Photography’s highest form is sometimes likened to poetry, capturing experiences that defy denotation. Both are diminished to the extent they require explanation, some say, so hopefully coercing them to explain each other is a right born of two wrongs.
In the half-light of fire Synthetic fibers recoil and wilt Unnoticed “Jeez, what happened to my gloves?” we might later lament.
But now we lean closer And watch the steam curl and rise Without remark Except to say, “Man, I wish this fire would get hotter.”
And then we quietly contemplate The meaning of life and death Only to conclude That Jeremy’s idea,“vanilla vodka and root-beer,” was not so bad.
Neutral Density Gradient Filter Improve the sky Carbon Fiber Cable Release Unwavering eye Stop Down Slow Shutter Focus far and nearby Wide Angle Waist Deep Better proportions, that’s why Algorithm Histogram Cameras don’t lie
Proudly she looks round Knowing the superior history of Her United States As taught with books and glue Pipe cleaners and colored tissues In the public school Where all agree.
The lit side is scorched The other left to infinite cold Our thin atmospheres doing little to mitigate The difference.
Sparkling trails Mark the passage of comets Passing haphazardly on sleds until pulled in By our gravity.
“No, you’re not doing it right,” she chides striking a pose to demonstrate how a dog—or is it a cat or rabbit? would stand here on this game trail we’ve followed into the thicket along the river.
“Hold on a sec, bub,” I call now as she runs ahead, almost out of sight talking aloud to the dog, the cat and rabbit while I stoop to capture an image of the moment.
“Take my hand,” she commands when I catch up and she steps up to balance atop a magical beast disguised as a log.
Then she leaps, runs and stumbles pausing just long enough to laugh aloud.
Radiant Glory A Withered Memory As the Son Flower Stoops to its Original Earth
Plain is Promoted to Metaphor History And Hyperbole Trade Places To Carry a Casket of Wood Filled With Infallible Missives Toward a Grave Hermeneutic
Retreating to the shade While Jess finished recording the Visible echoes of past intentions I observed another perspective on a now Familiar Flickr subject: the Broken panes giving jagged dimension to Anyman looking narrowly past Broken promises while proud Flags flap, flap the virtues Purchased with shattered lives Laying in shards, unseen At his feet.
Pink Promises Fade and then Freeze Fated to Shatter on a Shoulder Turned Cold Around the Inevitable Axis Of the Earth.
Begotten Not Born Indwelling Transcendence Infinite Regress Uncertain Progress
God saw their pride That they burned the black rock For its energy To be as gods themselves And he caused their Bolts to rust and Paint to peal So others came and saw the Splinters, shards, blisters and other Beautiful traces of divine aspiration, and took Pictures for all to admire on Flickr.
Straight is the way and narrow its door that leads toward the light And yea, shadows encompass those that pursue it As worn sayings whisper darkly from the walls