Jo Janoski's Blog

The Nooning

2008-08-19T20:23:00.004-04:00

The Nooning by Winslow Homer

The Nooning*

Ants run
on dirty plates
tossed on summer green grass
while Mom's wash fans boyish rumbles
at noon.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

*Nooning -- a rest or meal at noon

Two Strikes

2008-08-14T20:28:00.004-04:00

Two Strikes by Charles Dana Gibson

Summer heat, good old boys, two strikes in the ninth
peanut vapors, gritty vibes, cacophonous uproar
beery stenches tickle fate, sweat forms on the brow
Cross your heart, clench your fists, come on bring it home!
beery stenches tickle fate, sweat forms on the brow
peanut vapors, gritty vibes, cacophonous uproar
Summer heat, good old boys, two strikes in the ninth

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

Empty

2008-08-12T07:45:00.004-04:00

The Music Room by Vilhelm Hammershoi

Empty

Empty of dulcet chords of love
fast drawn curtains deny day's light.
Clouds roam kissing edges above.
You've gone and thus defines my plight.
Music transformed to filmy night,
a sad crystallized existence.
My whimsical heart closed up tight
awaiting with love's persistence.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

A huitain contains 8 lines, 8 syllables per line
Rhyme Scheme ababbcbc

Kicking Up

2008-08-07T19:46:00.004-04:00

Image credit: Rick Mobbs - my four sisters

Kicking Up

Storms gather
with tides nipping shore
but sisters know how to swim
dancing in rushing waves together
kicking up inspiration
that way sisters do
holding hands.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

Trapped

2008-08-06T20:32:00.003-04:00

In the Black Circle by Wassily Kandinsky

Trapped

Trapped in your circle
smoked by nihilistic doom
abstract emptiness
loaded with discordant sounds
of obtuse hunger
while fragmented splotches roam
gruesome moving forms
plotting to seize my being
smothering ego
total assimilation
ignominious defeat.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

Blinded

2008-08-04T08:34:00.004-04:00

The Night Window by Edward Hopper

Blinded

I lie sprawled on concrete
like an alley cat
looking to the stars
my body iced
by frozen concentration
and Jack Daniels
eyes zigzagging the skies
like jet rockets
looking for recognition.
But my supine image
is cast in darkness by your glare
of normalcy
blasting from an electric high tech tower
hovering above me.
I'm nullified by your bombardment
and Technicolor grand-standing.
While in the meantime
I'm amazed by your oblivion.
Are you're blinded by your own bright lights?
I wish you'd keep them to yourself
so I can enjoy the stars.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

Five-O'Clock Tea

2008-07-31T08:33:00.004-04:00

Five O'Clock Tea by Mary Cassatt

Five-O'Clock Tea

She called me to her lair for tea
purring, preening, she licks her sleeve
and looks with lost brown eyes to me.
She called me to her lair for tea.
I'm sure I must, I should, just flee.
I must make plans, plans to soon leave.
She called me to her lair for tea
purring, preening, she licks her sleeve.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

The triolet has 8 lines in the rhyming scheme abaaabab. The first two lines (ab) and the last two lines(ab) are the same, as well as the first line and the fourth.

Photographing Dogs and Other Small Animals

2008-07-29T19:15:00.005-04:00

Our pets, warm and cuddly, bursting with cuteness, why wouldn't you want a photo of your little honey to show others or to perch on your desk in a nice frame. But where to begin. How do you get a technically good picture and one that depicts your dog's personality?

First, the setting. As usual, outdoors with open shade is preferable to sunny glare or indoors, where a flash going off presents a whole new problem of "red eye," or in a dog's case, blue or even green eye. If you must do the photo indoors, use a digital camera so you can take it to Photoshop easily and paint out the blue or green lights. The prepackaged "red eye" fix that comes with your camera software won't work on blue or green eye glare.

Some technical considerations. Choose a background that contrasts with the animal. Or use a telephoto lens which will let you blur the background. You want the animal to stand out as much as possible. Also, the exposure itself can be problematic. A very dark animal will require some overexposure to maintain details in the fur. A white animal is better under-exposed to keep its fur from be washed out.

Next, how to photograph your pet--there are a couple different options. Squirmy, fidgeting dogs aren't easy to settle down for a portrait. You may choose to photograph the animal with a family member who can control it. If you prefer the dog alone, try offering your pooch a favorite toy to keep him occupied. Whichever you choose, the next step is to get your animal's attention while you click the shutter. Use a squeaky toy, held just behind the camera, to make the dog look up.

Also, move in close. Fill the frame with your pet. Furnishings or background are not part of this story. Your pet is. So get in there and make this picture all about him. Keep your camera at eye level with the dog. You want to be down where he lives. You'll probably have to get on your knees. Make eye contact, or use the squeaky toy. Try a variety of shots, too. Think like an artist to bring out your dog's personality, looking for characteristic gestures, postures, and nuances that describe your dog.

If you photograph in digital, it won't cost you anything to take lots of shots. Even if you're using film, isn't it worth a few pennies to shoot lots of angles and try every idea? So indulge yourself, make up your mind to get a great portrait; and most importantly, treasure this special event with your animal. Our animals are with us a very short time, and a good pet portrait will be loved forever.

Copyright 2007 JO Janoski

Whisper

2008-07-28T08:28:00.002-04:00

Head of a Boy by Peter Paul Rubens

Whisper soft songs surround your face
with baby lace
lullaby dreams
innocence streams

Whose child is this white powder rose
in soft repose
sugar breaths fill
puffs airy still

My world made quiet, wondrous, clear
one joyful tear
to spy your face
and feel your grace.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

A Minute Poem:
Three stanzas of 8,4,4,4; 8,4,4,4; 8,4,4,4 syllables. The rhyme scheme is as follows:
aabb
ccdd
eeff

Walking Through Wearing Black

2008-07-25T21:25:00.003-04:00

Lady in Black on a Park Bench by Bernhard Gutmann

Walking through wearing black
I've grown accustomed to this place.
The walls are dim
neutralizing
and the ambient light grayer still.
I add to it,
gladly spreading misery.
The only glimmer comes in white light giggles
that trickle in from outside
cascading, bouncing off walls
like recalcitrant children
playing tag.
But I halt their frolic
when, one by one, they bump into me.
My black cloak sucks their idiotic smiling faces in
like a black hole
eats up stars.
We'll have no giggling light
when I'm about.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

Life Maximus

2008-07-23T08:55:00.005-04:00

Wave by Katsushika Hokusai

Surf exuberant
dancing pie-in-the-sky dreams
jockeying water
knowing the unknowable
spying beyond today's shores.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

(Tanka, no rhyme necessary.
Syllables per line: 5,7,5,7,7)

Fall of the Cowboy

2008-07-22T11:23:00.003-04:00

Fall of the Cowboy by Frederic Sackrider Remington

The gun glinted in the noon day sun, and its barrel was aimed directly at me.

"I thought I could trust you," he said.

I stared back while my knees melted in a puddle at my feet and my heart rat-tat-tatted down the street. Why did I think I could two-time a cowboy? Okay, I came across a lot of cow pokes at the Red Dog Saloon and it used to be I wasn't interested. But lately I'd been feeling lonely, ever since Mr. Brinkley died, or as I liked to call him, Mr. Sugar Daddy. Once he was gone, my female needs went crazy on me. Maybe it was grief, I don't know. But I overextended myself, flirting and hanging onto every trail-worn stranger who wandered in the saloon. That was how I met both Bart and Rusty and on the same night.

I'd been careful not to let one know about the other, but they must have gotten together and compared notes. Because soon I had two angry cowboys facing each off on the main street on a sunny day in February, Valentine's Day to be exact, their hands fixed over their holsters, fingers trembling and flexing.

"You been cavortin' with ma woman?" Bart's face flushed red under his grizzled beard. His voice rang out, baritone and nasty.

"She's my woman." Rusty sounded like screeching train wheels. Even so, he mouthed the words slowly, weighing them down with gravity.

Snowflakes fluttered from the sky making one think of children at play rather than a shoot-out. But it went on.

"I seen her first."

"Did not. I done seen her first. First thing we walked in the Red Dog on Thursday I seen her hanging on the bar, throwing 'em back."

Okay. I've been known to drink a bit when I'm lonesome. It helps me loosen up to meet people; ergo, my cowboy problem. Their angry tones worried me. I worked my way further back in the crowd, stooping to keep from view.

"Yeah, we had fun that night. You and me. As I recall, neither of us played her no mind once she said howdy."

"I went to see her after. Woman winked at me as I went to leave, slipped me her room number, a note right there in my palm, 'Room 3 above the bar.' She said I was the only man she wanted." Rusty blushed.

"I went to see her, too. And she told me I was the only man she wanted."

Swinging around on their heels with such a jostle their spurs jangled, guns now drawn, the cowboys searched the crowd. Bart spotted me first which brings us around to where you came in.

"I thought I could trust you," he said.

I was scared. But I didn't intend to let them know it. "Lots of men thought they could trust me, Cowboy."

I guess he didn't expect that answer. Lowering his gun, he shot a glance to Rusty.

"You both thought you could trust me...and you could. I certainly didn't do anything to hurt either of you. I was simply a friend to you both." I blew each a kiss.

They were speechless.

"Come on, boys...friends."

Rusty broke down first. "Ah, sure, Miss Jo. I'll be your friend."

He rushed over crying and slobbering, giving me a big hug. Bart was quick to follow.

Buried in cowboy muscle, I managed a muffled thank you and backed away. Smiling, I watched the boys return to their poker, then I sidled up to the bar. A handsome stranger sat there, drooped over his whiskey. I hate to see sad cowboys.

I tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned, I winked, and slipped him a note.

Where I Needed to Go

2008-07-19T21:42:00.005-04:00

Many thanks to Midwest Poet for this intriguing Challenge.

When I was too young to know the way
people took me
where I needed to go
and I enjoyed the journey
as the world spun by my eyes in colors.

When I was ten
I walked the path on my own
taking it all in with wonder
and as my knowledge grew
my eyes blazed its truth in colors.

Later, I wearied of the journey
and the colors began to repeat themselves.
I tired of their hues.
I became impatient
and unsatisfied
and thought about myself
and how I lacked new colors
and I blamed those
who had originally shown me the way
for not showing me enough
and the colors blazing in my eyes
ignited.

I set people on fire
with my blazing truth.
I scorched them with my fury
and burned up everything in my path
spreading black and deadened trails.
The world spun by my eyes in darkness.

And one day I found myself alone.
Everyone had run away
and I'd burned my world down.
I was in an empty place
with my truth spent
and no spinning colors left.

So I regressed to a child again
who knew not the path
and I waited
for others to come and take me
where I needed to go.
Soon again the world spun by my eyes in colors.
As I grew older I learned
to take the path on my own again.

But this time I learned to vary the journey
and mix the colors anew into a variety of hues
to make my travels interesting
and my truth universal.
Because I'd come to realize
the hues were mine to choose
and truth was there to find.

Again the world spun by my eyes in colors.
And my eyes blazed again,
this time with wisdom.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

The Mob

2008-07-18T08:54:00.002-04:00

The Tree of Life by Gustav Klimt

The Mob

People dashing, fluttering leaves
wasting in trees
branches askew
displaced anew

Confusion-driven winds of doubt
chaotic bout
of subterfuge.
Said tree shall lose.

Drained of life, branches that rattle,
senseless battle
with bitter leaves
wasting in trees.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

A minute poem: 3 stanzas of 8,4,4,4; 8,4,4,4; 8,4,4,4 syllables. The rhyme scheme is as follows:
aabb
ccdd
eeff

Blue Lake Rhapsody

2008-07-13T10:22:00.002-04:00

Mallard Duck by John James Audubon

Blue Lake Rhapsody

(A huitain, 8 lines, 8 syllables/line, rhyme scheme: ababbcbd)

Kings and Queens of lake waters blue
insouciant fanning display
splendid colors, every hue
among grasses green, ducks at play
fluttering quackers, sunny day
quick steps like elegant dancers
water music, nature ballet
winds strumming in violin streams.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

Musical

2008-07-10T11:06:00.003-04:00

Musical
bird chatter ribbons
wrap around me with lace bows
capturing my finely spun heart beats,
scattering them to and fro
across sparkling fields
like gum drops.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

Before Storms

2008-07-08T19:42:00.003-04:00

Two Men Looking at the Moon by Caspar David Friedrich

Before Storms

Before storms
a man stands alone
hiding deep in musings black
waiting for thunderous roars before
stepping back with eyes cast down.
Trouble knows his name
and speaks it.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

Animals

2008-07-07T08:33:00.002-04:00

Animals

Wide eyes
surrounded by
steps of grace, cry of wild,
God's beauty in animal's gaze,
pristine.

Photo & Poem Copyright JO Janoski

The Talk

2008-07-05T08:43:00.003-04:00

Painting by Claude Monet

The Talk

Sandy beach drowned in soaking sun
mother-daughter summertime fun.
Flowered bonnets belying gloom,
mother-daughter impending doom.
Before daughter speaks, mother's won.

No ruby lips, no ankle shows.
You're much too young for all of those.
Now sit pretty. Leave me alone.
Don't want to hear you whine and groan.
You're just too young for adult clothes.

Some day you'll come, my dear, to be
a dazzling beauty, just like me.
White grace on show within your smile,
glimmering, dangling necklace style
without need for immodesty.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

My Dreams

2008-07-01T08:26:00.002-04:00

The Tree of Crows by Casper David Friedrich

My Dreams

My dreams

soar high like crows

flee angry gnarled branches

twisted and torn by restless winds

of truth.

Victorian

2008-06-29T11:26:00.004-04:00

On the Porch by William Chadwick

Victorian

She's here again, quick to undo
anyone who
sings soft and sweet
knelt at my feet.

She lurks in corners of my heart
playing the part
of my conscience
moral nonsense.

Chasing away all I care for,
blasts of rancor
dispelling hearts
before love starts.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski

Writing Challenge--Bluebirds

2008-06-29T08:57:00.003-04:00

I took part in a writing challenge and my piece has been published there--Bluebirds in the Cold. Please stop by and give it a read. I promise you it will be a refreshing pause in your day.

The Steps

2008-06-25T08:53:00.004-04:00

Die Treppe by Claude Monet

The Steps

Well-worn steps to my lady's door,

to follow would be ecstasy.

But I linger, wishing for more,

like love's musical majesty.

Not this dysphonic travesty

of lusty drumbeat violins,

but sweet melodic fantasy.

Photographing Fireworks

2008-06-23T19:59:00.006-04:00

The photograph that started it all for our business, Janoski Studio Pittsburgh Photographs, was a fireworks

photo. Taken on a whim, my husband shot fireworks blazing against a night time cityscape sky

illuminated by Pittsburgh office buildings, bringing the two together to tell a story brimming with local

appeal. At our first art show, the picture proved to be a spectacular winner over everyday nature scenes.

There is drama and pizazz in fireworks that cannot be denied.

In those days of film cameras, the process produced distinct splashes of color as each burst took its time

to burn on the film before the next blast overtook it. They were splendid photos. But along came the

modern age where computers took control of fireworks launches, shooting off bursts in quick succession,

at times even set to music. Boom, boom! A razzle-dazzle overpowering effect for the audience, but a

nightmare for photographers. The bursts now come so quickly, there isn't time to isolate one or two

beautiful clusters for a well-defined photo. Now the photographer is bombarded with blast after blast

filling the photo frame, accumulated smoke hovering in the air, and overexposure imminent from the light

of multiple clusters going off in quick succession. With an illuminated background, it becomes a juggling

act to balance exposure of both the fireworks and background. What a mess.

But you shouldn't give up. I keep trying. Now and then I tame the monster and get a good shot. So let's

begin. Here are some steps to follow.

Location. Location. Location. I remember during those days of our cityscape fireworks shoots, location

was a nightmare. Fireworks are popular events, with crowds of not only adults, but children, children who

kick tripods, children whose parents won't appreciate if you shove them out of your way. A good point.

Choose a spot that has a good view, but be polite. It is a good idea, since tripods with legs spread take up

room, to ask nearby patrons first if you may set up...unless you get there first. Then you have "squatter's

rights," so to speak. All the same, no matter how early you arrive, you'll find the crowds pushing in on

your turf. Be patient with them. Fireworks are for fun. Don't spoil it for anyone.

Equipment. Of course, you need your camera set at ISO 100 for good clean pictures that blow up well,

and extra film or an extra memory card, whichever applies. But also use a tripod and a cable release. A

level is not a bad idea to be certain your camera is properly positioned for a level horizon.

The Fine Points. I recommend a normal or wide-angle lens to allow a wider plane to catch the bursts. A

telephoto is too confining. Determine ahead of time the area of the sky where the fireworks will happen

and position your camera. Focus on infinity. No auto focus or exposure here. Set your camera on "bulb"

and f/11 or f/16 and insert the cable release. You now have your camera in a fixed position, ready to open

the lens and close it at will. Fireworks require a timed exposure, meaning a prolonged exposure, which

you will perform by hand with the cable release.

An exact exposure time in general terms is impossible to predict due to the variability of fireworks and

surrounding scenery, etc., but my rule of thumb is to release the shutter when a burst starts and keep the

lens open for several bursts. If the bursts are not in quick succession, then cover the lens with the palm

of your hand or a black piece of paper between bursts. I would try three bursts. If you have a digital

camera, check to see how you are doing between shots and make adjustments as needed. If the bursts are

washed out, put fewer per picture. If the opposite is true, do more. Your f-stop also provides another way

to control exposure. Open up or close down as needed.

Once the bursts start, this is an intense photo shoot. You can't go back and try again, and there's no time to

think. So plan ahead. If you're using film, use a 36-exposure roll so you don't have to change rolls, or with

digital use a memory card with plenty of room. Be ready when the fireworks start, having your camera on

bulb, your cable release inserted, camera on the tripod, level, focused and aimed. It's crazy, but remember,

fireworks are for fun. With a calm hand and a little luck, you'll get a beautiful shot to enlarge and hang in

your home.

Gritty Skies

2008-06-21T09:03:00.003-04:00

Coming Home from the Mill by Laurence Stephen Lowry

Gritty Skies

Gritty skies and blackened eyes
with visions null and void.
Nothing to see
but polluted air
raining black flakes and despair.
They come, they go
like frenzied ants.
The Company is King.
Twelve-hour shifts and shoddy minds
of utter emptiness.
Where is home?
And kids in tattered souls
who press eyes like vacant moons
against still, glassy panes.
The bar, it welcomes
instead
with libations
ambrosia for the soul.
Golden liquid pours
vigor-inducing life juices
to feel for just a while
with belly laughs
gutsy, giddy, roaring
to the bottom
waterfall blasting
rolls of ecstasy
until the infernal shrieking
of cantankerous melancholy.
It skulks by after midnight
shadowy fingers
pointing to the clock
the damnable clock
to remind of another shift.
Another day of toil for
the King.

Copyright 2008 JO Janoski