Tag Archives: Superb Owl

Superimposition Collage: An Owl You Can’t Refuse

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Come to her now, she calls you, you can’t refuse.

Superposition Collage: Full of Owl

Current mood: Full of Owl

Full. Of. Owl.

Random Photo: A Stopped Clock Is Right Twice

A photo a day seeps old poetry.


A cock,
a doodle,
of jaunty duration—

The tyranny of is
lisps ukases
in an orotund sacristy,
the travesty of vestment—

The muscle of tock
marks time
ticking off its dooms
each second a collapsed cathedral
in a sack,
a baroque piglet
in a pulse of velvet, squealing
as it drowns in the blue whine
of blood,
the flesh fissures’ tremolo—

A sock,
a doll,
a living doll,
of her.

Superb Owl

Yesterday, my grandson and I walked down an abandoned railroad track to an also abandoned farmstead in a forest that had grown up around it since it and the farm’s fields were abandoned; a tanglewood, lots of Asian Bittersweet and other vines twining up and twisting into the trunks of saplings and young trees. He and I thoroughly explored the house. I found this owl, a candle, inside the purse, among the other debris. One large room must have been the original cabin, its walls were built of heavy 8 by 4 inch wooden beams with mortar between, the rest of the house built onto it. There was also an old barn, and a younger building that had almost completely collapsed.

Daily walk, pilgrim’s progress: 5,907 steps, 2.3 miles.

Superb Owl: The Table Lamp Stares Back

Observed at Clifty State Park Lodge, near Madison, Indiana.

Superb Owl: Lammas Loaf, with Salt Eyes

Breakfast at Lammas

Upon the fortieth day
under the enemy sun,

if you are
bar abbas,
son of the father:

to become bread.

It shall be written, Diabolos
By bread alone
may we ask for a stone.

A stone to move,
a veil to rent,
a trump to play,
women to weep,
dead saints to rise and walk,
choirs of angels to sing,
orisons to remember all our sins,
and the blood
of the lamb
to wash in the stain.

Enough to feed the multitudes
and seven baskets
of broken promises
left over.

Take this bread, Yeshua
but do not eat.
Instead, speak into it
as if it were the ear of God.

She will hear you.

Put it quickly in the coals
of the cooking fire
as if the crust were brimful
of your words.

She will answer you.

I am so hungry,
I am a bone gnawed by God.

Take, speak.

From a previous Lammastide post: Lammas aka Loaf Mass aka Lughnasadh is a feast celebrated on the cross-quarter day halfway between the summer solstice and the autumn equinox, by convenience of tradition, August 1st or 2nd. It is called the feast of first fruits–the fruits of the year’s harvest. The first fruits are honored by baking bread made from flour milled from the new crop of wheat.

By tradition, the first reaping from the field is winnowed, milled, mixed, baked, and consumed all on the day or days (sometimes Lammas is two day affair) of the festival. These days I recommend the freshest bag of Bob’s Red Mill or King Arthur bread flour you can find on the shelf at the local grocery store.

I’m a retired journeyman baker, and I bake bread at home on a semi-regular basis, so this is an easy thing for me to do. If you can’t bear the thought of firing up the oven on the first of August, or baking anything at all is too daunting to face–no worries–the spirit of thing is to honor and give attention to the “daily bread,” the food you put in your mouth on this day, preferably a food handmade from basic, unadulterated ingredients.

Food close to its roots, so to speak, that has some savor of the ground it grew in or place it came from, that’s best, though hunger can make a Twinkie, or potato chips, or a baloney sandwich on Wonder Bread with Miracle Whip, holy. You want to be hungry when you eat the food you’ve consecrated for Loaf Mass. Bringing your hunger to the table is part of what makes the food a holy offering and the table a consecrated altar to whatever god or gods you’ve asked to dinner.

Even if you have no gods (as I don’t), don’t forget to set out an extra plate for an unexpected guest. Place on it a stone. The guest will tell the stone to become bread. When the stone becomes bread, the guest has arrived.

Today’s loaf is rising in the bowl.


Superimposition College: Isosceles Triangle, Scalene Owl

Superimposition Collage: Superb Owl

My heart is full of owls; my mother cached them there.


Chaos Drawing: Athene Noctua

Museum of Joy / Superb Owl

Hieronymous Bosch, Owls’ Nest

Bonus Bosch: