Tag Archives: Observation

Photography, Poetry

Weighing Perfection

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Early mornings I seek my solitude

where stillness nests my invisibility

breath deep and soft

heartbeat rhythms slow

blinks the evidence I am alive

Hummingbird wings arrive and go

distant calls of Raven‘s plans I cannot know

Song of bamboo chimes if there’s a breeze

Over there a tree sheds a leaf or two

I listen without alarm

contemplate stories I may someday tell

Is there perfection anywhere in this existence

Is recognition somehow a compromise

I don’t know

I am suspended amid light and shadow

a privileged watcher in the briefest of moments

while this sweet magnolia blossom glows

radiant with fragrant morning’s promise

in three days one by one her petals close🪶

Photography, Poetry

Lei

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Another No Trespassing sign

steel fence imprisons all green remains

a hole where once lived a peopled bungalow

Maybe they were glad to go

maybe they sighed with big relief

maybe their pockets bulged with cash to close

A lei hangs from the limb of a border tree

might be a piece of someone’s parting prayer

might be a remnant of a leaver’s trash

might be there just to start a conversation

I pause to ponder this transition scene

we are home

we are going

we are the change

I found a dime in the alley

shining in the sun🪶

Photography, Poetry

Girl at the Parade

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we parked beyond the street

people have taken as a tent village

that is another story of complexity

this one is focused on the beauty of

a single event but smaller even than that

though joy and rainbows and inclusion and

celebration of belonging are not small but

large and pulsing with life and possibility

I was there to witness and being a sentient

organism felt a multitude of emotions in

this aftermath of mysterious unwellness

I did briefly bar from my day’s awareness

all was colour and warmth and music and

rhythm and dance and extraversion yet

the focus of my memory while I sit quiet

now in the shade of magnolia blossoms with

my Charles de Lint novel is the image of

a small girl in her purple dress

in one hand gripping a pink carnation and

with her other hand waving waving waving

to all the painted smiling passersby🪶

Photography, Poetry

A Hole in the Wall

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Sheep watch with curiosity ready

for flight should you become dangerous

Talk soft like you place your boots

hoping there’s no bog below to seep in

Green is green

Ocean’s wild

You’re an actor in this epic scene

You alone with your whispers and wonder

Lean into stone window for faerie views

No one but painted sheep to question you

Photography, Poetry

Bees

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Fortune arrives to those who expect it

Who said that, asks the one still waiting

Bees forfeit sunlit blossoms to suckle a blank wall instead

What made sense yesterday leaves a smudge for us to ponder

A circle is unending like a fortress of safety forever watchful

But through a new jaded pair of eyes a circle is a prison

From which only the secretive and most cunning may manage escape

Tunnelling through ages of rotted ideas and misguided plans

Breathing shallow so as to avoid disease by the effort

Believe in change, the mantra humming in their heaving chests

Through filth and squalor a sliver of light hints at silver

Bees circle upon walls, forfeiting temptation’s blossoms

Allowing either conspicuous gaps or innocuous bee suckling spaces

Readying themselves for the new age where winged things flourish

Where honey is the preferred currency

Changes, Photography, Poems, Travel, Writing

Shifts

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I am far away now

from everything familiar

It’s after sundown, dark

The air smells of smoke

heavy from bamboo smouldering

Crickets are singing, or katydids

And something else

A woman’s voice rising out of the darkness

Over there near the fields

we rode bicycles past today

She sings

or keens

The melody is in a minor key but

I don’t understand the language

Perhaps it’s a lullaby

I am lying here in this hammock

a young attendant just brought by and hung for me

It’s in that army camouflage pattern

In the courtyard, I saw samples of bombs

grenades and land mines recovered from the landscape here

I am looking at my familiar from a distance

From another angle

This location in the world

I am reading Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale

I read it before, a long time ago

It seemed like brilliant fantasy work then

Science Fiction, a Fantastic Tale

It doesn’t seem like fantasy now, this time

I’ve felt the breath of Possibility.

Have I changed so?

Or has the World changed?

Maybe I have been sleeping

Maybe I’m just waking up.

B&W, Poetry

Light

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Shoes are optional

No one stands guard

No entry fee or protocol

you you You arrive

Ask: is this my home?

Is this the beginning of the journey—My Journey

—Is it The End?

Not much on offer in view

Many before you have crossed

Limestone is reliable shelter

You could enter settle stay

While you contemplate others’ bones sink deeper

These walls are reinforced by thousands

who arrived hesitated undecided lived died calcified

Are you hungry?

Is imagination driving you forward or rendering you static?

Is your heart—

you remembered to bring it, yes?

Is your heartbeat a barely detectable murmur or a drumline of thunder?

What are the lyrics to Your Song

or have you not yet written them in invisible ink upon Your Skin?

You willed yourself here

Look around

You are alone but for birdsong wind green leaves clay and stone

bteatne

Repeat

It means nothing

Inhale now stretch clench your jaw close your eyes

Howl until all breath is spent

Then step one foot in front of the other as though

you know Your Intention acknowledge it

as You Walk with confidence toward The Light

Time is fading and despite appearances The Journey is long

rife with tricksters detours delays poor signage distractions

Your purpose is not singular

Your path is not direct

and Life is positively short.

 

Mindfulness, Photography, Poetry

Sunday

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Sundays I move quiet

through house street wood

listening for birdsong

wave off voices of what should

Sundays I step slow

close observe neighbourhood

Sunday time

sunrise to dreamline—

all mine.