Murray Robertson (photography & poems)
I make photographs and poems to please myself (and share them to please you).
i heard it said
tree heliotrope
is throughout
much of oceana.
so many places
i have not been!
toxic, they say,
in large amounts.
nobody would
eat that much.
crooked branches.
who could build
with such tangled
wood as that?
but trees like this
are fine, so fine,
for creating shade
beneath a south
pacific sun.
African Tulip Tree
once they borrowed
this invasive tree,
brought from afar
to hawai'i.
it was imported
from a world away,
once transplanted
it just got away.
spread like disease,
among a flock,
we heard it so.
so many things
we do will fail us.
time will bring
surprises that
we cannot
understand.
our great works
impress us so.
new evils
seem to
surprise us;
but we may
still endure.
white coral sand,
wet black lava,
tropical seas,
the summery sky!
every day seems
a wonderful dream.
we eat shave ice
but not much
ice cream.
a secret beach
seems such an idea!
down a private road,
(we asked the young
guard for access,
quickly granted)
we were on our way.
a narrow road on
white coral sand,
a gift from the bowels
of many parrotfish,
and we are grateful.
a wonderful
uncrowded beach.
we carried on,
to welcome shade
beneath hot
sunny skies.
in black and white,
feeling, no surprise.
Dried Thistle
sharp and prickly
to protect herself,
her tender heart,
broken so many
times before.
and so proctected,
we might also be,
except that there
is such a price
to pay for nearly
perfect protection.
today it snows.
we hunker down,
protected from cold
by extra insulation,
so we can nap on
a winter afternoon.
a thistle flower is
a beautiful thing,
clearly something
to be protected..
here is a photo
a camera
wouldn't do.
maybe it could,
but it wouldn't.
difficult is
a challenge,
something
we might do,
if we try hard.
impossible is
challenging too.
though we can't
do it, we'll try
until we die.
challenges
entertain us.
we enjoy
chasing the
impossible.
forever,
it flowed to the sea:
hot orange rock,
thick liquid rolling,
down to the sea,
too hot to imagine.
bright orange
in darkness,
flowing lava
makes such a
festive nighttime
show for all
the tourists.
steam hisses as
liquid rock hits
the ocean waves.
cooling boulders
fall even further,
under the waves
until something
stops them.
unknown fruit,
on unknown trees
and i don't know
what to think.
green on green:
it makes one
wonder what
it may imply:
quick painful
death or
maybe delight?
small birds may
show us what
to taste.
if nothing eats
the unknown
fruit, we should
remember:
nature has a
certain wisdom.
from high above,
i look at
rushing waters,
spilling over
wet and
rounded rocks.
our lives too
sometimes
rush, spilling
over rocky
dangers,
where we
might smash,
breaking ribs
and more,
desperately
struggling in
wild torrents,
gasping for air.
from cliffside
outlooks,
it all looks
beautiful
and peaceful.
but sometimes
in rushing
tumults,
we learn
desperation,
beaten by
wild currents,
we sometimes
survive.
it was a place
of refuge
for those who
broke tabu.
you'd run for
your life
and you might
live another
day or two.
maybe a priest
would instruct
you in the error
of your ways.
and if you learned
your lesson,
you might live
out your days.
my world is
much different,
places of refuge
are few and
hard to find.
symbolizing
friendship and
nothing else,
yellow roses
are a message, not
always welcome.
she wanted red
roses always,
from everyone,
(symbolizing love).
she wanted
yellow too,
finding that
money helped.
the world could
be her party,
with many
shouts of joy.
she'd have liked that.
party all the time.
until it ended.
she will be missed,
by somebody.
