Tag Archives: poems by Leslie Schultz

News Flash! Two of My Poems Appear in the March 2015 issue of THE WAYFARER

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The Wayfarer: A Journal of Contemplative Literature is an unusually thoughtful publication, featuring contemporary work that cares about timeless values, work that is grounded but also transcendent.

Its next issue, to be published on March 21, 2015, will carry two poems of mine, “Black Swans” and “Easter Island”. I am very honored to appear in this magazine, and I am looking forward to reading the whole issue, cover to cover.(You can explore THE WAYFARER and HOMEBOUND PUBLICATIONS here, and you can pre-order print copies and electronic copies at a reduced price, if you are intrigued.)

The Wayfarer Spring 2015 cover

I was originally pointed to this publication by my friend, poet Sally Nacker, who published with them in March 2014 and gave a copy of that issue to me. (Regular readers will recall the post last May publishing Sally’s insightful and ravishingly illustrated letter to Amy Lowell called “Wings and Windows”.) I have been following The Wayfarer since and have been impressed with the quality of the work, as well as the beautiful presentation of poetry and prose. Most of all, I am attracted to emphasis on environmental stewardship that marries action to reflection. I respect their ambitious mission to use the power of the humanities to promote deep and abiding cultural change in human society: “The Wayfarer’s mission is to chart the way for change by building and empowering a community of contemplative voices.”

I also love the manner in which The Wayfarer combines evocative photography with text. Below are two photos of my own that reminded me of this lovely magazine: one is from the marina in Bayfield, Wisconsin ,on the edge our great inland sea of Lake Superior;  the other is of compass plant atop a rise in the McKnight Prairie near my Northfield home, a virgin remnant of the sea of grass.

Blue Boat Bayfield

Compass Plant

Wishing you well, Leslie

 

November Wet Leaves: Photos by Karla Schultz & Leslie Schultz; “Wet Leaves Song” (Poem)

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Smokey Mountains National Park (Karla Schultz)

Now that it is November, there are only a few dwindling weeks remaining to enjoy fall foliage. Maybe we only have days–we had our first snow overnight. Winter has its own beauty–I might even take a photo or two!–but I do find myself reluctant to say farewell to the leaves this year. Accordingly, as the rains and snows set in, I am finding beauty in the wet leaves close to the ground. There is a certain glossy and poignant appeal to wet leaves, and I am encouraged to look more closely at the structure of each one.

My sister, Karla, a wonderfully skillful photographer of all things in nature, agreed to let me post some of her pictures of wet leaves this week (and in the months ahead, there will be more of Karla’s photography.)  Below, I include a new poem inspired by these November leaves and a couple of photos of my own. May you find a few bright, deciduous treasures to bring inside!

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Magnolia Planation, South Carolina (Karla Schultz)

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Savannah River National Wildlife Refuge (Karla Schultz)

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Savannah River National Wildlife Refuge (Karla Schultz)

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Smokey Mountains National Park (Karla Schultz)

Wet Leaves Song

Spring rains, autumn rains—
Leaves and raindrops fall—
Light through windowpanes
Changes. That is all.

First leaves, red and gold,
So tiny and new,
Become green and bold,
Lasting summer through.

And then the bright green
Vanishes, all too soon.
Winds grown chill and keen
Under a frosty moon.

Old leaves, shimmerings—
Orange, gold, and red—
Dance windy skimmerings,
Though clouds press down like lead.

Leaves will fall as rain falls,
But these wet leaves shine.
Their fragile beauty calls
To me, and becomes mine.

Leslie Schultz

Below are a few more photos (these that I took in Northfield this week).

Wet Leaf

Leaf Wet 3

Leaf Wet 4

Signature2Thank you for reading this! If you think of someone else who might enjoy it, please forward it to them. And, if you are not already a subscriber, I invite you to subscribe to the Wednesday posts I am sending out each week–it’s easy, free, and I won’t share your address!

Waxings and Wanings & An Elegy for Autumn: “Compass II” (Poem)

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Mississippi River, Looking North From 46th Street Bridge, Minneapolis

Mississippi River, Looking North From 46th Street Bridge, Minneapolis

As the days shorten and darken, it’s natural to turn contemplative, to wonder if what have we done is of lasting value. Other mammals, like squirrels, feel the need to hurry their accomplishments toward a finish line. And yet, it is a new start, too. This is the time of the traditional Celtic celebration of the new year. I think that is the mood I feel with a new school season starting: a tallying up, a reckoning, a sense of “Okay…now what?” as I look ahead.

October Cottage

This week, as the leaves approach their most firey, I was able to take some photos of the Mississippi shoreline, view the scamperings and hear the scoldings of the squirrels, sigh with relief over a finally-repaired roof, and sigh with satisfaction over a well-stocked freezer full of organic farm produce. Now I am eyeing that stack of books–biographies of Jane Austen and Dorothy and William Wordsworth, Janet Burroway’s Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft, Brunetti’s Cookbook (for vegetables with a Venetian twist), and a mystery I have been meaning to read for ten years, The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, which I found at a Little Free Library location recently.

Squirrel

As I type this, the rain that has been threatening all day has begun to dampen the pavement but I am basking in the glow of images of the past: albino squirrels in Northfield and Minneapolis, the blue bottle tree on Orchard Street, the contrast between the Cannon and the great Mississippi into which it flows. Time for the season’s first cup of hot cocoa and good book!

Albino Squirrel in Northfield

Albino Squirrel Minneapolis 10 9 2013

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COMPASS II

More than a flock of geese veeing their way south,
one industrious squirrel, its piston-mouth
dropping walnut shells like sharp metal filings,
and acidic turns in walnut leaves’ stylings
(their change from deepest green to lemony yellow-gold)
leaves me bone-deep certain that the year is old;
makes me wonder if the harvest is enough
and then ponder if the winter will be rough,
if the Christmas season will hold any cheer
or if implacable blue shadows draw near.

Autumn is rich in harvest and imagery,
its coppers and golds rusting towards elegy.
My lone hope is to refine this sinking mood,
to render polished words from bleak attitude,
and strike, on the anvil used by all the bards,
something more lasting than those keen, tanic shards.

Leslie Schultz

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Thank you for reading this! If you think of someone else who might enjoy it, please forward it to them. And, if you are not already a subscriber, I invite you to subscribe to the Wednesday posts I am sending out each week–it’s easy, free, and I won’t share your address!

Cannon River, Looking South From Second Street Bridge, Northfield

Cannon River, Looking South From Second Street Bridge, Northfield