photos n poetry
the love between me & you –
My love is a blossom forever in your care.
Tended to, cherished, my petals will be fair.
My love is an ocean against the gap is thine.
This love we share will ebb and flow in tune.
To the sound of our heart’s beating,
My Valentine!
google photo of:
Red Kalaniot, Anemone coronaria
And in the low of the eve the cotton seed spins timelessly.
The harp, the home, the houses we know
are like catalysts of change.
The wind, therein, blows as the willow’s sigh…
The hearth that touches an eye ignites.
A blind man, he, learns to see!
While woodworms know to find a crevice to grow.
Heart’s do rend…
Morning’s are fair a-gain..
Within the realm of moments past.
Ever to linger as others gasp.
After
purchasing
the largest bag
of Werther’s caramel candy,
(1020g) I often fill my pant
or jacket pocket’s and purse with
these. And of course the bag sits
near the drivers seat of the car.
So today my youngest teen
boy remark’s, say’s, that
I’m 10% Werther’s
caramel and
90% candy
wrapper.
Words hurt – words scar.
Words can undermine who you are.
Words can set to a rolling pace…
a caustic environment that has no place…
in what should be a loving, embracing, society.
And now to sing of the joy’s a new washing machine brings.
For one thing, I’ll not be going to the laundromat anymore,
as I have been for the last two, to, three weeks.
On a happy note, though, I made a discovery; we have one in our small town!
This place, the laundromat, may also be the best one there is around!
With the consideration of buying a new machine,
we’d thought to check out a few places first;
but this turned out to be more of an agitation…
Soon it will be that the flowers we’ll see;
And the meadow’s will welcome new life.
No longer in wait, crocus’s start to uncover,
to display a purple brigade, in hue, along valley, hillside.
Wild lilies sober, astute, stand nearest the crocus in salute,
Can a photo be so ugly
as to capture the blood
and tears of man…?
Wretched life, this some have.
Photography !
Their pain depicted in frame
now your pain of indignation,
or disbelief…
Could it be we just need relief…
Thus, there no need to grieve…
I’d rather see something pretty;
something beholden of spring…
I’d rather look upon poppies,
delicate, pink poppies, flourishing.
Recalling their scent just by
gazing at them…
This bouquet would be a
pleasant offering, I’d say.
But just as the flower’s
will not last…
some pictures only offer aghast.
Photography !
Evening scene
Twilight sheen
Phthalo screen
Blue – green
Covers everything…
Light’s stream
Shadows lean
in between…
Hushed recede
Lazy concede
clip-art photo
In spring, it’s such a splendid thing
when bud or rosette
along branch-let – stem
form flora’s – leaves.
The grasses, too, start to grow.
Forage – green, starts to show.
Sprouts forming, push forth.
And spring-time floral’s, they display,
shew forth a beautiful array,
for one to see.
Our world seemingly renews, is pristine;
in the presence of all things flourishing.
Oh, so, blossom before thine death…!
Leave Mother nature to try her best…
Empty of her eggs to nest…
In a Robin’s surely home.
Owe no one anything except to love them;
for love is the key to happiness and peace.
To showth love to thy child & thy partner.
Tis’ as thy grandest harvesting splendour.
Erstwhile, as thy hath neglected to bless.
In doing so your own heart knows drouth.
Why thou forgo to pardon thy neighbour?
In doing so you lend your heart a favour.
Love – love is as one’s greatest attainment.
To forfeit love is to rend your soul barren.
(ripped heart’s)
It’s as if with some, never
having learned the power of
restraint, they often-times
repeat selfish behavior(s)
o’er and o’er
a-gain.
(lost pawns)
…eventually,
they dip their feet in
their own grave. Marred by
controversy. Stagnated
excitement…
Or self disgust?
The bars of repeat
behavior(s) enclosing.
And, as for freedom, this is only had
when those around experience the same…
On
blended wing…
disclosing and pretty;
colors marvellously in sync.
A poetic prayer, suffrage
of peace. As butterfly
~
finds blue
sky.
I honesty think
I could immerse myself
in poetry all day.
Kind of like having a bath in words.
Where the spray, white cap lap in your thoughts.
And you gently rock to – fro in scented foam.
The colors that one sees in these is for speculation.
Scoop em’ up and watch the bubbles dissipate…
Melt as a flavorful candy in your mouth.
Ah, Poet’s Corner.
words create wonders
me, my pen and paper
Pain goes in, love comes out.
the stories behind the pictures, and vice versa
Lucidly in shadows. Poetry from a hand that writes misty.
A drop of ink may make a million think. - George Gordon Byron
An Artist Who Writes
Colleen Kelbert 