Saffron Split

By Jessica Herzog

We've Lost Our Nature

     Hello readers! Has it been a while since I posted or what? Taking summer classes was a great decision, but it caused my blog posts to slide. 

     One class was poetry, where I wrote the poem below. My summer consisted of biology, poetry, and contemplating how to bring the earth to the mind of those who don't consider it much. I think this poem encompasses that nicely. Enjoy! :) 

We’ve Lost Our Nature

Where earth’s encased in concrete a flower grows through a sidewalk crack  

Trying     telling us something

Down the bleak path between skyscrapers

blocking sun   a person     

eyes  focused    on wrong things   

In a one-room boarded box worlds away  

sits me—hand with pen  

Moving     contemplating

                                how to speak for flowers           

(If speaking could carve grey burdens…)

Would society understand?   Will they listen

flower searching     for sun  

when I tell them

where to weld their corneas 

 invest their hands?

.        .        .

Grasp the concrete

under the crack I ask.

Lift brave, exposing roots.

Stare at land, at last

able to breath and know

flower cries relief.

Feel your heart thrum in time

with the pulse of primitive life,

enriching us before

we cemented our souls.

But we progress—dismissing flowers.

May Ruination

I went on a very enjoyable boat trip a few weekends ago in the Delta Clearwater River of Alaska. It is  a beautiful place, certainly worthy of a visit. I wrote this poem afterward:

May Ruination

This is the Delta Clearwater—a river merging

into the Tanana and eventually, by way of opposing

currents introduces a lake. Transparent liquid

blankets rounded river rocks, flowing onward.

This river holds the clearest water

I’ve ever seen, my shadow in the shallows as the sun shines down realizing, today

is subtly impressive

I paddle onward, until meeting the waters

that for nearly a mile, spill from the lake.

the currents diverge here—a role reversal

from downward floating to upstream struggle—

upstream where the birds are, resting in the lake

So I step out of my boat to the river bed,

leading the boat like a leashed dog

to trudge onward, knowing churning feet

serve me better than cycling arms for awhile,

my foot  sometimes swallowed by clay- sludge

And amid this pleasant scene a stench rises

from a rotting salmon carcass, sleeping in the mud,

finished  with her migration to waste in May’s warm weather.

Now  sun rays beat my back and the salmon seeps

into my eyes while swans fly overhead, their calls

penetrating the once silent sky. Mesmerized by the fish’s

grotesqueness against graceful swans, I take one

picture of the fish sinking into muck

thinking each spring I witness these cycles

Those birds just upon the horizon,

calling with clarion cries, flocked

 and pleased with the weather make me look

one last time at the fish before  my boat

drifts beneath the bird stoked sky.

You laugh and say, “This is where things go to die.”

Clearwater Lake, reached after paddling the Clearwater River

*Thank you to Jonnell Liebl for helping me with the structure of this poem. My first attempt was quite disorganized!

Omnipotent Brume

Finally! I posted something! I tried my hand at actual structure for the first time by using the Villanelle. It was challenging...

Omnipotent Brume

Ice fog—a glorious, glittering sting to the touch.

Frigid flecks entice me still!

Erie mystery—a villain I never considered such.

Perhaps concealment is a wondrous crutch?

Cascaded in consternation, here sits my will.

Ice fog—a glorious, glittering sting to the touch.

Satchitananda serenity, I desire much.

This au courant cloak—all qualms it will kill!

Erie mystery—a villain I never considered such.

Weaving in and out, I explore this Kutch;

a myriad of mystery where truth is nil.

Ice fog—a glorious, glittering sting to the touch.

This phantasmal confidant I admire much.

Once murk becomes diaphanous, out escapes a trill!

Erie mystery—a villain I never considered such.

Unto antecedents I futilely clutch.

I navigate new animation without a single skill.

Ice fog—a glorious, glittering sting to the touch.

Erie mystery—a villain I never considered such.

by Jessica Herzog

Untitled

Question who I am- covered in a grey, fibrous cloak

Imagine my presence as I soundlessly surf skies forth your forward facing eyes

I am an aspect of azure nights

Frozen forests

Tranquil trees

Watch knives lacerate a pulsing jugular

Not a sound seeps from my throat

A nocturnal nomad

Yellow eyes unattended, meet fiery sunsets

I am a Great Grey Owl-

Forever an elusive, spellbinding spirit

by Jessica Herzog

This yellow eyed being made my day. My family and I went skiing and suddenly, we see this owl perched on a tree right next to the road. I've wanted to see one since moving to Alaska. Finally! Holding still to take the picture was impossible. 

For more information about the Great Grey Owl, visit http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Great_Gray_Owl/sounds

The Feather

     I started thinking about what happens to a feather when a bird flies. I imagined a feather as strong, but strong because it was subjected to many forces and had to adapt. "The Feather" is my interpretation of what happens to this feather during flight. 

The Feather

It “flies through the air with the greatest of ease” like George Leybourne’s trapeze rider, this keratin creation called a feather.

Nothing is as beautifully magnificent, yet stressed as a feather.

Attached to raptor’s wing, the romantic plight of flight is a torturous ordeal for the feather.

Wind ravages the feather.

This engineering masterpiece enables raptor to career through rapid currents with barley a breath.

Amazing feather!

Barbs separate from their neighbor like a dingy from a storm ridden ship.

Yet, the deed is hardly done for the feather.

In icy cold air, the fibers feel not a thing.

Senseless feather.

It curves in the wind commanding these rapid currents for the raptor.

Though its ends fray, its color never fades.

It soon floats gently to the ground for a soul to find as a sacred symbol.

And so ceases the stress upon the feather.

By: Jessica Herzog

The Rabbit

The hunting process of the lynx isn't pondered and analyzed to the extent the poem makes it out to be. In reality, lynx is hungry, rabbit tries to escape, and "the deed is done". For creativity's sake though, I decided to give emotional depth to the process for a few lines.

The Rabbit

Amidst frosted trees of a forest, in silent serenity, a rabbit sits alone.

Quiet marks tranquility.

Quiet - her invisible curse.

Eyes wide, the rabbit sits in solitude.

A shadow lurks across the snow.

This scared bunny is panicked now, sitting small and alone in the snow.

She is meek and outcast in the snow.

Her nose twitches.

Survival of the fittest is how the world is won.

Who are the strongest and the weakest of their kind?

Survival depends on a mastered mind.

Thoughts entrance the rabbit as she waits in wooded doom.

The lynx stalks behind her.

She is ever silent too.

Trapped here by indecision, where can rabbit run?

As lynx creeps upon her faster, rabbit fears departure of the sun.

Rabbit’s speed is her pride.

Her feet become her fault.

She trips in thick ice crystals.

Then fanged jaw encircles her throat.

Her blood drips.

Drop by drop.

Down to white below.

Red flames melting snow.

This all to quiet rabbit soundlessly, yet painfully surrendered her soul.

Not one ear heard her go.

Into lynx’s tomb, her body quickly slid.

Her psyche became another heart.

She was transformed from outside in.

Success was rabbit’s mirage.

Lynx befriended her wit.

Survival of the fittest is a game played how we see it.

But be correct.

Don’t over-think it.

Poor rabbit.

Is life now a brutality of blood or broken dreams?

Perhaps a paradise masses crave to see?

To lynx and rabbit, life is neither.

Existence is a quest for control.

Who maintains their power, voice, and thought as jugular drips into snow?

Lynx now feels triumphant, but rabbit has truly won.

Never again is she seen as silent.

Lynx’s quiet is majestic when she runs.

by: Jessica Herzog

A lynx I drew based off of a picture in a photo series from http://www.cornellgill.com/

Let's Take a Tor!

How to Reach A Summit

Legs burning, but mind resolute, I submerse myself into a winter ridden earth. This place surpasses serenity with its boundless beauty, yet demands respect. Climbing its hills, my feet sink into the snow. I’m slipping back, but how high can I go? I question reasoning briefly, yet strength of thought never leaves me as I venture toward Granite Tors.

I ponder these plutons’ presence from afar, imagining their grandeur when I arrive at their base. But first I must break trail, doubt, and a sweat. I know what hard work truly is as I struggle towards the summit.

There’s harmonious peace to be found with a pack weighing me down as the wind claws my face and the sun sets too soon.

There is division between summit, illustrious exhaustion, and adventurous doom. But I’m safe at the tors, having made it this far.

In the snow blanketed high tundra, amidst endless mountain views and distinct granite monuments, I gaze in awe.

What is more glorious, the land or power of will?

How does a hiker reach a summit?

He must never abandon the thrill. It’s the thrill of accomplishment, raw power, and pride. It’s the thrill of looking on a subarctic wonderland, sitting as close as he can come to the sky.

View from the cabin at Granite Tors.

...........................................................................................................................................................

In the Chena River State Recreation Area, only 39 miles from Fairbanks, Alaska, Granite Tors Trail begins. Easy access and beautiful scenery make this a great day or weekend destination. I had the opportunity to hike the 15 mile loop on October 11 and 12. My experience was phenomenal and something I would surly do again. 

Tors Trail is the 15 mile loop, branching off of the 3 mile loop.

The 15 mile loop presents obstacles which should be considered, but are not impossible. One such obstacle is the possibility of no trail. Because I hiked in October, the trail was covered in snow and had to be broken. This is strenuous work and hikers may question if they are travelling in the correct direction. However, a trail map is found on: http://dnr.alaska.gov/parks/units/chena/granitetorsho.pdf and landscaping flags mark the path so the task can be accomplished by even novice navigators.

People and animals both break trails.

Breaking trail was just one element of  the hike. Another challenge is the three hills that must be surmounted before even getting close to the tors. A hiker must manage gaining 2,900 ft of altitude over the loop's first half. This is not too daunting in the warmer months, but gaining that elevation in slippery, thick snow can prove to be quite a feat. The last hill was especially steep and slick, so I was glad to be wearing snow shoes. Hiking poles also help with the terrain. Luckily, the view at the top of the hill makes the climb completely worthwhile.

A view from the second hill. I felt as if I was on top of the world because of how big the view was.

After a hiker summits the hills, the tors present themselves in their full glory. There are the Near Tors and Far Tors, both of which are seen from the 15 mile loop. They are randomly placed amidst the windswept tundra above treeline. Far reaching views of the Alaska Range and Chena River are also on display from the tors.

Various plutons from the Near Tors section.

Lizard's Eye Tor

The frigid tundra with Far Tors in the trees below.

Hiking even further, the trail descends into a black spruce and birch forest. This part is a nice, relaxing portion with more views and water. Chena River is the grand finale view from the hike before going back onto the 3 mile loop and reaching the trail head.

I suggest visiting Granite Tors one day or weekend. It can be a strenuous or casual hike depending on the season and loop choice. No matter what, one will be astounded by the beauty this place has to offer, all while being within reach of Fairbanks. I'm happy I was able to visit the tors and enjoy what I would call a true Alaska experience.

Until next time...

Gems of July

In the beginning of July, fireworks shower the air with iridescent colors so luminous I could stare at them for hours, but the blasts of light only last a few seconds before dissipating into the night. Yet, another type of colored spectacle is visible each July from my front porch. They will pose for pictures and linger for hours.

Hummingbirds visit my house each July around Independence Day and stay for the whole month. We feed them with a regular hummingbird feeder. There is nothing fancy about the spot we have created for them. 

One hummingbird liked our simple hospitality though. So much so that she decided to tap Mom on the arm for a thanks. I wrote a poem about the experience. It's too bad I didn't see it myself!

Gem of July

Buzzing 

Humming 

A gem quite rare 

She came behind and poked me there 

Right on my shirt, mistaken for a flower 

Then flitted away at sunset's hour 

A tiny hummingbird mistook me for a flower! 

by Jessica Herzog

Here are some of the pictures Mom captured of the cute little birds. It's amazing they could be caught on camera at all due to their speed!

The green and brown is my favorite color combination.

I love the way the feathers on his neck look like scales.

Yes, the sugar water is right up there...

Some yoga pose!

* Special thanks to Cindy Herzog for letting me use her awesome pictures! *

Questions of a Wander

Dear Readers,
     I have to apologize for my sporadic posting. My goal was to post every other Sunday, but I got busy. Luckily, I came up with a few ideas to prevent lapses. Maybe I won't stick to such a rigid blogging schedule...

     At least my thoughts flow freely. I came up with a poem today that illustrates how stressed I've felt due to the ever present aura of life not going exactly as planned. I thought schedules prevented chaos, yet I'm proven wrong once again! Regardless, I will work to improve my posting and you all can work on reading about my feelings. Enjoy!
Sincerely,

        Jessica

Questions of a Wander

Why would I spend my time somewhere else if it weren't just to escape myself?

My travels aren't out of hatred, nor a quest for love; it's just that peace is a precious thing found in the clouds above.

If I hide in a forest, could I forget my confusions?

Does the climbing of a mountain bring me closer to igniting changes?

Is the reflection resting in the lake what I can't see sitting on the shore?

If I traveled far enough, would my inner self feel chaotic no more?

by Jessica Herzog

Above a Head

I wish I were an owl so I could fly away.
Stronger than all the others, silent Great Grey.
They'll never genuinely see me whilst I course above down gazing heads.
But somehow they'll know I'm up there, only surfacing to leave mice dead.
I have outright power.
I exist as I please.
The only memory they have of me is my molt spurned feather whose tips caress dead leaves.
My feather falls from my clouded castle but I continually fly.
I wish I were an owl as I solely rule my life and synthesize with the sky.

by Jessica Herzog

Happy Earth Month

I should've posted this in the beginning of April to kick off Earth Month. Spring also shouldn't be the busiest time of year for me! Anyway, this is the first poem I wrote about the environment. It was for a sixth grade project. We wrote a little storybook filled with pictures and whatever we wanted to say about ourselves. Sixth grade was when I started to care about the environment after hearing all the big news about global warming. This poem has and still does describe the way I feel about earth. It didn't have a title back then, but I suppose I'll call it "World" now.

World

The blue and green gem that is our world,

too large for any ring,

to small to be left alone,

but just big enough for us to hold it in our hands,

as long as we are willing to share it with the good,

and protect it from the evil,

and love it always...

no matter what

by Jessica Herzog

P.S. I'll keep up with the posting since spring break starts tomorrow. It's about time for some free time!

Dark is our Teacher

     Throughout the past few months, there have been multiple suicides in my town. Everyone in my school feels the losses as a pain of their own and the community wants to ensure that people get help before it's too late. I attended a lantern lighting ceremony last night to honor the suicide victims and their families. It was a great event that helped start healing, closure, and hope. The event also triggered some thoughts of my own relating to my experiences.

     The poem below is what I wrote to explain that believe it or not, the phrase "it gets better" is true. I want people to stick around to be able to realize this and learn that tough times do make people stronger. Everything else I post about in my blog can't be enjoyed if a person isn't alive to experience it. Everyone has their purpose in the world, from something small like making someone laugh from a joke stated in class or something large like contributing to a long lasting friendship. People need to remember to stay strong and that every storm passes, no matter how hopeless and weak they feel at the moment.

Lessons from the Dark

The world is a magnificent place, yet we can’t enjoy it if we are nonexistent.

I know the feeling of being weighted down so much that I thought I could never be lifted.

But, stemming from the darkest times of my life are the reasons why I must overcome strife.

Down deep in a hole was where I learned what I never thought a person could know.

Climbing out to the edge was a glorious relief.

Mirroring the climb, my new-found perspectives are steep.

I know the field of utmost despair.

I know the profound appreciation of life a person gains from having to sit there.

I know the anguish of being banished from the sun.

I know the overflowing of love a person has to give after the battle is won.

I know the fear of not knowing tomorrow.

I know the fighter inside someone who overcomes sorrow.

I know frailty and meekness, destruction and hate.

I know that healing is possible, no matter how long we must patiently wait.

I might feel regret for my darkened past and the mistakes I made in my life.

But, I know that people will never achieve deeper knowledge and brighter selves unless they stay strong through strife.

Don’t give up on yourself or the people that surround you.

You have lessons to learn that will surely astound you.

by Jessica Herzog

The Reasons why I Wrote Imajin8

I'm not the owner of a single track mind.
I perpetually crave a new view.
Luckily I reside in a world where ideas are far from few.

I have brain built for thinking and legs made strong for walking.
With enough ambition the world is mine for the taking.

We can all open our front doors.
We can find new inspiration.
Boredom only happens when creativity stops flowing.

If I could make the world better and light up a few faces I could accomplish a purpose.
I want to show people that contentment can come in surplus.

Let's take a step outside.
Let's turn the wheel of creation.
I can assure you greatness will come sans hesitation.

Just open your mind.
Discover new a new view.
Imagine what can happen from the power of you!

by Jessica Herzog