Murray Robertson (photography & poems)
I make photographs and poems to please myself (and share them to please you).
Chained Tree wood so weathered imagining isn't easy how long ago that log was a tree cut down in a mature condition and wrapped in chain we forge our own chains with stupid desperation we do not see it in our eyes bloodshot and bleary how could we understand what we have never known behind it all the river flows careless and uncaring what can a river feel unconscious it seems to have no life (knowing nothing) but simply living as rivers will (flooding whenever neccessary)
Gray Metal looking into a field we see gray metal and can do nothing about how it changes the brown landscape soon it will be green because of gray metal dust will be slaked grass will grow tall we will not be offended technology moves in creating efficiencies as if the nile flooded leaving prosperity and much more food how can we argue with such bounty when we are also fed it becomes personal our ethical decision
Which One's Peter which one's peter which one's paul lifetimes ago a dry husk of a man gave a name to a mountain another mountain peers over its rocky shoulder and was named peter or paul nobody remembers which one is which i wonder if it matters to anybody after all those years to me it doesn't which one's peter which one's paul
Tangled Roots ragged and twisted tangled roots we try to notice as our days slide slowly by sagebrush seems to always look this way tangled roots may say less than we might hear our ears do not hear what a plant may say a living thing that we are deaf to something we may never understand but they are alive although with tangled roots sometimes ragged and twisted tangled roots we try to notice as our days slide slowly by
Stone Brothers as if standing shoulder to sandstone shoulder against all comers against gray skies they stand together like a wall of stone brothers under the sky in this desert land i wander my tears are the only water i cannot drink this misery and wither in that salt if i could have her back again somehow keep her alive for my own selfish reasons i do not know what i would do how can i be ready to let go all those painful memories the price of loving her for oh so many years
Power Lines under the ancient sandstone slide an old corral sits empty this is not the day when cattle should be loaded up on trucks send away to slaughter in our memories we hear them bellow in bovine distress and confusion (what's going on) that corral still stands although it must have seen better days (before rot set in) rain ice snow and blistering heat under summer sunshine i look up beyond the hill and see the power lines always something near to spoil my pictures
Heart of a Lily
everything important
to a lily is pictured here
for us it may be the same
but we want to know
is there more meaning
some special purpose
something to make us feel
special and maybe loved
by something much bigger
infinitely powerful maybe
something to protect us
as we gambol mindlessly
but when we see it
(will we understand)
wonders in our universe
beautiful sometimes
beyond imagination
ancient beyond all
understanding sometimes
though we might try
Sombre Ruin before the final blow hammers beating venerable shards to dust they say an enormous hole will be dug under everything (for parking) more than a hundred dusty years of living many small feet running those floors beautiful thunder forgotten by a town without respect for its distant past what can you say about a place like that before the final blow hammers beating venerable shards to dust
Green Things green things thrive sometimes for longer than we ever last we can be grateful life continuing on growing as it must remind us of our courage persisting always continue as we can doing our best to be what we need to be life is a such puzzle green things never seem to think about it they just carry on absorbing moisture from the rich earth sucking it up to leaves as green as leaves get carrying on (as leaves do) something i can learn
Dreaming Rose serene and so silent elegant in springtime surprising how much difference it makes hot tears in my eyes (now months ago she died) so many good years (when I look) she's gone i look and look again she's gone forever walking by a river before the freshet rush roar and rumble of water tumbling over rushing water we all look for eagles (distraction from my thinking) nesting there beside a wild rising torrent tmpressive flyers (we watch them fly with envy)
Murray Robertson (photography & poems) 