A Poem for Notre Dame

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In every great plumed tree
lies the coming, naked winter,
each beam of starlight
tells of a past no more.
The stately art of an era
bears out our name, rounds out
the body of our experience,
the effigies stand time still
while leaving us desperate
to climb into the world
where memories come to life.
When a great building dies
it pours madly into the world,
scattered in all the directions,
remnants of a collective dream,
of a the sacred space where
the history of emotion lived,
with all the hushed whispers
and reverential quietude,
the rapture of encountering,
face-to-face, the ripened fruit
of our grandest human hopes
and greatest earned potential.
Every single thing that exists
contains the code of its demise
and we do not know know when,
or how, or by what means
this destruction born of creation
comes to journey’s end,
only that we can bear witness
to all this life in its passing.
 
– Tammy Takahashi
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For the Muse

tammystone

for the gardens
that never succumb
to the weight of
their history,
for the ancient
wooden structures
that become
more full of love
with each passing
year, until one
day they will
collapse from
the enormity of
this love that has
seeped into
its bones,
for the muse,
which compels me
to bring heart to hand,
word to page,
even when i don’t
know what i
have to say,
even when no
expression will
ever reflect
what inside, too
is always changing,
with gratitude
for the trying,
for the going on
 
– TS

My Street Japan. Day 6. {Photography Project}

My Street Japan. DAY 6. Tammy T. Stone

My Street Japan. DAY 6. Tammy T. Stone

This is what I see looking up and to the right from in front of my apartment. Except in colour. I can read one of the words up there, and it says “home” …

Isn’t it interesting that we rarely like to see a grey, hazy day, but are so attracted to the stark world of hue-less black-and-white? Does the scene come alive in monochrome, or make one nostalgic? It’s a mysterious effect, black-and-white …