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"Short Poems"

I began "Fragments" in the spirited fun I enjoyed when I would take photos and make up captions for them. I produced over 250 Fragmnents pieces over 6 months…
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 4y
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Sea of Noodles by Mister T’ on Flickr. Straight Photography, Bw Photography, Abstract Photography, Street Photography, Graphic Poster Art, Poster Design, Photo B, Conceptual Art, Shades Of Black
a moment (or two) in time - walking to ...
Sea of Noodles by Mister T’ on Flickr.
I come here when there is no place left. When rooms become filled with the letters of conversants; when buildings are filled with walls seeing everything that passes as mere functionaries to an insistence on being sturdy but blank. I come here when the streets are filled with airs of the mounting disasters that are funneled down each one and every sidewalk has become a construction zone of improbabilities, all possibilities thrown onto the piles of diggings. I come here most of all, to be alone. Dark Photography, Black And White Photography, Dark Visions, Strange Photos, Dark Places, Story Inspiration, Eerie, Macabre, Surrealism
Strange Photos
I come here when there is no place left. When rooms become filled with the letters of conversants; when buildings are filled with walls seeing everything that passes as mere functionaries to an insistence on being sturdy but blank. I come here when the streets are filled with airs of the mounting disasters that are funneled down each one and every sidewalk has become a construction zone of improbabilities, all possibilities thrown onto the piles of diggings. I come here most of all, to be alone.
I see the possibilities for myths waiting  in places we never think about: an alley's end, beneath stairs, in the tracks of birds in snow, balanced in dew on a blade of grass. When stories ceased being told, legends' heros became aged. The words grew dry, blown away on winds no longer the breath of gods they served. To find them means new words for new stories. To be found for them would be to become, the soft light of resonance that marks a shafdow's cadence. Proof to us the earth still spins. Altered Books Pages, Old Book Pages, Book Page Art, Book Art, Mixed Media Collage, Collage Art, Scrapbooks, Diy Paper Butterfly, Butterfly Ornaments
A Paper Bear Art Journal Tumblr
I see the possibilities for myths waiting in places we never think about: an alley's end, beneath stairs, in the tracks of birds in snow, balanced in dew on a blade of grass. When stories ceased being told, legends' heros became aged. The words grew dry, blown away on winds no longer the breath of gods they served. To find them means new words for new stories. To be found for them would be to become, the soft light of resonance that marks a shafdow's cadence. Proof to us the earth still spins.
You Will Know--I will meet you again   When uncertainty   Has become archaic   Against   The solitary   Plaintive call   Of a morning thrush     And     My hands   Have become     Clouds,   Water,   Earth,   Stone.     Solid.     Then   You will know   Me   As real Acrylic Painting Lessons, Oil Painting Abstract, Oil Painting Landscape, Watercolor Artists, Painting Art, Watercolor Painting, Street Art, Collages, Foto Digital
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You Will Know--I will meet you again When uncertainty Has become archaic Against The solitary Plaintive call Of a morning thrush And My hands Have become Clouds, Water, Earth, Stone. Solid. Then You will know Me As real
So few are left that remember how permanent the hours were made to be, the minutes elongated to leaden the thirst by terror aroused. So they kept the seconds to themselves, like names. The precious, dire seconds to live in, hid them behind sunken eyes that stopped seeing because there was too much to see. The cautious seconds that fed a belief that the world had not gone insane. That somewhere their names  were still spoken aloud. Even as the snow of ashes, fell delicately to the ground. Holocaust Memorial Day, Holocaust Remembrance Day, Lodz, Night By Elie Wiesel, World Youth Day, History Online, Unsolved Mysteries, Lest We Forget, Remembrance Day
Dying of cute
So few are left that remember how permanent the hours were made to be, the minutes elongated to leaden the thirst by terror aroused. So they kept the seconds to themselves, like names. The precious, dire seconds to live in, hid them behind sunken eyes that stopped seeing because there was too much to see. The cautious seconds that fed a belief that the world had not gone insane. That somewhere their names were still spoken aloud. Even as the snow of ashes, fell delicately to the ground.
The rain that had been falling  Was made of dark blue-gray light  As if the sky was weeping  A hurt it did not understand.  Somewhere in the woodland  Within a fold of  earth  Pairs of eyes kept watch  As Nature was laid to rest.  There were no special words  No prayers were said or thought.  The sun stayed away. No shadows  Were ever seen again. The only sound,  A Mockingbird singing in place  Of everyone, a song that remained  Above the canopy of trees,  A memory that never leaves. Artist Watch, Tinta China, Art Et Illustration, Editorial Illustration, Juxtapoz, You Draw, Little Red Riding Hood, Les Arts, Illustrations Posters
this isn't happiness.
The rain that had been falling Was made of dark blue-gray light As if the sky was weeping A hurt it did not understand. Somewhere in the woodland Within a fold of earth Pairs of eyes kept watch As Nature was laid to rest. There were no special words No prayers were said or thought. The sun stayed away. No shadows Were ever seen again. The only sound, A Mockingbird singing in place Of everyone, a song that remained Above the canopy of trees, A memory that never leaves.
A Word (after Wallace Stevens--Anecdote on a Jar) |     I buried a word in Tennessee,  Its likeness had not been heard  In a fallow field left untouched  And in mute listening around it.    A tree grew and wild it was.  It made look the lay of land  No longer simply flat with   Grasses, or without sound.    It became of all the air,  Siren called to that place.  Its flowerings bore tender flesh  And tasted of all I knew                  From everywhere. Pastel Art, Pastel Colors, Pastel Paintings, Pastels, Painting Snow, Painting Demo, Purple Trees, Queen Annes Lace, Color Studies
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A Word (after Wallace Stevens--Anecdote on a Jar) | I buried a word in Tennessee, Its likeness had not been heard In a fallow field left untouched And in mute listening around it. A tree grew and wild it was. It made look the lay of land No longer simply flat with Grasses, or without sound. It became of all the air, Siren called to that place. Its flowerings bore tender flesh And tasted of all I knew From everywhere.
As softly as I can I yell for you to dance the dance you once danced before I knew you. I want to watch the way your body moves like water falling from a great height. I want to listen to the sounds of your breathing as your body twists and pulls the night from the sky. I want there to be that time before I knew you so I may meet you once again and the world I knew was about to change forever. Photo New York, Video Humour, Growing Old Together, The Longest Journey, Foto Art, Street Photographers, Documentary Photographers, Belle Photo
As softly as I can I yell for you to dance the dance you once danced before I knew you. I want to watch the way your body moves like water falling from a great height. I want to listen to the sounds of your breathing as your body twists and pulls the night from the sky. I want there to be that time before I knew you so I may meet you once again and the world I knew was about to change forever.
Should I protect her shadows Or, does she need the light to hold onto That ennui only saints possess? She has her irises. Is it their beauty she desires,  Or, a lust in their dying? Does she a know  difference? The sin of pride About her beauty we both carry. What will she do When fear begins to mark The corners of her eyes?What will happen if she finds The world an ugly alley It so easily becomes, And Is no longer dream, But nightmare loose. By the vapidness in the ennui, Only saints possess? Highly Sensitive People, Emotional Awareness, Short Poems, Metamorphosis, Decir No, Cam, Meditation, Relax, Yoga
♔ JJL-BB - Expresión del alma: foto
Should I protect her shadows Or, does she need the light to hold onto That ennui only saints possess? She has her irises. Is it their beauty she desires, Or, a lust in their dying? Does she a know difference? The sin of pride About her beauty we both carry. What will she do When fear begins to mark The corners of her eyes?What will happen if she finds The world an ugly alley It so easily becomes, And Is no longer dream, But nightmare loose. By the vapidness in the ennui, Only saints possess?
Greece- Once heroes in the minds of living thoughts lived lives alive as any cloud, passed by mortals who inscribed their names in the statuary stories of reverance and memory. The strict reality of stone columns held up temples for the sake of an immortality of answers to a sense of awe about the world both seen and imagined. What glory there was has long gone past and tourists pass cranning necks to see what some one says was once important.>KB Magnum Photos, Candid Photography, Urban Photography, Color Photography, Henri Cartier Bresson Photos, Dream Pictures, Walker Evans, Henri Matisse
MoMA | Interactives | Exhibitions | 2010 | Henri Cartier-Bresson
Greece- Once heroes in the minds of living thoughts lived lives alive as any cloud, passed by mortals who inscribed their names in the statuary stories of reverance and memory. The strict reality of stone columns held up temples for the sake of an immortality of answers to a sense of awe about the world both seen and imagined. What glory there was has long gone past and tourists pass cranning necks to see what some one says was once important.>KB
Lying there her legs half in air askew, naked, She is shadow to the light she pulls in throiugh the window. I am only a bystander, a witness to her beauty and for all it is could never be more than what it is right now. >KB Poesia Visual, Caldwell, Boudoir Photography, Photography Ideas, Female Form, Nude Art, Human Body, Female Bodies
Lying there her legs half in air askew, naked, She is shadow to the light she pulls in throiugh the window. I am only a bystander, a witness to her beauty and for all it is could never be more than what it is right now. >KB
The thing you’ve seen never seemed real enough To mark the kind of light was in a day, gleaned Moments hid away as keepsakes of survival Wrapped in muslin cloths, buried between two trees Marking the boundary between  What you were willing to believe and what You were willing to disbelieve and then forget about.  So much has happened in front of you, just once I would wish to see through those eyes how life Looks back at you and not think twice about the truth. >KB Russell Mills Pencil Painting, Painting Collage, Collage Ideas, Acrylic Paintings, Oil Paintings, Mixed Media Art Journaling
Helen Hallows
The thing you’ve seen never seemed real enough To mark the kind of light was in a day, gleaned Moments hid away as keepsakes of survival Wrapped in muslin cloths, buried between two trees Marking the boundary between What you were willing to believe and what You were willing to disbelieve and then forget about. So much has happened in front of you, just once I would wish to see through those eyes how life Looks back at you and not think twice about the truth. >KB Russell Mills