Murray Robertson (photography & poems)
I make photographs and poems to please myself (and share them to please you).
October Oak as daylight hours decrease trees will lose leaves these colours come around each fall green leaves grow dim changing colours almost overnight one day you see a bright orange tree and suddenly know october's back again summer cumulus clouds become cirrus nights become chilly the time comes for fall gardening jobs there are shrubs to trim many leaves to rake soon it will be too cold you know we're going into winter's deadly cold most importantly see and enjoy the colours
under the cedars
BX creek washes
a very tiny world.
we step carefully,
leaving no
footprints,
witness to
our passing.
like ants, we
walk our
pointless paths,
insignificant
in many ways,
and like to think
ourselves so
important.
but we are not.
a lttle water
washes
rounded rocks,
the cedars know.
that water is
essential.
we need it too,
cleansing and
refreshing,
some kindness
to our souls.
Solitary Skeleton
under all the
conifers, i see
a lonely skeleton,
and understand
part of what i see.
i myself have
a solitary aspect.
my bones
carry my flesh;
my body carries me.
a day will come,
no doubt,
when i too,
am stripped
to bone,
like a mushroom,
which i still
don't understand
in full detail.
and though we all
want company,
my day will come:
i will be solitary,
and go meet the
beautiful light.
black is white,
they want
to tell me.
i won't make
that mistake
really soon.
but they count
on me and you,
to believe
the nonsense
that they spew.
angry at us
when we won't
swallow all
the muck,
in which
they wallow.
i might like
a soapbox too,
to stand on
and shout out
what's true.
black is black
and white
is white,
may they
always meet!
wrong is wrong;
right is right,
we must be careful.
darkness may
swallow
up the light.
when we see
the shadows
coming close,
shout danger,
danger, danger!
push those
shadows back
to dusty corners
in evil minds.
once in october
i stopped to look
at ripening corn,
saw the last of
the chicory,
growing on the
edge of the field.
faded beauty,
beyond summer,
a reminder of
summer chicory,
maybe a weed,
maybe a flavour
enhancer,
definitely
beautiful flowers
on ragged stems.
weed or flower?
(a question: how
can i be classified?)
october was
no surprise.
see it happen!
like last time
as i passed,
goat on a grassy roof,
we were more than
a bit surprised.
no tears needed
rain is predicted,
time passes so
slowly, unnoticed.
october's gone;
december's
around an
icy corner.
it goes right by:
a peapod boat
in a trickle
of a stream.
time.time.time
autumn rains help
to bring winter
to our world.
we need our
winter quiet
letting things rest,
sleeping until
the world
precesses
and warms.
we bide our time,
remembering
fall leaf colours.
it gets us through
the winter cold,
and darkness.
a little rain
has never
hurt me much.
always I've
dried out
and carried on.
i am not safe
from drowning,
but i have not
done that yet.
history may
guide us if we're
wise enough.
we know it isn't a
perfect guide,
but it can help
save us from
repeating
serious errors .
rain washes
the windows,
as i look out
this cold, damp
autumn day.
a little rain
has never
hurt me much.
one more miracle,
a red maple tree
in the rain...
our autumn has
such vibrance
it cheers us
once again.
our days are
shorter than
they were.
it's colder
every day.
some people
want the
summer back
at least
that's what
they say
soon snow
will fall and
cover all
and everything
we see.
a cold white
world so icy...
oh, we'll just
skate and ski.
sunflowers
bow to autumn
ripening
just in time
for little birds
celebrating ripe
sunflowers.
winds ring
our big
wind chime.
i look out
the window
watching
those birds,
and see them
thrown about
by the wind
like leaves
dancing with
a breeze.
the sunflower's
gone now,
harvested
and dry.
little birds have
moved on;
little wings
will fly.
Murray Robertson (photography & poems) 