wind and surf
and sand
and sea!

Copyright © 2006 & 2010 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved.

The Tie That Binds

There is a tie that binds;
An evolutionary thread
Spun at the onset
Of love.
Woven as the spider
Weaves and interlaces
Her web, it grows and
Strengthens to
Survive the onslaught
Of the unknown and
The venomous
Lurking dangerous and silent in the
Shadows of our lives.

This tie, sometimes bent but
Never broken, stands as a
Steely strand
Between us
Until the end of our
Allotted time
In this world
Binding love with
Passion and trust,
Growing stronger with the
Dawn that glows
With the promise of a
A new day.


© 1989, 2006, 2009 by Jacob Anson. Image © 2009 by Jacob Anson and its licensors. All rights reserved.

Where does the weather come from?

Nobody understands the
Weather like the
Weather people do.
And they don't
Understand it ... at all!

Whether we like it or not
Weather is always
Going to change and
Become colder or warmer
Or stay the same.

Precipitation is quite
Possible when
Weather is around.
Rain and snow and sleet
All fall on the ground.

Summer brings hurricanes
Furious disasters -
True catastrophes.
Could it be they're caused
By pundit's prophecies?

Maybe it's the weather people
Who cause the changes
And the weather patterns, too.
By praying especially hard
To, well, you know who.

Because the really scary question
Is what would weather
People do
If there was no weather
For weather folks to do?

© 2006 & 2009 by Jacob Anson. Image copyright by Jacob Anson and its licensors.
All rights reserved.

The Fault of the Feet (Shuffling the blame)

Sometimes you go where
You should not
Places that are
Much too hot
Places where you
Quickly learn
How easily
You can get burned.

Other times you
Just can't go
Where you want to go
And even though
You shift to low
Step on the gas
You spin your wheels
Go nowhere fast!

The feet, you see
Go where they wish
Hither, yon
At times amiss
All you can do
Is tag along
To where they take you
Right or wrong.

So please don't beat
Upon yourself
Don't put your dreams
Up on a shelf
Just continue
To repeat
It's all the fault
Of my darn feet!

© 2006 and 2009 by Jacob Anson. Image copyright by its licensors. All rights reserved.

She never looked before

She'd walked the old familiar path
A hundred times or more
Now she trudges mindlessly
Tunes out the ocean's roar
She walks into a tussling wind
That blows and shreds her hair
But doesn't touch, cannot reach
A heart that isn't there.

She finally got the answers
To questions long delayed
If she could only take them back
For she has been betrayed
From future bright and hopeful
To clarity achieved
From life not tried or tasted
To bitter truth received.

Today she walks the path again
And breathes the cool sea air
She sees the trees that hem her in
Bleached sentries standing there
She sees a turtle on a log
The churning water foam
She sees the skittish little fish
The gator turned to stone.

She feels the spray upon her face
A salty pleasant sting
And looking up an eagle soars
A heron takes to wing
Never has she seen all this
She turns to face the shore
Amazed at gifts she'd somehow missed
She never looked before.


Copyright © by Jacob Anson 2006 & 2009. All rights reserved.

Handling things weekly

(This poem is dedicated to all my friends still working 9 to 5)

Friday comes and
Friday goes and
Friday comes
Again.
Days are mere
Commodities
That I too freely
Spend.

Monday dawns
I failed to do
The weekend things
I'd planned.
The other days
Just fly on by
And Friday's here
Again.

Life rushes past
Much too fast
It's really quite
A pain.
'Cause ev'ry time
I look around
Friday's back
Again!

That's okay
I'll handle it
I'll welcome Friday
Back.
I'll call in sick
And crawl my way
Right back into
The sack!

(Copyright © 2006 & 2009 by Jacob Anson. Image © 2009 by its licensor. All rights reserved.)

Life at its best

Life at its best
sometimes consists
of nothing more
than a quiet place -
a cafe, perhaps
where talk is soft
and dreams are woven
in whispered glances
and fingered dances
on tinkly glasses
with lingering looks
and longing sighs
quickly hushed
as chiffoned waitress
shushes by.


Copyright © 2006 & 2009 by Jacob Anson. Image copyright © 2009 by its licensors. All rights reserved.

The Camera

The sky, the sun
The moon at night.
Mountains, seas,
Birds in flight.
Prairies vast
And city lights.
Decaying barns
Out of sight.

Cathedrals reach up
To the sky
As if they could
The gods appease.
While structures tall,
Broken, small
Sink deep into
The urban sleaze.

Aqueducts
And ancient halls
Stand sodden
Beside Roman walls.
Rivers, canyons,
Waterfalls.
Flora, fauna
All enthrall.

Children garbed
In innocence
Play midst tempting
Decadence.
Men and women
Trod the streets
Harried, happy
Incomplete.

The beautiful,
Sordid and sublime
Cohere in fact
And in the mind.
Still...struck by
Our own chimera
We capture life with
The camera.

Copyright © 2009 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved. Image by Hemera Technologies.

The Butterfly

A butterfly alights
On a flower
Defiantly
Silhouetted in
The sky
Where clouds churn
Wild, in disarray
Foaming, spitting
At the dawn
Which threatens
Their pretense
Of power.

Breaking through
A shaft of sun
Pierces as a
Rod of iron
Splitting dark
With shards
Of gold
To reach the
Butterfly in flight
His nimbus
Proving
He was right.

Copyright © 2006 & 2009 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved.
Butterfly photograph cross-posted at Florida Fotos on May 2, 2009

The Golden Blog Award

This beautiful Golden Blog award was given to Creative Confections by Cezar and Leia at We Love Luna. We are grateful and humbled by their generosity and kindness. Please check out their blog for an example of superb creativity surrounded by literate and humorous commentary.

The rules re: this award are:

1. Show the award in the blog.
2. Link back to the blog that tagged you.
3. Pass the award on to 8 blogs you love.
4. Inform the bloggers they have been tagged.

I am passing the award to the following:

1. Juergen Kuehn at Photographie-Lyrik
2. Ciel de Quimper at Versailles Daily Photo
3. Marie Reed at Vintage Postcards
4. Asta at Hyperenergy and Other Obstacles
5. Chris at Chris Photo Nature
6. JM at Oeiras Daily Photo

Honest Scrap Award

Juergen Kuehn at Marburg Daily Photo, has awarded Creative Confections the Honest Scrap Award. This is a great honor, for the Honest Scrap Award is bestowed upon a blogger whose blog content or design is, in the giver's opinion, brilliant. The Honest Scrap Award is for bloggers who post from their heart, who oftentimes put their heart on display as they write from the depths of their soul.

It is suggested that recipients provide 10 different ways in which they are honest. I'll leave that to someone else, being a private-type person.

It is also suggested the award be bestowed upon other deserving bloggers, and that I intend to do.

I have chosen the following exemplary blogs for this award:

1. We Love Luna
2. Christopher's Photos
3. Astoria Oregon Daily Photo
4. Tampa Daily Photo
5. Nowy Sacz Daily Photo
6. Merisi's Vienna For Beginners
7. On the m104

The Working Man

Every morning...

He trudged on down
That broken road
Awash in sun's
First light;
His lunch pail
Scratched and dented.


Every night...

He trudged on down
That same old road
Abandoned in
The dark;
To his wife
And to the house he rented.


Copyright 2006 & 2009 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Lois Anne.

My Friend's Cat

My friend has a cat
Who's a bundle of nerves.
I'm sure the cat is
Not mentally sound.
It sits on the porch and
From that peerless perch
It orders my
Friend around.

It's a female type cat
Quite furry and small
You wouldn't think
She'd be bossy at all.
Maybe she suffers from
Low self-esteem
'Cause sometimes she gets
A little bit mean.

One day my friend
Came home from the mall
She found there a mess
Strewn in the hall.
The darn cat got mad
That she'd left home at all
She tore the wallpaper
Right off of the wall.

I said to my friend
If that was my cat
All of its nine lives
Would have long since been past.
It would be painless and
It would be quick
But I surely would end
Her lunatic tricks.

Wow, was my friend
Unhappy with me
She could not believe
I could be so damn cruel.
Her poor little cat
Was really quite sweet
And I was, quite frankly, a
Fusty old fool!

A week or two later
While out buying a hat
I ran into my friend, asked
How was her cat.
She said that her tabby
Was so sweet and good
The poor little thing was
Just misunderstood.

How could that be
I inquired of her
That cat was an ADD
Bundle of sin.
She said she had taken
Her cat to a shrink
And the shrink put her baby
On pure Ritalin!

(Luna requested this poem for Cezar and Leia. She thought it would help them realize all cats are not like Luna and thus they would appreciate her more. I think Luna was feeling that her allotment of treats had been unjustly reduced, although being the kind of cat she is, she would never come right out and say so.)

Copyright © 2006 & 2009 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved.)