A Sweetheart of an Award

Depending on how deeply you drill into the definition in your German:English dictionary, the word liebster, means dearest  or sweetheart. Recently, my dear/dearer/dearest friend, the sweet-heart British poet Louise Hastings, presented me with a Liebster Blog Award.  Louise best fits that German translation among all the folks I’ve met in my one year out here in the digital wilderness. I unabashedly love this darling girl to bits!

In accepting this award, along with the new skill of gracious acceptance Louise is trying to teach me--rather than my native incredulity--I must agree to:

1. Show my thanks to the blogger who gave me the award by linking back to them. (Every day, and exponentially here.) Louise’s blog, Wings Over Waters, is must-read stuff each and every day if you wish to go places you’ve never been or places you forgot you had.

2. Reveal my top 5 picks for the award and let them know I have selected them as I have been selected. (Love these folks and their blogs. Sorted and complete.)

3. Post the award on my blog. (Obviously--you're reading this.)

4. According to Louise, bask in the love from the most supportive people in the Blogosphere. (Without you, there is no Poet Guy me!)

5. And, finally – have fun and spread the karma! (Cool, I'm a giver at heart. Hey! I am!)

Since I can’t pick Louise and Wings Over Waters, here are my five picks:

Beth Winter (Twitter handle: @beth_winter) has become a good friend and supporter of the Joe Hesch that pops up around the Web. Her blog, Eclipsing Winter, is where she posts her poetry, prose, and “anything else my itchy pen decides to scratch.” Beth also treats us to some cool photographs from not only her native fruited plains of Kansas but around the world at her blog, Eclipsing Winter. 

Ginny Brannan (@GinnyBrannan) is a lot like yours truly, a writer and poet who, as she says, “Came this dance a bit later than some.” But, as she also notes, on her her blog, Inside Out Poetry, the most important thing is that she came here. She is justifiably proud her inner poet and writer has finally emerged… the dreamer was always there! Plus, Ginny’s a homegirl from the chill of the Northeast. A prolific blogger, you can read Ginny’s verse and opinion at Inside Out Poetry. 

Anthony Desmond (@iamEPanthony) is a twenty year old Detroit born writer. Raised and homeschooled by his single mother, he first discovered his God-given gift for writing at the age of sixteen. His work is eccentric, abstract, and badass. He is intrigued by pain & sadness, and explores these emotions across a wide array of subject areas: politics, death, religion, and the struggles of everyday life. His poetry is honest, unadulterated and often breathtaking. You can be absorbed by the pen of this gifted young man at The Glass Staircase. 

Joanna Lee (@la_poetessa) is one of those Renaissance people who can do it all, but you like them anyway because they’re so damn sweet and cool. An M.D. in Richmond, Virginia, Joanna’s acaemic and professional journey was not creatively barren, however; an entire section of her first book, the somersaults I did as I fell, was inspired by the intimate experiences she had with life and death while on clinical rotations. A hardworking promoter of poetry events in the Richmond area, Joanna’s own beautiful writing and photography can be found on her blog The Tenth Muse.

My other Renaissance woman named Lee selection, Diana Lee (@Diana605) is a terrific supporter of this old poet guy, but is, most importantly, a brilliant poet and photographer. Her poetry can be found at Diana’s Words and her verse-illuminated photgraphy (21st Century haiga, anyone?) is hung at Life Through Blue Eyes. Diana is one of the greatest supporters of art and poetry in the Twitterverse.

There are many other people I wish I could have chosen to give this award, but according to its rules, I could only pick five. I hope they will pick up some I couldn’t. I appreciate you all as friends and straight up commentators and all readers should take a look at your blogs/sites. They’ll enrich your life. I guarantee it. I love all of them! 

Nightfall, Another November

By Joseph Hesch

I stepped outside at 5:00 and another November struck me

like a black bolt of ash -- the darkness of early sundown,

the steely chill of snow-threatening clouds,

and a near-deafening din that drowned out the wind.

The colors of October long ago disappeared, 

fallen to the ankles of once brightly outfitted trees

that stood as beacons for weekend leaf peepers.

They now reached skyward in scraggly stick-'em-up 

posture, robbed of their raiment

by frost and frigid currents. Shivering sentinels, 
the skeleton maples, hickories and oaks,

found their bony limbs decorated by hundreds of 
nattering neighbors in jet, keeping with
the dark end of the month’s gray-scale color scheme.

Advent ornaments, lit by sundown, shiny and black,
adorned the branches. Ebony leaves full of cawing cacophony. 

At dawn, these gravity-defying decorations disappear,

falling up and away, shed in an anti-autumn explosion

of feathers, noise, and bad intent,

onyx scavengers crowing their ascendancy

over a napping Nature.

And I feel the bones of another of my years
about to be picked clean.


As I walked from my office to the parking lot the other night, I heard the racket from hundreds of crows festooning the trees surrounding the campus where I work. They are a foul nuisance, but one heck of an inspiration...if I'm mindful enough to use them. They stirred up "Nightfall, Another November."  Linking this poem up to dVerse Poets Pub for its Open Link Night.

Backstage at The Firmament

By Joseph Hesch

Come the Fall, the sky grows wider,
blacker, starrier as each night
the trees undress and become skinnier,
like movie starlets
trying to make a name for themselves
above some blockbuster's title.
I become smaller now, a bit less significant
against the ever more vast darkness.
If that net of stars should drop
upon the now-drowsy Earth,
I bet I could slip through it and
peek backstage at The Firmament,
catching angels and gods in dishabille,
like the maples and starlets,
their wings and auras hanging from hooks
fashioned from mortal prayers
for another good harvest
or more nights like this.


Image: EQUINOX, by Alison Jardine

My Island

By Joseph Hesch

The autumn rain lifted overnight,

and in the morning our road
seemed a seascape as I looked East,
a long black beach curving ahead of me.
The puddles were sun-mirrored tidal pools
surrounded by the final tossing
of russet shells from the oaks.
Above, a grand artist,
with wind-blown flourish,
had dry-brushed strokes of gray
over the white impastos He scattered
across a canvas of palest blue infinity.
And I, the sleepy suburban Crusoe,
breathed the sweet breeze of morning.

Oh, I’m as tired of writing sad, breast-beating, introspective poems as you probably are of reading them. So today, I went back to my initial source of inspiration. Pardon the pun, but I went back to Nature. My morning walks with Mollie almost always provided my groggy brain with some poetic fodder--shuffling little old men, honking geese, neon prisms of broken ice—but this one was as simple as it gets. I just looked at the road and sky and sucked in a breath of elation.

I decided to post this little poem for Week 10 of dVersePoet Pub’s Open Link Night. If you like to read poetry from a world-wide cast of verse wranglers, you really should pay a visit to the pub, where my friend and poetic fairy godmother Claudia Schoenfeld is in charge tonight. And don't be afraid to leave a comment here and there. Especially, well...here!