JTShaffer-Author
@jtshaffer-author.bsky.social
Writer of Poetry Drama Fiction Nonfiction
Director Editor Reader of Literature
Painter Metal Sculptor Welder Photographer
Musician Inventor Organic Farmer
Biochar Heirloom Peppers Chickens
Living Planet Proponent
Nature Ethics Climate
Director Editor Reader of Literature
Painter Metal Sculptor Welder Photographer
Musician Inventor Organic Farmer
Biochar Heirloom Peppers Chickens
Living Planet Proponent
Nature Ethics Climate
The morning wind forever blows,
the poem of creation is uninterrupted;
but few are the ears that hear it.
~from <Walden>, Thoreau
the poem of creation is uninterrupted;
but few are the ears that hear it.
~from <Walden>, Thoreau
November 28, 2025 at 5:30 PM
The morning wind forever blows,
the poem of creation is uninterrupted;
but few are the ears that hear it.
~from <Walden>, Thoreau
the poem of creation is uninterrupted;
but few are the ears that hear it.
~from <Walden>, Thoreau
A still - Volcano - Life -
That flickered in the night -
When it was dark enough
to show
Without endangering sight -
~from F517A, Emily Dickinson Archive
That flickered in the night -
When it was dark enough
to show
Without endangering sight -
~from F517A, Emily Dickinson Archive
November 28, 2025 at 5:29 PM
A still - Volcano - Life -
That flickered in the night -
When it was dark enough
to show
Without endangering sight -
~from F517A, Emily Dickinson Archive
That flickered in the night -
When it was dark enough
to show
Without endangering sight -
~from F517A, Emily Dickinson Archive
Happy Thanksgiving! :D🦃🍂
November 27, 2025 at 4:35 PM
Happy Thanksgiving! :D🦃🍂
When the first chickens were no more than peeping balls of fluff, I cut up a stack of cheapie romance paperbacks & used the shreds for bedding (minus the glossy covers). Eventually the paper scraps went into the garden, & sometimes, hoeing & planting, I'll upturn cryptic snaps of dirty romance.
November 27, 2025 at 2:32 PM
When the first chickens were no more than peeping balls of fluff, I cut up a stack of cheapie romance paperbacks & used the shreds for bedding (minus the glossy covers). Eventually the paper scraps went into the garden, & sometimes, hoeing & planting, I'll upturn cryptic snaps of dirty romance.
I am grateful for what I am and have. My thanksgiving is perpetual. It is surprising how contented one can be with nothing definite, —only a sense of existence.
~Thoreau letter to H.G.O. Blake, 6 December 1856
~Thoreau letter to H.G.O. Blake, 6 December 1856
November 26, 2025 at 3:15 PM
I am grateful for what I am and have. My thanksgiving is perpetual. It is surprising how contented one can be with nothing definite, —only a sense of existence.
~Thoreau letter to H.G.O. Blake, 6 December 1856
~Thoreau letter to H.G.O. Blake, 6 December 1856
Hope everyone has a nice week! 🍁🐦🐇🍂🐿️Read the Norton <The Golden Age of Spanish Drama>, great. Siglo Oro dramas, very good. 'La vida es sueña' / 'Life is a Dream' by Calderón de la Barca, was my favorite and might paint a scene from the story. Moving on from these two paintings; studies, as it were.
November 23, 2025 at 10:48 PM
Hope everyone has a nice week! 🍁🐦🐇🍂🐿️Read the Norton <The Golden Age of Spanish Drama>, great. Siglo Oro dramas, very good. 'La vida es sueña' / 'Life is a Dream' by Calderón de la Barca, was my favorite and might paint a scene from the story. Moving on from these two paintings; studies, as it were.
Hope everyone has a nice week! :D🍁🍂🍁🍂
November 17, 2025 at 12:21 AM
Hope everyone has a nice week! :D🍁🍂🍁🍂
We like a Hairbreadth
'scape
It tingles in the Mind
Far after Act or
Accident
Like paragraphs of
Wind
If I had ventured
less
The Breeze were not
so fine
That reaches to our
utmost Hair
Its Resonance divine.
~F1247A, Emily Dickinson Archive
'scape
It tingles in the Mind
Far after Act or
Accident
Like paragraphs of
Wind
If I had ventured
less
The Breeze were not
so fine
That reaches to our
utmost Hair
Its Resonance divine.
~F1247A, Emily Dickinson Archive
November 16, 2025 at 3:47 PM
We like a Hairbreadth
'scape
It tingles in the Mind
Far after Act or
Accident
Like paragraphs of
Wind
If I had ventured
less
The Breeze were not
so fine
That reaches to our
utmost Hair
Its Resonance divine.
~F1247A, Emily Dickinson Archive
'scape
It tingles in the Mind
Far after Act or
Accident
Like paragraphs of
Wind
If I had ventured
less
The Breeze were not
so fine
That reaches to our
utmost Hair
Its Resonance divine.
~F1247A, Emily Dickinson Archive
16 November, 1850
My Journal should be the record of my love. I would write in it only of the things I love, my affection for any aspect of the world, what I love to think of . . . I feel ripe for something, yet do nothing, can't discover what that thing is.
~from Thoreau's <Journal>
My Journal should be the record of my love. I would write in it only of the things I love, my affection for any aspect of the world, what I love to think of . . . I feel ripe for something, yet do nothing, can't discover what that thing is.
~from Thoreau's <Journal>
November 16, 2025 at 3:43 PM
16 November, 1850
My Journal should be the record of my love. I would write in it only of the things I love, my affection for any aspect of the world, what I love to think of . . . I feel ripe for something, yet do nothing, can't discover what that thing is.
~from Thoreau's <Journal>
My Journal should be the record of my love. I would write in it only of the things I love, my affection for any aspect of the world, what I love to think of . . . I feel ripe for something, yet do nothing, can't discover what that thing is.
~from Thoreau's <Journal>
Some of our richest days are those in which no sun shines outwardly, but so much the more a sun shines inwardly. I love nature, I love the landscape, because it is so sincere. It never cheats me. It never jests. It is cheerfully, musically earnest. I lie and relie on the earth.
~Thoreau, <Journal>
~Thoreau, <Journal>
November 16, 2025 at 3:39 PM
Some of our richest days are those in which no sun shines outwardly, but so much the more a sun shines inwardly. I love nature, I love the landscape, because it is so sincere. It never cheats me. It never jests. It is cheerfully, musically earnest. I lie and relie on the earth.
~Thoreau, <Journal>
~Thoreau, <Journal>
Notwithstanding a sense of unworthiness which possesses me, not without reason, notwithstanding that I regard myself as a good deal of a scamp, yet for the most part the spirit of the universe is unaccountably kind to me, and I enjoy perhaps an unusual share of happiness.
~Thoreau's <Journal>
~Thoreau's <Journal>
November 16, 2025 at 3:34 PM
Notwithstanding a sense of unworthiness which possesses me, not without reason, notwithstanding that I regard myself as a good deal of a scamp, yet for the most part the spirit of the universe is unaccountably kind to me, and I enjoy perhaps an unusual share of happiness.
~Thoreau's <Journal>
~Thoreau's <Journal>
y de rodillas pude ver brotar un árbol de alfabetos
en láminas imborrables,
(cuando no hay bondad, hay consecuencias).
and on my knees I could see a tree of alphabets sprout
in indelible sheets,
(when there is no kindness, there are consequences).
~Ivonne Gordon, end of 'Hubo insensatos silencios'
en láminas imborrables,
(cuando no hay bondad, hay consecuencias).
and on my knees I could see a tree of alphabets sprout
in indelible sheets,
(when there is no kindness, there are consequences).
~Ivonne Gordon, end of 'Hubo insensatos silencios'
November 14, 2025 at 3:53 AM
y de rodillas pude ver brotar un árbol de alfabetos
en láminas imborrables,
(cuando no hay bondad, hay consecuencias).
and on my knees I could see a tree of alphabets sprout
in indelible sheets,
(when there is no kindness, there are consequences).
~Ivonne Gordon, end of 'Hubo insensatos silencios'
en láminas imborrables,
(cuando no hay bondad, hay consecuencias).
and on my knees I could see a tree of alphabets sprout
in indelible sheets,
(when there is no kindness, there are consequences).
~Ivonne Gordon, end of 'Hubo insensatos silencios'
huir es otra forma de alimentarse de tiempo, de disfrazar
la desventura, viajo en un tren sin andén de refuerzo,
fleeing is another way of feeding on time, of disguising
misfortune, I travel on a train without a backup platform,
~Ivonne Gordon from 'Hubo insensatos silencios'
la desventura, viajo en un tren sin andén de refuerzo,
fleeing is another way of feeding on time, of disguising
misfortune, I travel on a train without a backup platform,
~Ivonne Gordon from 'Hubo insensatos silencios'
November 14, 2025 at 3:23 AM
huir es otra forma de alimentarse de tiempo, de disfrazar
la desventura, viajo en un tren sin andén de refuerzo,
fleeing is another way of feeding on time, of disguising
misfortune, I travel on a train without a backup platform,
~Ivonne Gordon from 'Hubo insensatos silencios'
la desventura, viajo en un tren sin andén de refuerzo,
fleeing is another way of feeding on time, of disguising
misfortune, I travel on a train without a backup platform,
~Ivonne Gordon from 'Hubo insensatos silencios'
November 13, 1857
See the sun rise or set if possible each day. Let that be your pill. How speedily the night comes on now! There is some duskiness in the afternoon light before you are aware of it, the cows have gathered about the bars, waiting to be let out [. . . .]
~from Thoreau's <Journal>
See the sun rise or set if possible each day. Let that be your pill. How speedily the night comes on now! There is some duskiness in the afternoon light before you are aware of it, the cows have gathered about the bars, waiting to be let out [. . . .]
~from Thoreau's <Journal>
November 14, 2025 at 3:02 AM
November 13, 1857
See the sun rise or set if possible each day. Let that be your pill. How speedily the night comes on now! There is some duskiness in the afternoon light before you are aware of it, the cows have gathered about the bars, waiting to be let out [. . . .]
~from Thoreau's <Journal>
See the sun rise or set if possible each day. Let that be your pill. How speedily the night comes on now! There is some duskiness in the afternoon light before you are aware of it, the cows have gathered about the bars, waiting to be let out [. . . .]
~from Thoreau's <Journal>
Had I not
seen the Sun
I could have
borne the shade
But Light a
newer Wilderness
My Wilderness
has made -
~F1249A, Emily Dickinson Archive
seen the Sun
I could have
borne the shade
But Light a
newer Wilderness
My Wilderness
has made -
~F1249A, Emily Dickinson Archive
November 14, 2025 at 2:58 AM
Had I not
seen the Sun
I could have
borne the shade
But Light a
newer Wilderness
My Wilderness
has made -
~F1249A, Emily Dickinson Archive
seen the Sun
I could have
borne the shade
But Light a
newer Wilderness
My Wilderness
has made -
~F1249A, Emily Dickinson Archive
It's like the Light-
A fashionless Delight-
It's like the Bee-
A dateless -Melody-
It's like the Woods-
Private - Like the Breeze-
Phraseless - yet it stirs
The proudest Trees-
It's like the morning-
Best - when it's done-
And the Everlasting Clocks-
Chime - Noon!
~F302A, Dickinson Archive
A fashionless Delight-
It's like the Bee-
A dateless -Melody-
It's like the Woods-
Private - Like the Breeze-
Phraseless - yet it stirs
The proudest Trees-
It's like the morning-
Best - when it's done-
And the Everlasting Clocks-
Chime - Noon!
~F302A, Dickinson Archive
November 14, 2025 at 2:57 AM
It's like the Light-
A fashionless Delight-
It's like the Bee-
A dateless -Melody-
It's like the Woods-
Private - Like the Breeze-
Phraseless - yet it stirs
The proudest Trees-
It's like the morning-
Best - when it's done-
And the Everlasting Clocks-
Chime - Noon!
~F302A, Dickinson Archive
A fashionless Delight-
It's like the Bee-
A dateless -Melody-
It's like the Woods-
Private - Like the Breeze-
Phraseless - yet it stirs
The proudest Trees-
It's like the morning-
Best - when it's done-
And the Everlasting Clocks-
Chime - Noon!
~F302A, Dickinson Archive
. . . .
Maybe you're wrong, good Mother,
maybe they're not <real> wars.
And then I knew that the voice
of the spirits had been let in --
as intense as an epileptic aura --
and that no longer would I sing
alone.
. . . .
~from Anne Sexton's "The White Snake"
written 1970
my oil painting 2018
Maybe you're wrong, good Mother,
maybe they're not <real> wars.
And then I knew that the voice
of the spirits had been let in --
as intense as an epileptic aura --
and that no longer would I sing
alone.
. . . .
~from Anne Sexton's "The White Snake"
written 1970
my oil painting 2018
November 14, 2025 at 2:48 AM
. . . .
Maybe you're wrong, good Mother,
maybe they're not <real> wars.
And then I knew that the voice
of the spirits had been let in --
as intense as an epileptic aura --
and that no longer would I sing
alone.
. . . .
~from Anne Sexton's "The White Snake"
written 1970
my oil painting 2018
Maybe you're wrong, good Mother,
maybe they're not <real> wars.
And then I knew that the voice
of the spirits had been let in --
as intense as an epileptic aura --
and that no longer would I sing
alone.
. . . .
~from Anne Sexton's "The White Snake"
written 1970
my oil painting 2018
These tested Our Horizon -
Then disappeared
As Birds before achieving
A Latitude.
Our Retrospection of
Them
A fixed Delight,
But Our Anticipation
A Dice - a Doubt -
~F934A, Emily Dickinson Archive
Then disappeared
As Birds before achieving
A Latitude.
Our Retrospection of
Them
A fixed Delight,
But Our Anticipation
A Dice - a Doubt -
~F934A, Emily Dickinson Archive
November 13, 2025 at 2:49 AM
These tested Our Horizon -
Then disappeared
As Birds before achieving
A Latitude.
Our Retrospection of
Them
A fixed Delight,
But Our Anticipation
A Dice - a Doubt -
~F934A, Emily Dickinson Archive
Then disappeared
As Birds before achieving
A Latitude.
Our Retrospection of
Them
A fixed Delight,
But Our Anticipation
A Dice - a Doubt -
~F934A, Emily Dickinson Archive
Hubo insensatos silencios
There were senseless silences
en el momento de ser,
in the moment of being,
en el momento de sentir las manos
in the moment of feeling the hands
y sosegar la conciencia doble,
and calming the double conscience,
~from 'Hubo insensatos silencios' by Ivonne Gordon
There were senseless silences
en el momento de ser,
in the moment of being,
en el momento de sentir las manos
in the moment of feeling the hands
y sosegar la conciencia doble,
and calming the double conscience,
~from 'Hubo insensatos silencios' by Ivonne Gordon
November 12, 2025 at 3:57 AM
Hubo insensatos silencios
There were senseless silences
en el momento de ser,
in the moment of being,
en el momento de sentir las manos
in the moment of feeling the hands
y sosegar la conciencia doble,
and calming the double conscience,
~from 'Hubo insensatos silencios' by Ivonne Gordon
There were senseless silences
en el momento de ser,
in the moment of being,
en el momento de sentir las manos
in the moment of feeling the hands
y sosegar la conciencia doble,
and calming the double conscience,
~from 'Hubo insensatos silencios' by Ivonne Gordon
Nov. 11, 1851
The brilliancy of the autumn is wonderful, this flashing brilliancy, as if the atmosphere were phosphoric.
~Thoreau's <Journal>
The brilliancy of the autumn is wonderful, this flashing brilliancy, as if the atmosphere were phosphoric.
~Thoreau's <Journal>
November 12, 2025 at 3:42 AM
Nov. 11, 1851
The brilliancy of the autumn is wonderful, this flashing brilliancy, as if the atmosphere were phosphoric.
~Thoreau's <Journal>
The brilliancy of the autumn is wonderful, this flashing brilliancy, as if the atmosphere were phosphoric.
~Thoreau's <Journal>
<Speech> is a prank of <parliament>
<Tears> - the surf of the <nerve> -
But the heart with the heaviest
freight on
Doesn't always move.
~F193B, Emily Dickinson Archive
<Tears> - the surf of the <nerve> -
But the heart with the heaviest
freight on
Doesn't always move.
~F193B, Emily Dickinson Archive
November 12, 2025 at 2:24 AM
<Speech> is a prank of <parliament>
<Tears> - the surf of the <nerve> -
But the heart with the heaviest
freight on
Doesn't always move.
~F193B, Emily Dickinson Archive
<Tears> - the surf of the <nerve> -
But the heart with the heaviest
freight on
Doesn't always move.
~F193B, Emily Dickinson Archive
when the Frosts begin
We just reverse the Zodiac
And fetch the Acres in - -
~from F1036A, Emily Dickinson Archive
We just reverse the Zodiac
And fetch the Acres in - -
~from F1036A, Emily Dickinson Archive
November 10, 2025 at 4:26 AM
when the Frosts begin
We just reverse the Zodiac
And fetch the Acres in - -
~from F1036A, Emily Dickinson Archive
We just reverse the Zodiac
And fetch the Acres in - -
~from F1036A, Emily Dickinson Archive
Hope everyone has a good week! :D🌝🍂🐞🍁🐦☁️
The leaves are sailing and tumbling, they sparkle in the trees and make a sound like rushing water, when the wind rises, shimmering undulations across an array of colors. The bluebird pair is busy today about their box, babies hatched.
The leaves are sailing and tumbling, they sparkle in the trees and make a sound like rushing water, when the wind rises, shimmering undulations across an array of colors. The bluebird pair is busy today about their box, babies hatched.
November 9, 2025 at 10:29 PM
Hope everyone has a good week! :D🌝🍂🐞🍁🐦☁️
The leaves are sailing and tumbling, they sparkle in the trees and make a sound like rushing water, when the wind rises, shimmering undulations across an array of colors. The bluebird pair is busy today about their box, babies hatched.
The leaves are sailing and tumbling, they sparkle in the trees and make a sound like rushing water, when the wind rises, shimmering undulations across an array of colors. The bluebird pair is busy today about their box, babies hatched.
Excellent poetry from Ivonne Gordon, I'll try to share some of her work along with approximate English translations. Many thanks to her for allowing me to share her work with my friends.
November 8, 2025 at 4:55 PM
Excellent poetry from Ivonne Gordon, I'll try to share some of her work along with approximate English translations. Many thanks to her for allowing me to share her work with my friends.
Hope everyone has a nice week! :D🍂🍁🦋
Frost around, hit-and-miss, still a few blooms, even an unexpected Flying Saucer morning glory. The pollinators seem to be gone for the season, a lone monarch butterfly came winging late in the day on Halloween, moving and did not stop, not that I was aware of.
Frost around, hit-and-miss, still a few blooms, even an unexpected Flying Saucer morning glory. The pollinators seem to be gone for the season, a lone monarch butterfly came winging late in the day on Halloween, moving and did not stop, not that I was aware of.
November 2, 2025 at 5:46 PM
Hope everyone has a nice week! :D🍂🍁🦋
Frost around, hit-and-miss, still a few blooms, even an unexpected Flying Saucer morning glory. The pollinators seem to be gone for the season, a lone monarch butterfly came winging late in the day on Halloween, moving and did not stop, not that I was aware of.
Frost around, hit-and-miss, still a few blooms, even an unexpected Flying Saucer morning glory. The pollinators seem to be gone for the season, a lone monarch butterfly came winging late in the day on Halloween, moving and did not stop, not that I was aware of.