CALIFORNIA FIRES REVISITED (#art #fire #hope)

Tags

California Fires, Hope, Legislature, Nor'easter, Phil Gennuso Arts

Phil Gennuso Arts

     This is my third take (unfortunately) on California fires. It is hard for me to imagine being chased out of your home by raging fire, everywhere you turn. And possibly having your power cut off to boot.

      It’s Sunday, October 27, I am sitting back watching the news, there is a rainy storm going on outside my window, my electric heater is on. I am thinking of snow, and Nor’easters and fires and as a New Yorker, I have to say, I am lucky I have never had to deal with fires the way folks in California often do.

      My heart goes out to California. I hope the folks out there can get together through their legislature and come up with practical solutions to deal more effectively with this recurring problem.

Spring Flowers! (#photography #spring #noreaster)

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Nature, Nor'easter, Phil Gennuso, PHOTOGRAPHY, Spring

For all my friends in the NorthEast, hold on, Spring is just around the corner!

Kerosene Lamp

Tags

Digital Art, Kerosene Lamp, Nor'easter, Phil Gennuso, Poetry

by phil gennuso

your glow is almost surreal,
spilling over the countertop
into the cold darkness.

the power is out, the lines are down,
the wind howls,
the nor’easter is let loose.

not you though,
you sit calm, almost cerebral.
our conversation is so basic,
so elemental,
so soothing,
the rest of the situation
does not seem to matter much.

so we sit together, in silence,
apart from this world,
alone, to ourselves,
trapped by this strange quiet,
surrounded by this growing darkness.

A POEM FOR ALL TRUE NOR’EASTERS!

Tags

Nor'easter, Robert Frost

I thought this poem might be appropriate for all of us in the Northeast, waiting on the wintery snow storm. It is a poem by Robert Frost, a poem many of us have read, a deceptively simple poem, complete, and minimalist in its accurate description of a snowy night, reflective and almost reluctant, in its final stanza.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.