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.)

I Grow

I watched the tree grow
Slow...
God, it was slow!
A year, ten, a
Thousand years -
Still it grows.

I watched me, too, grow
Slow...
God, I was slow!
A tear, ten, a
Thousand tears -
Still I grow.


Copyright © 2006 and 2009 by Jacob Anson
All rights reserved

Dedicated to my good friend, Juergen Kuehn

Home Again

You can't go home again,
For home as you
Remember it
Does not exist.
It is a dream.
A shattered piece
Of stained glass;
Whose colors run
Amok, never more
To adhere in
Coalescent beauty.

You can go home again
If home is in
Your mind.
The place you first
Learned right from wrong
And how to live
With love, compassion
And the certainty
That you are
Valued and cherished,
One with the universe.

You must go home again
If only metaphorically
To meet that dream
Of yesteryear;
To see through
Shattered colors strewn
To find the light
To meet your need
To know the way
To walk along
Your path today.

© 2006 and 2009 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved.

The moon has risen; how still is the world

A few days ago, I posted this moon shot on Ocala Daily Photo. My friend Juergen, of Marburg, Germany, offered as an appropriate accompaniment this old German songtext:

The moon has risen,
the tiny golden stars shine in the heavens bright and clear; the forest stands dark and silent,
and from the meadows climbs a
wondrous white mist.

How still is the world, and in the veil of twilight,
as comfortable and lovely
as a quiet chamber, where the misery of the day you will sleep away and forget.

Do you see the moon standing there?
There is only half of it to see, and yet
it is round, and fair! So it is with many things
that we mock confidently,
Because our eyes see them not.

(Evensong by Matthias Claudius - 1773)

Thank you, Juergen.

The Gospel of the Easter Bunny

Back by popular demand, is the Gospel of the Easter Bunny. This poem, happily, is becoming an annual exercise in piety.


The Book of Heaven's Hare

It is a hare-raising tale.
Sorta sad, sorta funny.
For once upon a time
There appeared a special bunny:
Who brought the people joy
And taught them to have fun;
Yet even as they laughed and danced
His life became undone.

An archaeological dig
In lower Percydocyair
Unveiled the previously unknown
Book of Heaven's Hare.
Significantly the book was found
On one foggy Easter morn;
On the very day they say
That Heaven's Hare was born.

In deciphering this Gospel text
Scholars have made clear,
Heaven's Hare was neither sex
That's why he was so dear.
Women loved him, so did men
And children loved him too.
Just watching him hop around
Made them feel like new.

Every other week or so
He'd gather everyone around.
And he would teach that heaven
Was a happy hopping ground.
And everyone could go there
If they would just forget
Their lust for eating animals
And started eating carrots.

These lessons were so well received
They got to be a habit.
And all the people came to call
The hare their Ravi Rabbit.
He spoke of the importance
Of tending to the gardens;
To see that all the vegetables
Were gloriously resplendent.

But then one day some hunters
Carrying great big guns
Told Heaven's Hare he'd better go
Back to where it was he came from.
But Ravi Rabbit stood his ground
He wasn't even scared.
He told them throw your weapons down
For I am Heaven's Hare!

They didn't throw their weapons down
They drew a bead on him.
He took off hopping out of town
Things were getting pretty grim.
They pulled their triggers all at once
The air exploded sound.
And when the smoke had disappeared
The hare was not around!

All the people ran to see
If he was dead and gone.
The children sobbed tearily
And broke out in a song:
Oh Heaven's Hare, Oh Heaven's Hare
We love you O dear heart.
We'll tend your garden faithfully
Til this life we depart.

Suddenly a voice, a cry.
"I see, I see the Hare.
"He flew away into the sky;
"There he is, there!"
But no one else could see the bunny.
Heaven's Hare was gone.
Something though was very funny,
Or very, very wrong.

The children saw them first
And shouted out for joy.
Strewn along the bunny's path
Were brightly-colored toys.
Then a girl name Mary
With long and strong, good legs,
Ran into a meadow full
Of brightly-colored eggs!

"Ravi Hare! Ravi Hare!"
All began to chant.
For they believed in Heaven's Hare
And they were adamant.
Then another miracle occurred;
The eggs had multiplied.
And everyone realized Heaven's Hare
Had never, really died!

Thank goodness they discovered
This Easter Bunny gospel.
'Cause lots of folks alive today
Have become infidels.
They long ago gave up belief
In an egg-laying Heaven's Hare.
And it is such a great relief
To have the truth laid bare.

So Heaven's Hare still lives.
His Easter eggs abound.
And every single brand-new spring
You'll find them all around.
Read the story once again
Of happy Heaven's Hare.
The lives of those who do believe
Is eggscelent, I swear!


Copyright 2006 & 2008 by Jacob Anson.
Image copyright 2006 & 2008 by Jacob Anson and its licensors. All Rights Reserved.

The Fabulous Fabians

The Fabulous Fabians
Were married at four
Under a huppah at the
Waldorf-Astoria
A priest and a rabbi
Gave God a nod
There were four hundred people
Some from abroad.

She was a debutante
Catholic and cute
He was a scion
Old wealth to boot
They met down in South Beach
By chance in a bar
They planned the best
New York wedding so far.

They smiled, so in love
And recited their vows
He stumbled a bit
But recovered somehow
And when it was over
Tradition took root
He stomped on the wine glass
With an oversize foot.

The orchestra played
New York's finest song
Then some Sinatra
They all danced along
'Til well after midnight
And into the morn
The Fabians left
Just after dawn.

They slept in the limo
On the way to the plane
She dreamt of her beauty
Her dress and her flame
He dreamt not at all
But when he awoke
He was nervous and sorry
That he no longer smoked.

They flew off to Cancun
For fun on the beach
She slept on the plane
Laying next to his cheek
He wondered what happened
Was he really so dumb
She'd probably want kids
His brain was going numb.

His father-in-law thought
He could do nothing wrong
And paid him a fortune
His work was so strong
The city had praised him
His vision, his nerve
For the building of grandeur
It was praise well-deserved.

Why are you distant
She wanted to know
You seem so uptight
Just go with the flow
The honeymoon's over
He wanted to say
I loved you last night
I'm not sure today.

She grabbed his hand and
They went to a club
She held him close
They danced rub-a-dub
She told him she loved him
More than he'd know
And she'd loved the wedding
A magnificent show.

One week to the day
They flew back to New York
She went to parties
He went to work
They passed in the hall
Of the townhouse he built
Neither were bothered
By feelings of guilt.

He was quite happy
The way things worked out
She didn't cry
Or whimper, or shout
His girlfriend was smart
And sexy and free
His life was all that
He hoped it would be.

Then on a dull
And dark winter day
He got a package
From Fox, Foreman and Gray
Attorneys they were and
Were letting him know
His sweet debutante
Was delivering a blow.

It did seem a shame
That it ended so soon
But for him the rose
No longer bloomed
The pain in his heart
He'd get over in time
The pain in his wallet
For that he would pine.

The last that he heard
She'd opened a store
For French lingerie named
Oolala! And More!
He lived on the beach
And nickeled and dimed
Took tourists fishing
One day at a time.

Now back in New York
If they remember at all
They say she was cute
They say he was tall
And wasn't it sad
Their love didn't last
The fabulous Fabians
Are fading quite fast.

Copyright © 2006 & 2009 by Jacob Anson. All Rights Reserved

In the Beginning

In the beginning
My life was chaos
An amniotic
Explosion
Into a maelstrom
Of needs and desires;
I demanded to know
To grow, to determine
My own destiny;
And buffered by
Frameworks of friends
And of family
I learned over time
To be an adult.

I found in the middle
My life was predestined
To be an experience
Of unending education;
Of searching for
Meaning in marriage
And children;
Of searching for
Status in persons,
Professions;
Of learning that time
Is no friend of mine
Passing too quickly
Before I was ready.

To move to the end
To become an old man
Where life is chaotic
As body and soul
Fail now to function
As in the beginning;
Where what was
Important is now merely
Childish and meaning
Is found
In the love of a spouse
And family and friends;
Where you finally learn
That everything ends.

In the beginning?
No one knows...

[This is one of my favorite poems, initially published in 2006. Copyright 2006 and 2009 by Jacob Anson. All rights reserved. Image © 2009 by Jacob Anson and its licensors.]

When you call my name

[For Lois]

When you call
My name
I hear a voice
Unlike any
In this world

The sound of which
Resonates
Plucking the
Heart strings
Of my soul...

Creating in
That moment
A bond between
The two
Of us...

Recreating
A reason to live
Healing and making
That which is broken
Whole.

© 2006 & 2008 by Jacob Anson. All rights Reserved.

At Sea

A becalmed sea
A moon's soft light
Inky waters
Still as night

Dreaming now
We hold on tight
And gaze across the
The dark abyss

Where sparkling shore
Reflects our hope
What's yet to be
For you and me.


Copyright @ Jacob Anson 2009 - All Rights Reserved