time zones and seasonal patterns
have forced my hand to reassess my
opinion of life as we know it
images in my mind continually evolve
from tulip to azalea to lemon tree
those hummingbirds feasting on
oswego tea blossoms were once
damselflies during the dinosaur days
moon chases sun like dog after tail
eventually tiring into submission
clashes in the past reconstruct the future
stirring and remixing and reimagining
painting skies like never before seen
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Lonely Boat
too beautiful not to share.
Lonely Boat.
Photo by Alex Markovich.
Camera: SONY DSC-R1.
September 2014.
**
A good friend of mine (with whom I mix since my childhood) has got adacha (a country house). The dacha is located in a picturesque place 40 miles from Belgorod, Russia. Almost every season I go there with my artist friends for plein air painting or just to take pictures. Sometimes we stay an overnight or two, bake potatoes and make shish kebab.
I’ve got dozens of pictures of the area around the dacha. This pond is one of them.
N Is Its Child
this is one of the most satisfying, to read pieces I have read in a while. Some things just feel good to read aloud. Way to Go O!
N Is Its Child
If darkness produces all, from where do we obtain nothing?
As a line becomes the circle, becomes a mouth, becomes identity.
In mathematics, n signifies indefinite; in English, negation.
The no, the non, the withdrawal, the taking away.
A heart with trachea represented zero in Egyptian hieroglyphs.
My mouth forms the void through the displaced word.
Conforming to the absent, the missing tongue serves soundlessness.
Aural reduction, the infinite unclenched: n plus n.
Shiva, creator and destroyer, defines nothingness. As do you.
One and one is two, but zero and zero is stasis.
Pythagoreans believed that all is number, and numbers possess shape.
The letter N evolved from a cobra to its present form.
One may double anything but zero.
Unspoken thought, disorder. The attenuated voice swallowing itself.
* * *
“N Is Its Child” was first published in Issue 4 of Reservoir.
View original post 11 more words
LUSITANIA (english poetry)
I love this.
“Tides may come and go, yet I”m left
somewhere along the coastal grief
Dropped in parchments none can heft.
Yet within, young love finds relief.”
Brilliant writing by a poet named Johnny.
Eleven Shades Of Ocean Sunrises
I live close to an ocean too in the U.S. so am reblogging this to honor the ocean in general. I guess it’s more or less the same water lol!!!!
11 photos from 11 different days of this blogger’s vacay, what a great idea and beautiful homage to the Lady Ocean!
Darkened Rooms
darkened rooms dot the fiery landscape
eerie in the shadows of impending gloom
masking the startling evidence of the gloaming-apparent
and they shimmer
gods and goddesses step down from perfect pedestals
greeting us with a kindness derived from the universe
sniffing our hair to find the unfamiliar scent of
modern day, the tell-tale traces of civilization
they do not know how to speak to us, as we have all
but abandoned the language; they do not know how
to hear us, as less and less often
do we sound the voice of our souls
they merely stare at us curiously, tilting their heads
in wonder, in a growing sense of disbelief
stooping down from immaculate pedestals
kneeling . . . almost, to peer closely at our faces so\
forlorn, sniffing our hair in mute despair, watching
our mouths move with impotent frustration
“we’ve stayed away too long” muttered one gruffly
and wiped away a stray tear, while
Artemis patted his shoulder awkwardly
saying, “come . . . mayhap we can find a Seer.”
Copyright mds. 2000. All Rights Reserved
Fiery K. Tarot 