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!
Still Life with Silence — O at the Edges
Still Life with Silence
Not two, but one,
invisible
and stretched between
stump and fence,
filled with
time, defining
implication. Empty
the pitcher. Accept
its limitations.
Listen to what is not.
(Click the link and read the original location. I love the second pic he posts .)
Still Life with Silence Not two, but one, invisible and stretched between stump and fence, filled with time, defining implication. Empty the pitcher. Accept its limitations. Listen to what is not. “Still Life with Silence” first appeared here in October 2016.
spellbound
evening breeze clearing the way
moonlight filtering past skeletal trees
there’s a distant voice calling my name
asking me to surrender
familiar stars appear behind clouds
down below bridges are burning
smoke rising blinding the horizon
reminding me to surrender
heartbeats like whispering winds
slowly fading and breathless
meandering thoughts refocusing
telling me to surrender
april two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
Fiery K. Tarot 