Murray Robertson (photography & poems)
I make photographs and poems to please myself (and share them to please you).
this is a message from the world of colours, and i got to see what happens when colour is taken away. this was a white and yellow flower, which changed in appearance radically when colours were rejected, removed, ignored and forgotten. this is a message from the world of colours, and i got to see what happens when colour is taken away.
food or flower, these questions come around from time to time, but demand no serious answers. some think life is just a joke, cheap laughs for the far balconies. then there are bright sunflowers, yellow brightness summer wonders, promises of edible treats for autumn. yellow petals wither before seeds ready birds and people must wait until seeds are ready. time doesn't hurry. small birds must smell the ripeness, when the time has come and the wait is over. (i am a sunflower, not quite ready, perhaps.)
when we stare
up at the sky,
tilting heads back
so we can focus
our minds on
something above
the birds fly
where we can't
blocking light,
so we focus
on light and
on shade
a bird's shadow
rarely touches us.
we think that
we deserve more.
and i wonder
what will
become of us,
if we are destined
to die out.
i expect i won't
be here
when it happens.
but i don't like
the idea much.
does this
shadow touch us?
only a day ago or so, a little colour still remained on her hydrangeas. but colours fade, even as we watch. we realise how we are fading too, how nothing lasts forever, not even smiles. time and temperature surprise us every year. we're never ready. again the cold comes close and colours fade, it happens each and every year cold and colder.
it's just a leaf in october sunshine, black and white, no colour can be seen. nothing subtle, not thoughts nor colours, (just simple monochrome) shapes on a screen or on white paper dark on light and all that's in between. we see a picture: shadows on a cave wall. it's just a leaf in october sunshine, black and white, no colour can be seen.
this red and golden season speaks of a time to come. crunching under careless shoes as we wander, red and golden leaves themselves are silent although their crunchiness tickles us deep inside where children's voices speak of a past that we've forgotten. this red and golden season speaks of a time that's gone.
i will not claim it's gold, but it looks golden. a sky like this i saw three years ago. i can't advise you how to live your life, i'm not quite sure on how to live my own. i see him playing with the new train set, and wonder about the world we're leaving him. so far, he's escaped the hellish pandemic. we hold our breath.
distracted by sad shapes and colours (if i must see them that way) strange and dramatic shapes this time of year. unrecognizable, i must see the world in new and unknown ways we smell wet leaves, fertility for springtime's vigorous growth, when everything celebrates life, such a beautiful time.
on nobody's map, we found this plant. dna identifies it, as it defines us. but still, i do not know it. palm leaf plant i do not recognize, one of so many things i do not know. the south pacific ocean is a great enormous sea on a good day, a fine day, there's more than you can see. a secret beach, where nobody goes, because it isn't even on a map, any map. on nobody's map, we found this plant.
broken off from trunk and root, disposessed of leaves and life. at ten thousand feet, i found altitude sickness and now i know what that feels like. i can't imagine how the broken branch would feel or even if it can. predominantly sepia tone, it seems bleak, a landscape of the echoes of destruction. as you walk through the wreckage, even when it is very quiet, those silent echoes seem very loud.
