Category: photography

Winter Brown

Published on by annwjwhite2 Comments

Here under gray skies the colors fail.
Green has faded, yellow gone, red is only
Litter found where children’s feet played.
Brown, brown survives.

The air bites with icy teeth, bites again.
Trees hold their leaves, brown and thick
Against their chests. Dead grass rustles.
Small chirps, squeaks, then beavers sail

Along the wetlands, busy pulling brown
Branches toward their lodge. A heron steps
Out of the grasses, stabs into the water,
Retrieves a catfish. Minnows streak into

Streams from eddies, a school of gymnastics
As they flip, swirl, dance, tag and run
Toward the river. A river otter slides down
The muddy banks, brown fur coated in

Slippery red-brown clay which washes off
Creating a particulate fog of camouflage,
Nipping and biting their dinner on a water cruise.
Crows chase bard owls, who wish to nap

On shore-bound trees. Smaller birds join
The cacophony of shrieks and cries, always
One step behind the bigger birds. They are there
For the excitement, but not fools. Owl talons

Are sharp, like the cold. Sparrows pull small
Grasses to line nests, which sit abandoned
Until the temperature rises enough for eggs
To warm in the sun, the missing sun.

One Thing

Published on by annwjwhite1 Comment

One Thing.

His arms, which reach to hold me,

At the end of a day, of a storm,

Guarding me in space and time,

Outside the world, inside our sphere,

A shelter formed from two strong arms,

Two strong hands, which kindle hope.

Peace and tenderness fill my heart,

My brain breathing, a relief from reality,

Boxing worry in steel bands, ordering it,

Diffusing the pain, ignorance, and hatred

Which strikes between the hours of isolation,

Solitude, aloneness, and despondency.

Heart melted into ease, resting weary head

Upon shoulders precisely positioned upon

Muscles of love, offering bright solace.

I am cocooned in ataraxis, blooming in

Our conservatory of love, of pansies,

Violas, Pinks of my John, Johnny Jump-ups.

His arms, the foundation, the center,

And my breath catches, my heart glows.

Here I am safe. Here I am understood.

Cantankerous Clouds

Published on by annwjwhite1 Comment

Born in an itching collision
Of molecules of H2O brushing
Against the dust specks,
Wandering carefree across the sky.
Itching, you needed more of your kind.
Particles of outstretched bonding
Grasping to find more of your kind,
Just your kind, and melding
The chemicals you needed,
You founded a drop,
But it was not enough,
“More,” you thundered, “more.”
Your greed eclipsing the scaling
Of dust motes, particles, specks of
H2O gathering breathless,
The wind took on the task of
Rounding the herd and you grew.
It was not enough.
You mounded together,
Cirrus clouds in their skimpy
Lace, Stratus clouds rolling
In batting across the sky.
The mountains mocked you,
Earth ignored you.
So you grew, tall elegant towers
Of white chrysanthemums,
Piled one over the other.
The Earth looked up to you,
Wondrous at your majesty,
But you weren’t alone.
Others stood above you in the sky
Others grouped together and mocked you.
Angered, frustrated,
To win the acclaim you sought,
You turned black and gray.
Stealing energy from the sun,
Bashing, molding, stealing, compiling,
Sending the energy of those collisions
Out to strike in lightning,
Resounding like an orchestra of tympani,
The energy of those others.
You became the storm,
The cyclone, the fury of God,
And wreaked havoc
A temper-tantrum growing,
Waves blew, Winds killed,
And thrusting your entirety
Into your apoplectic fit
You threw them out,
Drop by drop, speck by speck,
Falling on the earth
Flooding, raging, cascading
Until with a last effort,
You itched, a speck of dust in the sky
Lonely for company, holding the
Molecular bonds of H2O,
One at a time,
And it was not enough.

Hands; a photo prompt, a poem

Published on by annwjwhite2 Comments

https://allaboutwritingandmore.wordpress.com/2017/10/08/daily-picture-prompt-280/

They raise their hands, beautiful hands,
Hands that have known labor, have kneaded,
Have created, have loved and been loved.

Praying to the creator, a creator, Mother Nature,
"End the storms. Save our brethren."
And the clouds tower above them like city towers.

From plenty, they sense the devastation, the need.
Politicians storm the fortresses for a picture.
They shout, "We are here with your relief."

Paper towels tossed into a crowd who wish for
Water, food, medicine, jobs, homes.
The cleanup has begun, with a single roll of paper.

Beautiful minds are shocked at the blatant
Lack of care. The victims are brown, black, and white.
They are a colorful mosaic, whirled and swirled by wind.

Voices come through the air, the web, the functions of 
of which convey disbelief, horror, future action.
But for luck, there walk we in similar straits.

Caring is call to action. Share, share alike, give.
From coast to island to coast the storms remain.
You only have a short time to build. Build.

A legacy is formed by the footsteps you leave.
I step in my ancestors steps. "Here is a broom,
I will sweep. A mop, I will scrub. Soap to wash..

The bitter taste of anguish, in the mouths. Eyes that 
Pierce though miles away. Stories that will be told to 
Grandchildren, of the great storm, of a roll of paper tossed.

Photo Challenge: Golden (and poem)

Published on by annwjwhite5 Comments

Tuesday Photo Challenge – Golden

 

Gold is fleeting, illusionary.
Her arms outstretched, calling, beckoning,
Controlling.

Much is done in her name.
Charity, War. She brings them forth,
Yearning.

Wings of illusion power her flight,
Iron pyrite, ocean sunsets, rivers of gold,
Luring.

Should she notice you, you would kneel.
Her lips burning you with passion.
Conquering.

The sun lays paths of golden splendor to bring
Inspiration. Her greatest gift is imagination, childhood dreams
Blooming.

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Life’s Texture

Published on by annwjwhite2 Comments

https://narami.wordpress.com/2016/12/20/tuesdays-of-texture-week-52-of-2016/

Touch life, in a Chilean desert,
Where the sand is fine, rusty,
Pink with a sash of burgundy.

Feel life in a frozen apex above
An island of Canary, mountain high
As the ice covers and caresses.

Stroke the electric vibrations that
Emanate in mirrors, hiding the
Motion of nightlife, stirring it forward.

Pluck the purple passion found in
Tender petals. Surrounding you
Covering you with soft touches of pleasure.

Caress the swollen clouds that dangle
Teasingly just beyond reach. In the heavens,
Promising the cool breezes to passersby.

Manipulate the boulders, stacked by size
Treating the balance of gravity as
If the history of the world is on your back.

Trail your hands around the Austrian pattern
Swirling in a monastery as though
It was a moving footprint of a snail’s shell.

Splash against a sandy beach, scrubbing
The ocean’s waves. Feel the surging
Power that pulls away from your hands.

Touch a savage pattern, alkaline and dry,
Feel the salary of traditions old
A page of understanding that caresses as we learn.

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Cees Challenge: A Road, a Path, a Journey: poem and photographs

Published on by annwjwhite8 Comments

Cee’s Which Way Photo Challenge – December 21, 2016

I've walked them all, the roads,
The paths, walking as they call out,
"Here! Here I am!"
And the twists and turns from civility
To the brash encounters
That leave you breathless 
And thinking. I've walked them all.

The journey leads you to new
Thoughts and actions, people,
Dogs, the dogs are my favorite.
They teach me to look with my ears,
My nose, then my eyes.
"Here!" they bark. "Here I am!"
Tails wag and we part, friends.

The cities bustle and blend themselves
Into mirrors of bright reflection
Of the life below the windows.
The buses roar like dragons
Belching out smoke, foul odors,
And the bystanders standing
On the curb shout, "Here! Here I am!"

The bus lurches to a stop.
"Here! Here I am. Now board and 
Use the windows to see what you miss
When you don't walk."
It snarls, winds its engine and dreams
Of standing still in the tumultuous wind
And listening to the roar.

I stand alone on the bus stop,
Indecisively making a decision
To walk down the treed streets.
Strong armed trees holding the last leaves
Of fall. Autumn calls out,
"Here you are. Look at me."
And the beauty makes me weep.

I am the bystander, taking the road.
Calling my children to let them know
To look on a map and see me.
"Here! Here I am!" But invisible,
They see only the marker of 
Where I have been. I can call,
"Here! Here am I! See me!" They don't.

I have a secret. A wood's walk,
Where the king of the forest
Strode into my path.
"Make way. Make way. This is my path,
My road. Here I am."
And I see him, towering over me.
I answer, "I am here, too."

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Sunday Trees, a poem and a photograph

Published on by annwjwhite3 Comments

https://beccagivens.wordpress.com/2016/12/18/sunday-trees-266/

There you stand, arms outstretched,
Gathering the last sun of a season
As the cold moves with infinite patience.
The crystals of frost will soon haunt you.
They spread from dawn to dusk, and infiltrate
Your woods at night to decorate with lacy
Precision, precision which creates chill and ice.
But beneath the earth, you grow and shiver
Living like ants on the stored food in your veins.
Your tenants, the squirrels follow your lead and nap.
Their nests decorating during the winter,
A barren decoration, brown, gray, but hopeful.
You create the roots of spring while waiting,
While knitting through the winter months.
Arms outstretched you gather the last rays, knitting,
Before the sunset of autumn and the dawn of winter.

 

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Goal: A Limerick Challenge

Published on by annwjwhite2 Comments

A Barcelona Child, while soccer was playing,
Did kick the ball to his old mother graying,
It bounced so hard,
It left the yard,
In the atmosphere weightless it is staying.

Funny, somedays you just need a good limerick or a bad one. I’m looking for the positive in my own world. I got to watch some young children playing soccer in the Old City of Barcelona, that fortress that is a bastion of museums and the baroque. No one seemed to mind that they were using the old wall for sport and I enjoyed watching them be happy kids.

The challenge: https://mindandlifemattersblog.com/2016/12/10/limerick-challenge-week-50-goals/

Martyr: A Dailypost Writing Prompt

Published on by annwjwhite5 Comments 
Better had you called her Mother,
For mother she was before you stole
Her every waking moment with your needs.
She never minded the change that goes with:

I need water, cookies, a story.
I need soothing, aspirin, a cold pack.
I have a broken dolly, truck, fix it, 
Someone hurt me, pushed me, my knee...

My broken heart, my bank balance.
My lost friend, my best friend gone,
I'm alone. You were never alone, not you.
She hovered over you even when you refused to see.

Still she held you and gave you worth, forgiveness.
Counsel given you, and some of hers from a lengthy speech
You remember. You lust for more, but lack the patience
Of saints from world's dust covered and ash filled.

Mother finds a way, always she finds a way.
My friends have, my sister has, my brother took.
Return it, all of it to her, give her the life
That she thought she would have, but you changed.

She gave her all away, every drop: tears, smiles, cries.
Still she sets the table, waiting for a call, a note.
Cooks for your empty spot, carefully decorated table,
Leaves a napkin to blot your lips or brow, a post card.

Folded on the table, she keeps her dreams for you,
The funds she gathered in pennies, for ice cream, notebooks...
She gave you her dreamscapes to bear with you,
Lush beautiful realms of the mind. Freedom.

In place of your sorrow, a breeze for gladness.
She healed you, scolded you, taught you,
Worked to learn the math both new and old,
So you could explain the new world to her. 

Mother, better had you called her Mother, 
Before she was labeled Martyr, as willingly
You took away her smiles of you, to leave her
Eyes in tears and heart in two.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/martyr/

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