Murray Robertson (photography & poems)
I make photographs and poems to please myself (and share them to please you).
old stories
were told of
a young man,
in love with
himself.
flowers are,
as we should
remember,
a little
different.
and many
varieties
can brighten
our spring
gardens.
people are
a bit like that.
now that we
hardly ever
see them,
we can
appreciate
the beautiful
variety.
a favorite, it
grows in a
warm place,
somewhere
i've never been.
several years
have gone now
and there may
be no way back.
exotic and bright,
it pleased me:
something so
strange and
wonderful.
tropical sun
powers colour
to overwhelm
my temperate
vision, and
i am almost
blinded.
small predators
can do amazing
damage to a
colony of aphids.
reclaiming
our roses,
from a very
bad invasion,
one morning,
just before sunrise,
one summer day,
as i applied the
small paintbrush
painting hope
onto dying roses.
a company of
tiny carnivores,
assured of victory,
as I finished,
almost before
a slaughter of
the aphids,
a quick feast
for ladybugs
see where i've been
a vibrant garden,
it all stands still
this coloured scene.
hurtle through
the sky, some
summer day
five hundred
miles per hour,
so they say.
a garden has
some mystery,
a latent threat,
a body buried
somewhere,
no regrets.
a virus, all
invisible has
murdered
peace of mind.
estranging friend
from friend, who
could not stand
comfortably close,
to share those
all important
confidences
social creatures
mad monkeys
in a riot,
how can the
centre hold,
it's never quiet.
see where i've been
a vibrant garden,
it all stands still
this coloured scene.
Rosemary
almost december,
i dug, as she said.
take up the
rosemary,
out of the bed.
i dug as
directed, she
knows what
she wants
dug up the
herbs, put
them in pots.
winter, you see
will be coming
by soon,
and cold will get
nasty, far beyond
gruesome.
but her herbs
in a pot and
under our lights,
should live all
the winter
and into
the spring.
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.
look again, as
chilly rain drops
from a dark gray
sky, as we
watch slow decay
and walk on by.
magnolias do
a good show
in the spring.
fabulous flowers
never last
long enough.
by october,
there is little
semblance
of what it
used to be.
no flowers left.
a sudden frost,
and then we see
even leaves
can survive
just so much:
all must fall.
we wait for
winter blizzards,
to waken in
icy mornings
to see shocking
white snowdrifts,
to watch warm
pillows falling,
changing our
frozen world,
transforming
every landscape.
Virginia Creeper 2
virginia creeper
on a black
chain-link fence.
we would never
have believed that
it would ever
look like that.
but now, we've
thought about it,
and every year
it looks like this.
that, this and
the other. it comes
back each year.
more vivid than
i'd have thought.
someday, perhaps,
i'll learn to
trust my eyes.
virginia creeper
on a black
chain-link fence.
is it never
beautiful
when it
looks out
of focus?
focus is
certainty.
and we seem
to like it.
but is it
ever to be
really
trusted?
too much time
in easy chairs
might make
my back ache.
sometimes i
need to find a
less comfortable
pastime.
i need to
refocus on
certainty and
learn to see
the never seen,
and maybe
understand
beyond focus,
where there
are different
beauties.
on hands and knees
i twist and stretch
looking for an image
i could love,
up above it all,
a golden light
cruises overhead.
but shadows move
imperceptably
slowly.
so things change.
i see no movement,
and so it is.
my vision has no
great value. i
do not matter.
and there it is!
the very thing
i wanted, picture
of joy, summer
on a screen.
i'll put it
on a page.
someone will
surely love it.
so i like to
think, anyways
