Murray Robertson (photography & poems)
I make photographs and poems to please myself (and share them to please you).
Bird Orchid 2 not in my garden, but somewhere else indeed. could have grown in jungle, underneath a giant tree. some things come so easy; some things are so hard. an orchid has its secrets its beauty is not marred. a perfect, perfect beauty is seldom ever seen; when i saw this orchid it was just like a dream not in my garden, but somewhere else indeed. could have grown in jungle, underneath a giant tree.
here is a tree to make me happy: branches that do not meet my expectations; they all go their own puzzling ways. a pleasing chaos reigns as branches grow unpredictably, following no known patterns, growing always beautiful. shape and shade encourage my easy admiration. (hot summer days teach many meanings of oppression) we should never learn them all.
and when we see the sky as night comes down, we see such light, amazing in our skies. how can we sleep, with colours such as these? then comes the dark, and weary eyes will rest. we sleep and wake, because we hear small birds sing, and then it's daylight, ready to enjoy another day. and we will wait until the day is gone, and we can see the sky again, amazing in our minds.
saturn's rings are little things, torn apart by too much gravity perhaps. no levity would help, i fear. sometimes it is like that here. love and laughter sometimes coincide. and when they do, magic may happen. stuff like love and floral bouquets can be storied, stories unto themselves. we dare not ask; we do not really want to know. saturn's rings are little things, torn apart by too much gravity perhaps.
sign of springtime growing wild on a hillside, always impressive, wild things in wild places. snow melt waters cool hillsides, and arrowleaf balsamroot. this year i'll miss the daisies. a time has come to go to distant places, to move along, and find other signs of spring, in other places. adventure seems to beckon; we will go.
it's someplace
exotic where
i'd like to be
again.
winds bring us
clouds then it
starts to rain.
green stuff
is wonderful,
so appealing,
i don't know why.
it seems a
green voice calls
seductively
and i know
that not too
many steps,
into the green,
i'd disappear.
smiling.
a little of this and a bit of that, all in a bouquet... colour can be so beautiful, she bends and sniffs a flower while i watch, pleased to have seen her. i could never have looked as wonderful or smelled so well the sweet perfume. i can imagine her as a child, delighting her parents, as she smelled the perfume of wild roses
into the unknown, we venture, each day. some things are discoveries, pleasing in every way flowers in tropical gardens, brighten memories, of a time before today's plague descended on us.. whatever disaster, things can be much better than we want to admit. our thirst for knowledge is like orange juice. we can only take so much after all. so there we sit, feeling a little bit foolish, with a two litre jug, barely touched.
some things are not
so easy to remember:
good days are
seldom blurred.
people drift in
and out of focus,
we slide in and
out of each other's lives,
like ghosts almost
and are gone.
probably we make
life a little more
worth living
for each other.
you can live
happily
in a comfortable
house
for many years.
we may want
to know,
does a house
ever forget us?
look and see before it goes away. the sun is best just moments before the sky goes dark. she tells me when it hurts so very badly. i see so little, but i try to help, but am helpless. my sorrow is her pain must be hers alone. i cannot feel it, though it tortures me, because i know she is in pain, and i care. the sun is best just moments before the sky goes dark.
Murray Robertson (photography & poems) 