Archive for January, 2011

Clatter of the Unknown

Monday, January 31st, 2011

Teeter me tower
Settle down annoying clatter
Find me the fire
Between your clamorous banter
There is silence to be had
If only it could be found
Drop the dice
Only to loose the die
Pitter patter little rain drop
Who knew you could
Make such a ruckus
Who knew the dove
Would best the crow
That the dog would never
Have his day
Clitter clatter of the tatters
Left behind by the shreds
Of all that never was
But will always be
Find the answer
Without the question
Seek a sunset during sunrise
And what will you find?
A frame without a photo
And a world without meaning
Filled to the brim
Of a glass not quite full
But never empty
Jump to reach the sun
When the stars stand in the way
Find me reason
Without rhyme
Find the end of this poem
In the next line

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Rocky Shelters

Sunday, January 30th, 2011

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Posted in Photos, Stories |

Desert Colors

Monday, January 24th, 2011

Deserts provide amazing opportunities for great photos because of their vibrant colors. This photo of the natural colors in Joshua Tree being exaggerated really excites the awesome colors, but in the end the natural colors are always best. But enhanced ones can be very fun :)

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My Belongings

Sunday, January 23rd, 2011

These are the things which belong to me:

A spider suspended in a cobweb
That lies in the corner of my room
Waiting each day to greet me
When I come home with a silent hello.

A fake flower in a waterless vase
With a single counterfeit dew drop
Balancing on the end of a synthetic leaf
Like a tear drop that will never fall.

A painting of a woman half finished
Hanging over my bed at night
My guardian angel watching over my dreams
The dream like visage of who I might be.

A horseshoe above my doorway
That hangs upside down
The luck has all fallen out
Of its open face.

A crumbled up piece of paper
With the semblance of words
Written and re-written
Only to be crossed out.

A picture of myself with friends
Who have gone yet still remain
Faces that have so very changed
Yet I still feel the same.

A piñata’s head from years ago
Emptied of candy and color
Once prized and cherished
Now looked at as trash.

A picture of a woman
Who does not know me
But I feel I know her
From another past life.

These things that I call mine
Don’t belong to me at all
They own me like their coveted doll
Just an object, a thing.

Yet still, these are the things which I call my own.

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Overcast

Sunday, January 23rd, 2011

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The Bridge

Friday, January 21st, 2011

You stand on one side of a bridge
The other cannot be seen
Hidden behind a veil of fog
Stretching on indefinitely
As you place your hand on the railing
You feel the pull of ghosts at your shirttails
The whispers in your ears
The fog’s fingers gently wrapping around you
Caressing your face pulling you step by step
Onto the bridge that will take you away

You feel consumed by the fog
As it wraps you in its loving arms
Like a mother and her child
You feel safe, you feel the calm
That you never felt before
As you are pulled step by step
Away from the world you once knew
You welcome it, accept it
As your new home

You feel another pull
as you reach the middle of the bridge
A sadness nipping at your heels
Like a child grasping onto her fathers legs
As he walks away forever out the door
A heaviness that not even the fog can lift
Pulls you back to the edge of a world you have almost forgotten
You look back over your shoulder
A sorrow only known in this world
Mirrors in your eyes

The fog pulls you forward
Those you loved pull you back
You are lost in the middle
Of two very different worlds
Pulled by the sweet numbing of pain
On one side and on the other
Pulled by the sweet feel of pain
To remind you that you are alive

There is no going back
Once you cross the bridge
There is only silence
Only a choice to make
To leave those you loved behind
Or take the chance
To live again
In a world that might not be so sweet
But to feel pain means
That your heart is still beating

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Posted in Photos, Poetry |

Poppy Tears

Wednesday, January 19th, 2011

Even flowers cry sometimes
What do they have to cry about?
They are so pretty

But they won’t stay pretty for long
And it isn’t about being pretty
It is about loosing life
Where did they loose it?
I laughed softly
Resting my hand on her shoulder
I don’t know
Maybe they left it under their bed
And forgot it was there
I did that once
She said with a sad sigh
I know I said smiling
Maybe they lost it
In the playground
Hidden under a sandy Everest
I think I get it
The flowers have lost their petals
And that is why they are sad

Exactly and they cry for each others loss
Then why doesn’t it make me sad?
Different things make different people sad
I say with a frown
Watching the poppy’s tears
Roll down its face
You will understand when you are older
But I want to understand now!
I know, I say with a smile
I know as I guide her away
To happier things
To flowers with open faces
Smiling at the sun
But she will never forget
The crying flower
Knowing that every flower she sees
Will cry someday
For what it lost in the sandbox
Or under the bed
We all loose something in the end

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Within Reach

Tuesday, January 18th, 2011

A woman stands on the side of the road
Not on the side walk but not quite in the street
Standing on the gutter’s front step
She is motionless as cars streak past in a blur
They do not stop for her, they don’t even see her
As she stands on the edge of their awareness
But very much in the middle of her own mind
She watches the cars as they past
You can see her lips move but they make no noise
Maybe she is asking them to slow down
Maybe she is asking them to speed up
Or maybe she is asking for a prayer
To save her soul for what she is about to do

She closes her eyes and takes a step away from the side walk
One step closer to the street
One step farther away from the world she once knew
Then another and another and still the cars don’t stop
She can no longer hear them
Just feel them as their tires reverberate on the blacktop
Like the hum of a hummingbird only inches from her ears
She will not stop for them she has someone she must meet
She is dancing with death, her feet flat on the ground
Still she keeps moving as the cars get closer and closer
As she moves farther and farther away from the curb
Until she is in the middle of the road

She turns and faces traffic and opens her eyes
To a bright light encompassing her
For a single moment she can feel God
She opens her arms to embrace it with a soft smile
As the car slams on its brakes and stops
Only inches from her face
She heaves a heavy sign not of fear but relief
She lowers her arms slowly with a little smile on her face
Then turns away and begins to walk the other direction
Continuing her crusade across black top
With the remembrance of the lights
That had so recently filled her mind
She held that little moment deep within her heart

A moment where she and death almost touched hands
She had seen him stretching out his long bony fingers
To graze against her face, cool and smooth
Only to be pulled away at the last moment
It was also a moment
Where she stood within arms reach of God
Close enough to brush her fingers against his outstretched palm
Both stood on one side of the street
Separated by cars, by busy people
Unaware of whom they were in the presence of
She held both their hands for a moment
And walked away unscathed but with a new smile
That held death and god on each corner
As she walked away from that road
From one side walk to another
She had met death and god
And walked away from both

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Baboon

Monday, January 17th, 2011

Baboons are a very strange, colorful, and robust animal. They are very fun to photograph because they have such amazing colors in the strangest of places which I am sure I won’t have to mention because everyone is fully aware of that already.

Yes, he is scratching his butt.

I really enjoyed the females the most even though the men have such interesting looks I liked the females better. Their hair looked almost like it had been crimped and dyed with yellow.  Their eyes are the most amazing par, wide and yellow. They were fascinating to watch.

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Posted in Photos |

Snowy Egret (Frostbite)

Saturday, January 15th, 2011

A snowy egret flies
On paper thin wings
Like a paper airplane
Gliding through the air
Keeping airborne
For as long as it can
Until its fragile wings
Bow under the weight
Of heavy air
Into the ground
Where no paper airplanes soar
Here the snow
Belongs to the land
Not the bird in the sky
No longer fragile and beautiful
But the paper-thin feel
Of cold seeping
Into your hollow bones
The delicate dance
Of frostbite on the fingertips
Of ballerina dancers
The slow decay of the biting snow
And the old heaviness weighing down
The lightest breeze
The wings of an egret
Laden with the burden
Of the world without sky
Chained to the ground
Waist deep in snow
Where a creature with wings
Does not belong
Yet cannot escape from
The paper wings beat
To leave behind this place
Heavy
With the absence of all
Freedom lies in the air
Where the snow belongs
To a graceful bird
Not the world lying below
Where frostbite is left behind
In the warm sun’s glow

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