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.
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.
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.
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.
ten thousand feet
above the sea
a fallen tree
can't rot away.
its bones are
bare and stark
we see it lies
a dead thing,
as we gasp
for thin
and icy air
we understand
how the tree
came to fall
ten thousand feet
above the sea
broken bamboo
tops lie in a heap
on top of
fibrous roots,
a wind-storm
smashed that
bamboo grove.
we find the scene
exotic and a
little alien;
this is not
our world.
years and miles
pass by too
quickly we
will learn;
a jungle cataract
falls from a
towering cliff,
its source
a mystery we'll
never solve.
this bamboo
doesn't care;
it grows again beside
sweet lacey ferns,
a warm wind blows.
we came so far
and see (that's
how it goes).
rain drops from
sudden clouds above
as we drink it in,
the gods are
making love.
Badlands no.12
the rains came down
for millions of years
washing away rock
(was sand, packed
hard and turned
to sandstone.)
memories stir
and i want to
return to a
place and time
a little beyond
my grasp.
beside me,
a small dog
sleeps in peace.
envy stirs, as i
fight sleep
like a tired
toddler.
rock never sleeps,
time's rivers
wash it slowly
to the sea,
one grain
of sand
at a time.
such a beautiful
june morning!
sunshine burning
an image in
my ancient eyes.
across her fields,
a falling barn
squats beside
expanding woods.
summer heat
baked barn siding
many years ago.
we wander past
and see a ruin,
reminding me of
my own ruin,
still falling,
still failing,
still happy
to be alive.
a special day, for
celebrating love...
but this far north,
it's icy cold outside.
february is
about time
to be tired
of winter
we wait
impatiently
for springtime.
ice and snow
becomes tiresome.
walking on ice
is dangerous.
we want our
freedom back,
to follow our toes,
wherever they
want to go.
valentine's day
a special day, for
celebrating love...
but this far north,
it's icy cold outside.
