Murray Robertson (photography & poems)
I make photographs and poems to please myself (and share them to please you).
springtime, in the floral department, looks like this. many times, in a long cold winter, we craved warmth, wanting what we did not have. maybe it's always springtime, in the floral department, i wouldn't know. there are things that i don't need to see or hear or say.. but i fear that i am no wise monkey, and see so much that makes me sad. springtime, in the floral department, looks like this.
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.
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.
Blown Peony 2 it looks like this when the petals fall off. each day brings a new surprise. this morning i had to shovel snow. and shout hello to my neighbor. his new puppy came to visit. a puppy's full off play. fuzzy bundle of bounces. i made a friend. new friends are always so full of promise; you never know.
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.
while random thoughts
and fears roar around
in your mind,
last night's snow,
makes the world
so beautiful;
it just lies quietly,
waiting for me
to shovel it away.
the weather forecast
is not favorable.
we may not go
on our planned trip,
our planned shopping
is not so important
in a time
of pestilence
and danger.
beauty in a tropical
garden, warm space,
very cool spot to be...
looking at exotic
colours, rich purple
and vivid green.
looking at her face,
(a pretty little girl)
she told me she
was ugly, her skin
colour wasn't white.
the air was thin,
and dizzy on my feet,
i found true
words to say
this child was
too sweet,
to hear or say
such evil.
i had to say,
"that isn't true".
she was sweet
as sweet can be.
someone filled
her mind
with evil lies,
things she must
not believe.
beauty in a tropical
garden, warm space,
very cool spot to be...
looking at exotic
colours, rich purple
and vivid green.
March Lilies
falling snow today,
almost thick as fog,
reminds me some
of worlds
i'd like to see.
but i can't see
the far end
of kalamalka,
and my naked world
has visible edges
thin snowfall
has me thinking
as I get my shovel,
how good it could
be to see the lilies
again, next march.
but now, there is
only falling snow.
Murray Robertson (photography & poems) 