Posted 10 years ago
Jewels
(175 items)
Vintage brass eagle necklace I picked up for 1.99. Who could resist! Looks 1970's I believe. I might wear it! Thanks for looking!
Vintage brass eagle necklace | ||
| All items147499 of 244522 |  |  |
Vintage brass eagle necklace | ||
| All items147499 of 244522 | | |
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Posted 10 years ago
Jewels
(175 items)
Vintage brass eagle necklace I picked up for 1.99. Who could resist! Looks 1970's I believe. I might wear it! Thanks for looking!
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Double winged thunder bird? Cool!
Oh thank you, that makes it sound so great :)
Possibly PNW?
Pnw? Pacific Northwest?
Yes, the styling says that to me, but I am far from expert in these matters.
Oh really? I have virtual friends all over the place there, and I love the Oregonian's poetry editor. :) Whereabouts were you located?
Nuh - uh! Really? :)
Oh yeah! Huge! You?
Huge myself, lol. :) Read, or write it too?
Just read! You write poetry? Here is an interesting one:
Snapping Beans by Lisa Parker
I snapped beans into the silver bowl
that sat on the splintering slats
of the porchswing between my grandma and me.
I was home for the weekend,
from school, from the North,
Grandma hummed “What A Friend We Have In Jesus”
as the sun rose, pushing its pink spikes
through the slant of cornstalks,
through the fly-eyed mesh of the screen.
We didn’t speak until the sun overcame
the feathered tips of the cornfield
and Grandma stopped humming. I could feel
the soft gray of her stare
against the side of my face
when she asked, How’s school a-goin?
I wanted to tell her about my classes,
the revelations by book and lecture
as real as any shout of faith,
potent as a swig of strychnine.
She reached the leather of her hand
over the bowl and cupped
my quivering chin;
the slick smooth of her palm held my face
the way she held cherry tomatoes under the spigot,
careful not to drop them,
and I wanted to tell her
about the nights I cried into the familiar
heartsick panels of the quilt she made me,
wishing myself home on the evening star.
I wanted to tell her
the evening star was a planet,
that my friends wore noserings and wrote poetry
about sex, about alcoholism, about Buddha.
I wanted to tell her
how my stomach burned acidic holes
at the thought of speaking in class,
speaking in an accent, speaking out of turn,
how I was tearing, splitting myself apart
with the slow-simmering guilt of being happy
despite it all.
I said, School’s fine.
We snapped beans into the silver bowl between us
and when a hickory leaf, still summer green,
skidded onto the porchfront,
Grandma said,
It’s funny how things blow loose like that.
Ooooooh, you are a reader. Yes, indeed you are. :)
Here's one I like.
Waiting for Lumber
By Mark Turpin
Somehow none of us knew exactly
what time it was supposed to come.
So there we were, all of us, five men
at how much an hour given to picking
at blades of grass, tossing pebbles
at the curb, with nothing in the space
between the two red cones, and no distant
downshift of a roaring truck grinding
steadily towards us uphill. Someone thought
maybe one of us should go back to town
to call, but no one did, and no one gave
the order to. It was as if each to himself
had called a kind of strike, brought a halt,
locked out any impulse back to work.
What was work in our lives anyway?
No one recalled a moment of saying yes
to hammer and saw, or anything else.
Each looked to the others for some defining
Move - the way at lunch without a word
all would start to rise when the foreman
closed the lid of his lunchbox - but
none came. The senior of us leaned
against a peach tree marked for demolition,
seemed almost careful not to give a sign.
And I - as I am likely to do, and who
knows, but maybe we all were - beginning
to notice the others there, and ourselves
among them, as if we could be strangers suddenly,
like those few evenings we had chosen to meet
at some bar and appeared to each other
in our street clothes - that was the sense -
of a glass over another creature's fate.
A hundred feet above our stillness
on the ground we could hear a breeze
that seemed to blow the moment past,
trifling with the leaves; we watched
a ranging hawk float past. It was the time
of morning when housewives return
alone from morning errands. Something
we had all witnessed a hundred times before,
but this time with new interest. And all of us
felt the slight loosening of the way things were,
as if working or not working were a matter
of choice, and who we were didn't
matter, if not always, at least for that hour.
Oh, I like that Katherine! Here's a classic, I'm sure you know, an all time fav of mine:
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Who doesn't love that poem? :)
Well I could go all day and night posting Neruda and Lorca and Rossetti and some contemporary poets I know, but our friends here might get a little cranky, lol.
Good luck tracking down this necklace!
Haha! I could too Katherine! The crowd here has become very mellow! Awesome! :) Thank you so much for all the help on the jewelry Katherine--learned a lot! :)
Thanks for your help with my little bird, Jewels. :)