web cam looking at itself….
Posted in For Fun | 11 Comments


Summer Stars  
by Carl Sandburg
Bend low again, night of summer stars.
So near you are, sky of summer stars, 
So near, a long-arm man can pick off stars, 
Pick off what he wants in the sky bowl, 
So near you are, summer stars, 
So near, strumming, strumming, 
                So lazy and hum-strumming.
Posted in Poetry | 5 Comments

Appalachian Spring @Independence Day

Several Aaron Copeland scores can awaken patriotic sentiments.  Fanfare for The Common Man comes to mind and except that it has attained cliche status from sooooooo much playtime, I would post it for Independence day.  Instead, Appalachian Spring will have to do Smile
Appalachian Spring is a ballet score composed by Aaron Copland that premiered in 1944 and has achieved widespread and enduring popularity as an orchestral suite. The ballet, scored for a thirteen-member chamber orchestra, was created upon commission of choreographer and dancer Martha Graham with funds from the Coolidge Foundation headed by Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge; it premiered on Monday, October 30 1944, at the Library of Congress in Washington DC, with Martha Graham dancing the lead role. The set was designed by the Japanese American sculptor Isamu Noguchi. Copland was awarded the 1945 Pulitzer Prize for Music for his achievement.
The story told is a spring celebration of the American pioneers of the 1800s after building a new Pennsylvania farmhouse.
You prob don’t have time for all 24+ minutes(but if you do, it’s there).  Perhaps though, you can enjoy the double pianissimo first movement.  It is exquisite!
May freedom reign over all this tiny life.encubator (earth);
May freedom reign within and without.
Posted in Music | 1 Comment

Mark Knopfler & Emmylou Harris – Right now


Have always adored Emmylou.   Really like Mark Knopfler’s slide guitar on this. 

YouTube – Mark Knopfler & Emmylou Harris – Right now

Posted in Music | 3 Comments

i cannot write

i cannot
i cannot
i must better
stow away
another day
that which
is within

Copyright ©2008 bberry


Posted in Poetry | 2 Comments

Lighthead’s Guide To The Galaxy : Terrance Hayes

Ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and children of the state,
I am here because I could never get the hang of Time.
This hour, for example, would be like all the others
were it not for the rain falling through the roof.
I’d better not be too explicit. My night is careless
with itself, troublesome as a woman wearing no bra
in winter. I believe everything is a metaphor for sex.
Lovemaking mimics the act of departure, moonlight
drips from the leaves. You can spend your whole life
doing no more than preparing for life and thinking.
"Is this all there is?" Thus, I am here where poets come
to drink a dark strong poison with tiny shards of ice,
something to loosen my primate tongue and its syllables
of debris. I know all words come from preexisting words
and divide until our pronouncements develop selves.
The small dog barking at the darkness has something to say
about the way we live. I’d rather have what my daddy calls
"skrimp." He says "discrete" and means the street
just out of sight. Not what you see, but what you perceive:
that’s poetry. Not the noise, but its rhythm; an arrangement
of derangements; I’ll eat you to live: that’s poetry.
I wish I glowed like a brown-skinned pregnant woman.
I wish I could weep the way my teacher did as he read us
Molly Bloom’s soliloquy of yes. When I kiss my wife,
sometimes I taste her caution. But let’s not talk about that.
Maybe Art’s only purpose is to preserve the Self.
Sometimes I play a game in which my primitive craft fires
upon an alien ship whose intention is the destruction
of the earth. Other times I fall in love with a word
like somberness. Or moonlight juicing naked branches.
All species have a notion of emptiness, and yet
the flowers don’t quit opening. I am carrying the whimper
you can hear when the mouth is collapsed, the wisdom
of monkeys. Ask a glass of water why it pities
the rain. Ask the lunatic yard dog why it tolerates the leash.
Brothers and sisters, when you spend your nights
out on a limb, there’s a chance you’ll fall in your sleep.

Posted in Poetry | 5 Comments

Nocturne : Jennifer K Sweeney

There is a blue city in mind
constructed slantways

along a rippling canal,
clean and unpeopled but for a musician

who plays a harp without strings.
The city has one chair

where he sits by the broad strokes of water.
A lone streetlamp tends

its blue arc of light.
A Persian door. A zeppelin sky.

The world filters through
his empty frame as he plucks the air.

Maybe you hear a song or maybe you don’t.
That is the choice we are always making.

Winner of James Laughline Award of the Academy of American Poets

Jennifer K. Sweeney

Posted in Poetry | 2 Comments