Monday, September 22, 2008
The Beautiful Things----poem by Louise Zhang
what is beautiful
defies analysis
but you will know
it is a beautiful song when you hear one
it is a beautiful flower when you smell one
it is a beautiful woman when you meet one
it is a beautiful book when you read one
it is a beautiful dream when you have one
beautiful things exist
for all your senses
open yourself to the beautiful
you will receive its radiance
you will receive its fragrance
you will receive its vibrations
you will receive its celebrations
the beautiful
finds its dignity in melody
finds its integrity in diversity
finds its purity in simplicity
finds its uniqueness in harmony
the beautiful
a blessing to come to you
a prayer to come to you
a regard to come to you
a love to come to you
when you see the beautiful
feel the beautiful
salute the beautiful
beauty is in you
sports sisters
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Sunday, September 14, 2008
NOT YOU----by Louise
HER LAST MOON----by Louise
UNTITILED---by Louise
she can't escape
the thought
death,
ends with a finality
she can't escape
the thought
life,
flowers into a parody;
she can't escape
the thought
herself,
born a probability
thus,
death, her
thinking companion;
life, her
traveling joker,
herself,
a knowing gravity.
when young
death is, to her
but a fantasy;
when soul knows afternoon,
life is, but an ambiguity;
waiting for her,
to stir up that dusky mystery.
NOT PRINTED------by Louise
Friday, September 12, 2008
TIME IS A BIG BLENDER----- BY LOUISE
How much we have advanced,
From the caves in each different continent,
To a beehive of today's humongous cities,
Slow cooking of differences,
Given up to melting pots of digestions,
Till eventually,
Here comes the super blender,
With its sharp blades,
In just a matter of a few celestial minutes,
Individual specialities break down,
And in a whirl of turning around,
History loses its time frames,
Map loses its longitudes,
A flurry of neutral colours,
An averaged out of heights.
Time turns to cut through shapes of nations,
Time turns to cut through lines of generations,
Time turns to cut through layers of conformations,
Time turns to cut through perspectives of proportions.
A big jug,
A big pot,
A big barrel,
A big cylinder,
Times turns its sharp blades,
And in due course,
An era of egalitarian promise takes place,
Your conditioning of traditions loses its edges.
A smoothie is born out of this blending,
Which is the ultimate new horizon looming.
From the caves in each different continent,
To a beehive of today's humongous cities,
Slow cooking of differences,
Given up to melting pots of digestions,
Till eventually,
Here comes the super blender,
With its sharp blades,
In just a matter of a few celestial minutes,
Individual specialities break down,
And in a whirl of turning around,
History loses its time frames,
Map loses its longitudes,
A flurry of neutral colours,
An averaged out of heights.
Time turns to cut through shapes of nations,
Time turns to cut through lines of generations,
Time turns to cut through layers of conformations,
Time turns to cut through perspectives of proportions.
A big jug,
A big pot,
A big barrel,
A big cylinder,
Times turns its sharp blades,
And in due course,
An era of egalitarian promise takes place,
Your conditioning of traditions loses its edges.
A smoothie is born out of this blending,
Which is the ultimate new horizon looming.
BURING SNOW----- by Louise
Blazing white sensations,
Dazzling chilliness,
Cold February snow,
Burns densely over the vast wintry emptiness.
Hurling feathers of flakes,
Intercepts drafts of earthy breaths,
Settles down quietly on an immensity of suspension,
Accumulates freezing gravity.
Burning, cold, burning,
Snow aflame in blasting blares,
Sending blue shots into engaging eyes,
And gripping your heart with tight numbness,
Shoulders and arms,
Laden with heavy chilly solidity.
On the tips of your finger nails,
Needles of biting chill burn deep into ribs,
Exploding sensations of hottest sharpness,
Blurs the boundaries of senses.
Snow is burning,
Snow is in white flames,
Invades space with sharp whirling knives,
Fills openness with hashed excitements.
White heat in white cold,
Opens close-downs into inclusive extendedness.
White wash of colours,
White wash of temperatures,
White wash of throbbing desires,
White wash of frozen noises,
Snow clad mountains and snow shrouded rivers,
Stroll gracefully in their crystal robes,
In the deadly wintry morning,
A stoic February sentiment royally remembers.
Dazzling chilliness,
Cold February snow,
Burns densely over the vast wintry emptiness.
Hurling feathers of flakes,
Intercepts drafts of earthy breaths,
Settles down quietly on an immensity of suspension,
Accumulates freezing gravity.
Burning, cold, burning,
Snow aflame in blasting blares,
Sending blue shots into engaging eyes,
And gripping your heart with tight numbness,
Shoulders and arms,
Laden with heavy chilly solidity.
On the tips of your finger nails,
Needles of biting chill burn deep into ribs,
Exploding sensations of hottest sharpness,
Blurs the boundaries of senses.
Snow is burning,
Snow is in white flames,
Invades space with sharp whirling knives,
Fills openness with hashed excitements.
White heat in white cold,
Opens close-downs into inclusive extendedness.
White wash of colours,
White wash of temperatures,
White wash of throbbing desires,
White wash of frozen noises,
Snow clad mountains and snow shrouded rivers,
Stroll gracefully in their crystal robes,
In the deadly wintry morning,
A stoic February sentiment royally remembers.
THE VELVET TRUTH ---- BY Louise
For each hug and kiss,
Eyes go deeper, layer under layer,
Blood surges, higher and higher,
Hearts unfold, minds bolder.
In a moment of ecstasy,
time warps, space caves in, brains drain;
Romance grows a trunk of history,
Hearts are petted and crumbled like pastry.
Love is named, lovers claimed,
In that sublimed blindness,
Flesh flashes brightest,
Sends searching lights
Down the laminated corridor of mates.
Piling high the everlasting mystery of souls
Find a seat for the wandering spirit,
Build a roof for the aloof,
And a room for the roaming.
A pillow for the burning temples,
A praying mattress for the flesh,
A candle light to shut out the days,
A canvas to paint an engaging gaze.
In the moonlit night,
A laughter breaks,
a shadow flees,
a sign slips.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Prince of Waves----- by Louise
A date with waves,
Tides come in with surety.
On her moody bosom
Rise and fall,
Whimsically roll
Tempest of emotions
Her Majesty,
The Aquarian Queen.
Prince of waves,
Treading her silver signs,
Dark specks
Skip, slip
Her white shouts
Swirl, swell
Foamy waves
Rush, push
Hurl, crash.
An intoxicating dance,
Of sure steps,
Timing the shifty rhythms,
Unleash youthful chase,
After swimming whales,
Wave rodeo,
Riders few.
To court the mightiest waves,
To catch the strongest wind,
A thundering sea
Marching,
Millions of horse roofs.
Best for a second,
Touching clouds,
Steady on the piling thrills,
Before the roof of water collapse.
Climbs out of the oceanic trance,
By ropes of winds,
Through the silky tunnel of blue,
Prince of waves,
Delivered from the depth
Of embraces, Heaven and earth,
Convictions of currents.
Monday, September 8, 2008
The Winds Are With Us---- by Louise
The Winds Are With Us
My love is gone,
Like clouds
Drift away,
Through the valleys,
Through the fog
Leave no trace,
Forever lost.
Don’t you feel lonely,
My love,
The winds are with us.
My love is gone,
A quiet sign,
Heard in the night,
Like rain drops,
On the pine needles,
Without a sound.
Don’t you feel sad, my love,
The winds are with us.
My love is gone,
My love is gone,
Everywhere I search for you,
Between the earth and the sky,
Where are you, my love,
Are you among the stars?
Singing the ancient song?
I am with the winds,
I am coming along,
My love,
The moon is full,
The stars are around,
Through the long darkness,
The winds are with us.
My love is gone,
Like clouds
Drift away,
Through the valleys,
Through the fog
Leave no trace,
Forever lost.
Don’t you feel lonely,
My love,
The winds are with us.
My love is gone,
A quiet sign,
Heard in the night,
Like rain drops,
On the pine needles,
Without a sound.
Don’t you feel sad, my love,
The winds are with us.
My love is gone,
My love is gone,
Everywhere I search for you,
Between the earth and the sky,
Where are you, my love,
Are you among the stars?
Singing the ancient song?
I am with the winds,
I am coming along,
My love,
The moon is full,
The stars are around,
Through the long darkness,
The winds are with us.
THE OPPOSITES----by Louise
The Opposites by Louise Zhang (dragonclaw)
Two opposites stand
Face to face,
Each challenges the other,
Reconstructs the common denominator.
The chain of reasons,
Zigzag chainsaws through this and that,
Object and the opposite
Subject and the opposite
Against this, there is that,
Beyond that, here is this.
The middle point of two opposites
Shifting between 1/3 and 2/3.
The golden rule,
The golden mean,
An impossibility without opposites.
Opposite mirrors images,
Opposite gives life to one-sidedness,
Opposite injects meaning to concepts,
Opposite destroys different sameness.
Rhythm rises and falls within the crescendo of opposites,
Mementos bounces against the duration of opposites
Colors deepen, or pale towards the shades of opposites
Lights burst open the seams of illumination
Give me an opposite
I'll raise you another one,
Always measurably mightier,
Outshines yours In the long run.
Two opposites stand
Face to face,
Each challenges the other,
Reconstructs the common denominator.
The chain of reasons,
Zigzag chainsaws through this and that,
Object and the opposite
Subject and the opposite
Against this, there is that,
Beyond that, here is this.
The middle point of two opposites
Shifting between 1/3 and 2/3.
The golden rule,
The golden mean,
An impossibility without opposites.
Opposite mirrors images,
Opposite gives life to one-sidedness,
Opposite injects meaning to concepts,
Opposite destroys different sameness.
Rhythm rises and falls within the crescendo of opposites,
Mementos bounces against the duration of opposites
Colors deepen, or pale towards the shades of opposites
Lights burst open the seams of illumination
Give me an opposite
I'll raise you another one,
Always measurably mightier,
Outshines yours In the long run.
A LITTLE POETESS __ by Louise
I STAND IN THE SUN__ by Louise
Sunday, September 7, 2008
A Dreamer __ by Louise
there is a dreamer
who dreams loud
day turns into night
darkness into light
he drops his first line
and never gets tired of winding
a yarn so long
its end never found
but when he finds his needle
he stitches his riddle
a storybook by the pillow
demons can fumble
tearing a burning page
blowing out a smoky candle
murdering a childlike soul
in bright tri-colour
blue
red
yellow
he wishes to have
a perfect daydream
yet he just dozes off
to a deep sleep
a soft snoring
disturbs his dreaming
even total darkness
between his eyes
leaves no chance to his sleepy muse
and daydream
turns from light to night
this is his dream
he paints
in opulent black
Flies -- Louise
A Bird Asks ___ by Louise
DO I WISH TO GO TO HEAVEN?---by louise
a love story --by louise
a love child
a sweet secret
a certain place
a grown-up memory
of a wild wild night
in the far far north west
swift are the years
silent the promise
a full sized history
claims its own memorial day
between the first
and the last kiss
60 years
have wound down
into an untold story
futile to the mind
restful
unremembering
oh, the green grass
snow on the cedars
that wild wild night
like shooting stars
gently fell
a romance has burnt out
smiles still young
colours enduring
autumn frosts frozen
Wintry leaves waited not
you
me
and the rest
put all our fingers together
let all our eyes shut
leave the dead to peace
the living to live
and the story
to a star
SILENT FAREWELL
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
The Bird Lady
Hine is Phil's Mother Donna's family name. Her father was Hoyt Hine
Biography of Thomas Clark Benson, pages 353 / 354. History of Northeast
Indiana; LaGrange, Steuben, Noble, and DeKalb Counties, Vol. II, under the
editorial supervision of Ira Ford, Orville Stevens, William H. McEwen and
William H. McIntosh. The Lewis Publishing Company, Chicago and New York,
1920.
Thomas Clark Benson. One of the beautiful homes of DeKalb County is
Birdlawn Farm, situated in Richland Township, the property of Thomas Clark
Benson. It is the old family homestead of the Hine family, and its name,
together with that of the adjoining farm, Meadow Lark, which also is a
part of the Hine family estate, serves to perpetuate the beautiful memory
of a gifted woman, the late Mrs. Jane L. Hine, mother of Mrs. Benson,
known in Indiana history as the “Bird Woman.”
Thomas Clark Benson was born in Warren County, Indiana. His parents,
Jonathan and Eliza (Jones) Benson, died when he was very young, and he was
reared in the Ankrum family in Vermilion County, Illinois. He had one
brother and four sisters, namely: Asbury, Mary Jane, Elizabeth, Matilda
and Lydia. The only survivor is Mrs. Matilda Nichols, whose name is at
Weatherford, Oklahoma. Mr. Benson was afforded educational opportunities
and for a number of years taught school very acceptably, then began study
for the ministry, pursuing theological courses at Union Christian College,
Merom, Indiana, and Oberlin Theological Seminary at Oberlin, Ohio. It was
at Oberlin that he met Miss Nellie Cynthia Hine, to whom he was united in
marriage on March 26, 1884, at Birdlawn, the present family house.
When Mrs. Benson’s grandfather, Sheldon Horatio Hine, first invested in
this half section of Richland Township wild land he traded thirty milch
cows for it, at the time living in the Western Reserve across the Indiana-
Ohio state line, buying his property as an investment. When he sent his
son, Horatio Sheldon Hine, to pay the taxes the young man, then nineteen
years old, did not regard it as worth the money, but his father said,
“Young man, some day you will be glad to have it.” Since 1863 Birdlawn
has been a part of the estate now owned by Mr. Benson. When Horatio S.
Hine pay the taxes he found conditions that would have justified almost
any business man entering a protest. He found a swamp instead of a farm
and the sink hole in it was so deep that for many years the New York
Central Railroad passing through Waterloo, Sedan and Corunna, had to make
a detour in order to avoid it. A road bed through the sink hole was
finally made by hauling timber from three states, Indiana, Michigan and
Ohio, laying tier on tier on the ice, subsequent draining making it
possible to make a solid permanent roadway. The above is interesting as
local as well as family history.
While a brother of Horation Sheldon Hine, Lemon Hine, first came to
this DeKalb County farmstead and remained long enough to build the house
which still stands there, it was Horatio S. Hine who developed the farm,
and it is his grandson, Martin Lee Benson, who at present maintains its
standing in agricultural pre-eminence. Horatio S. Hine was twice married,
his first union being with Cynthia Brooks, who was the mother of three
sons: Sheldon H., Charles L. and Frank B. After her death Mr. Hine
married her sister, Jane Brooks, who became the mother of three children,
namely: Mrs. Nellie Cynthia Benson, Brooks L. and Lemon. The mother of
Mrs. Benson was born April 2, 1831, and died February 11, 1916, the
centennial year in Indiana history. With a natural love of nature, Mrs.
Hine beautified the hill slope in front of the farmhouse by setting out
wild flowers and it has been Mrs. Benson’s pleasant duty to protect and
preserve them. It was not, however, until she had faithfully discharged
her duties a wife and mother that Mrs. Hine began her special studies of
bird life, and some of her finest essays were written after she had passed
three score and ten. She was frequently invited to address audiences on
bird lore, wrote voluminously on the subject for different publications
and many of her manuscripts are preserved and consulted as being
scientifically authentic. She was a member of the National Ornithological
Society, and a booklet has been issued as a memorial.
For several years after their marriage Mr. Benson continued in the
ministry, serving Christian churches in Kansas, Pennsylvania and Ohio.
In 1896, coming to Birdlawn with Mrs. Benson to visit her parents and
finding them in need of a daughter’s ministrations, he decided to remain,
and this had been the Benson home ever since. Mr. and Mrs. Benson have
the following children: Paul Hine, Martin Lee, Rhoda Bernice, Kathryn
Eunice and Frank Earl. As a student in Angola College Paul H. Benson
specialized in literature and chemistry. As a soldier in the state
military organization sent to the Mexican border, he soon became an
interpreter of languages, and his knowledge of chemistry had been very
useful to him in a business way at Saginaw, Michigan, since he returned
from military service. Martin Lee Benson made a special study of
agriculture and is the farmer at Birdlawn. Rhoda B. is the wife of J.H.
Miser and they live on their fruit ranch in California. They have two
sons, Harold and Glenn. Kathryn E. Benson, a graduate of the Auburn High
School, had training in the Oklahoma College of Agriculture, and for
several years taught school in Wyoming. Frank Earl Benson , who was one
of the earliest enlisted men to go overseas with the American Expeditionary
Forces in World war, served as orderly to Dr. Richard Derby, son-in-law of
the late beloved Theodore Roosevelt, and at Chateau Thierry and other
points was between the lines in the hardest of the fighting and ever
exhibited the valor that has won laurels for the America soldier. This
family in all its branches illustrates the sterling qualities, high ideals
and solid worth that make the real American type.
Submitted by:
Arlene Goodwin
Auburn, Indiana
Agoodwin@ctlnet.com
Biography of Thomas Clark Benson, pages 353 / 354. History of Northeast
Indiana; LaGrange, Steuben, Noble, and DeKalb Counties, Vol. II, under the
editorial supervision of Ira Ford, Orville Stevens, William H. McEwen and
William H. McIntosh. The Lewis Publishing Company, Chicago and New York,
1920.
Thomas Clark Benson. One of the beautiful homes of DeKalb County is
Birdlawn Farm, situated in Richland Township, the property of Thomas Clark
Benson. It is the old family homestead of the Hine family, and its name,
together with that of the adjoining farm, Meadow Lark, which also is a
part of the Hine family estate, serves to perpetuate the beautiful memory
of a gifted woman, the late Mrs. Jane L. Hine, mother of Mrs. Benson,
known in Indiana history as the “Bird Woman.”
Thomas Clark Benson was born in Warren County, Indiana. His parents,
Jonathan and Eliza (Jones) Benson, died when he was very young, and he was
reared in the Ankrum family in Vermilion County, Illinois. He had one
brother and four sisters, namely: Asbury, Mary Jane, Elizabeth, Matilda
and Lydia. The only survivor is Mrs. Matilda Nichols, whose name is at
Weatherford, Oklahoma. Mr. Benson was afforded educational opportunities
and for a number of years taught school very acceptably, then began study
for the ministry, pursuing theological courses at Union Christian College,
Merom, Indiana, and Oberlin Theological Seminary at Oberlin, Ohio. It was
at Oberlin that he met Miss Nellie Cynthia Hine, to whom he was united in
marriage on March 26, 1884, at Birdlawn, the present family house.
When Mrs. Benson’s grandfather, Sheldon Horatio Hine, first invested in
this half section of Richland Township wild land he traded thirty milch
cows for it, at the time living in the Western Reserve across the Indiana-
Ohio state line, buying his property as an investment. When he sent his
son, Horatio Sheldon Hine, to pay the taxes the young man, then nineteen
years old, did not regard it as worth the money, but his father said,
“Young man, some day you will be glad to have it.” Since 1863 Birdlawn
has been a part of the estate now owned by Mr. Benson. When Horatio S.
Hine pay the taxes he found conditions that would have justified almost
any business man entering a protest. He found a swamp instead of a farm
and the sink hole in it was so deep that for many years the New York
Central Railroad passing through Waterloo, Sedan and Corunna, had to make
a detour in order to avoid it. A road bed through the sink hole was
finally made by hauling timber from three states, Indiana, Michigan and
Ohio, laying tier on tier on the ice, subsequent draining making it
possible to make a solid permanent roadway. The above is interesting as
local as well as family history.
While a brother of Horation Sheldon Hine, Lemon Hine, first came to
this DeKalb County farmstead and remained long enough to build the house
which still stands there, it was Horatio S. Hine who developed the farm,
and it is his grandson, Martin Lee Benson, who at present maintains its
standing in agricultural pre-eminence. Horatio S. Hine was twice married,
his first union being with Cynthia Brooks, who was the mother of three
sons: Sheldon H., Charles L. and Frank B. After her death Mr. Hine
married her sister, Jane Brooks, who became the mother of three children,
namely: Mrs. Nellie Cynthia Benson, Brooks L. and Lemon. The mother of
Mrs. Benson was born April 2, 1831, and died February 11, 1916, the
centennial year in Indiana history. With a natural love of nature, Mrs.
Hine beautified the hill slope in front of the farmhouse by setting out
wild flowers and it has been Mrs. Benson’s pleasant duty to protect and
preserve them. It was not, however, until she had faithfully discharged
her duties a wife and mother that Mrs. Hine began her special studies of
bird life, and some of her finest essays were written after she had passed
three score and ten. She was frequently invited to address audiences on
bird lore, wrote voluminously on the subject for different publications
and many of her manuscripts are preserved and consulted as being
scientifically authentic. She was a member of the National Ornithological
Society, and a booklet has been issued as a memorial.
For several years after their marriage Mr. Benson continued in the
ministry, serving Christian churches in Kansas, Pennsylvania and Ohio.
In 1896, coming to Birdlawn with Mrs. Benson to visit her parents and
finding them in need of a daughter’s ministrations, he decided to remain,
and this had been the Benson home ever since. Mr. and Mrs. Benson have
the following children: Paul Hine, Martin Lee, Rhoda Bernice, Kathryn
Eunice and Frank Earl. As a student in Angola College Paul H. Benson
specialized in literature and chemistry. As a soldier in the state
military organization sent to the Mexican border, he soon became an
interpreter of languages, and his knowledge of chemistry had been very
useful to him in a business way at Saginaw, Michigan, since he returned
from military service. Martin Lee Benson made a special study of
agriculture and is the farmer at Birdlawn. Rhoda B. is the wife of J.H.
Miser and they live on their fruit ranch in California. They have two
sons, Harold and Glenn. Kathryn E. Benson, a graduate of the Auburn High
School, had training in the Oklahoma College of Agriculture, and for
several years taught school in Wyoming. Frank Earl Benson , who was one
of the earliest enlisted men to go overseas with the American Expeditionary
Forces in World war, served as orderly to Dr. Richard Derby, son-in-law of
the late beloved Theodore Roosevelt, and at Chateau Thierry and other
points was between the lines in the hardest of the fighting and ever
exhibited the valor that has won laurels for the America soldier. This
family in all its branches illustrates the sterling qualities, high ideals
and solid worth that make the real American type.
Submitted by:
Arlene Goodwin
Auburn, Indiana
Agoodwin@ctlnet.com
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