Tim Lowly's " Echo," 2009

echo, originally uploaded by t i m o.

Seemingly framed by mellowed dome,
Its chalky surface trapping shadows,
In its pitted, once-white surface,
Hand cupped to her mouth,
Hair pulled into a bunch,
Eyes set fast before her,
She calls but one sound, and waits,
For what may--or will--come back to her.
---JW, for Tim, with the greatest regard, June 26, 2009.

Night wish - the beginning

Night wish - the beginning, originally uploaded by Idea-Listic.

For Robi Marinkovic:

Wishing Waters, drown my fears,
Wash away my sorrows,
And may your reflections,
Portend a brighter future.
--JW, for Robi, May 31, 2009.

in response to Robi "Idea-Listic's" "Night-wish - the beginning," as first uploaded to Flickr, 20 March 2009.

Helen Ojha/Rongzoni's "Storage innvention"

Storage innvention, originally uploaded by Rongzoni.

When Helen of Marin went for a stroll,
She found something so utterly droll,
In a tree in the wood, this is far too good,
Squirrels with idea of canned goods.
--JW, 05/29/08

(First uploaded by Rongzoni to Flickr, , 05/29/09, see:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/rongzoni/3576076386/ )

Still-Life Within Still-Life, 2009

Still-Life Within Still-Life 2009, originally uploaded by johnwalford.

Transience and Memory

Flowers, gathered, a fleeting joy to give,
Like a meal prepared and shared,
Of its memory, yet longer endures.
--JW, March 20, 2009

Awaiting Anastasis, and First Sign of Life, 2009 - A Lenten Meditation

These two works are intended as # 5 & 6 in a set of six diptychs on the last throws of winter, and nascent Spring. For the entire set, see on Flickr: http://flickr.com/photos/walford/sets/72157614659291654/

Awaiting Anastasis, and First Signs of Life:
A Lenten Meditation

Fats, fast-foods, fudge, and finger-foods,
For forty days, set aside, untouched.
Forty days each year, ritually held apart,
From Ash Wednesday to Easter morn.

Why act some so? What gain therein -
This so-called spiritual discipline?
If but some guilt assuage, it fruitless be,
What wisdom, growth is there to see?

What use our flesh to self-restrain?
Why not pleasure allow its reign?
Why not eat and drink full merrily.
Why ash and sackcloth, joy despoil?

Wandering and wondering, I came upon
A woodland pool, held fast in winter’s grip.
Eyes searching through the stubborn ice,
Saw there below, plants, seeds, and leaves.

Remnants from last Summer’s joy,
And seeds of Spring still trapped;
Held captive in the grip of ice,
Starved of air, of warmth, of life.

Yet here and there, what beauty,
What delight! A bubble of air,
Breaking from its icy cage.
Ploop, ploop, the silence broken.

One tiny drop of oxygen escapes,
Another now, and yet one more!
Here one slender wisp of green,
And there unfolds one fresh spore.

As my eyes did so explore, my mind
To Lenten rituals did return. The blush
Of Summer, the flames of Fall, set aside,
For the icy chill of Nature’s sackcloth.

Without this test, where fortitude
To run our race, and pass through death?
And so, with Christ, we steel ourselves,
Awaiting release, our Easter dawn.

---E. John Walford, Lent, 2009

Royal Deflation or The Case of the Peptic Prince

Sent to me by a friend, with source unidentified, I thought the following would provide some "light relief" from some of the heavy themes usually tackled here:

Royal Deflation or The Case of the Peptic Prince

The Queen, she is a prudish one,
But Anne drops all solemnity;
Charles is not at all amused,
While Harry his laughter can't contain.
What happened then? Did
Philip, an empty house prefer,
Than a foul tenant retain?
The man, well, who can blame?
Is this then a hoot,
Or a toot,
Or a royal salute?

Let he who is without gas, toot the loudest protest!

Ahmad Kavousian's grandson, Pedrom...

Pedrom..., originally uploaded by * Ahmad Kavousian *.

I have long admired the photographic work of Ahmad Kavousian, as posted on Flickr--especially his intimate and sensitive portraits of street people, and many of his landscapes and seashores (indeed, other works of his feature in my blog). With respect to this moving work of his grandson, I know something of the feelings of a grandfather photographing a beloved grandson, and, from those feelings, wrote this for Ahmad:

"Pedrom"

My Pedrom, he left today,
I keep him still,
In this fine way,
Those soft, full cheeks,
Un-scarred by life,
His strong dark hair,
That frames his head;
Those arching brows,
That frame his eyes,
Those eyes, oh! those eyes,
They gaze at me,
Keep gazing, and I see
And I feel the presence,
Of my little Pedrom.

--To Ahmad, from one doting grandfather to another,
with my warmest greetings, and well-wishing for your family,
John Walford, February 13, 2009.

No Quarter

No Quarter
Originally uploaded by dou_ble_you

Flickr's dou_ble_you, that wily, fertile mind, prods mine with his video, "No Quarter", and I cry out:

"Life, a gamble? - I give nor take no quarter"
>
One minute, twenty-nine seconds of video, more engaging than eighty-nine photographs. The eye is captivated, the ears alert, and the mind sent into a whirl. I walk with you through through streets, full of people rushing somewhere, perhaps nowhere of note, perhaps just not to be where they were; we find ourselves dancing, gloved, bedecked, and elegant, dancing to music we see but do not hear; and thereafter encounter the horror of violent death, and the tragedy of chance survival. The dogs, they got us, not just nipped our heels, they wiped us out. Dice we may seem like on the roulette wheel of life, some rising, some falling, one loses both arms to steel driven too fast, the other their mind to Alsheimers, and we know not why. Life a gamble? What's there to gain?--nothing we can keep, besides character. What's there to lose? --everything ephemeral, even our breath? Have we no control over our destiny, other than the choices we think we make? Do those choices matter? Like character, perhaps they are all we are left with. But perhaps they matter more than we could ever have guessed. Perhaps! You touched me with eighty-nine seconds of video, you took a gamble, and it spoke. I give no quarter! It was worth it!
--John Walford, Feb 4, 2009

The sun – the cloud – and me

The sun – the cloud – and me, originally uploaded by maurice flower.

Flickr's Maurice Flower/ Hans's "The sun - the cloud - and me"

What of that sun, that cloud? Me?

The sun had been waiting for him all day, until he thought to retreat to his cabin. Taking one last look, before going inside, he beheld the clouds out there, dancing for him their final evening waltz, waiting to draw the curtains on another day.

But there was one more task for the sun yet that day. Casting its muted beams through the vapory film of moist sea air, it was calling out to Hans, "Yes, the power of the imagination makes us infinite. But the wonder of The Infinite is that He looks down and communes with us, with each of us singly, even if it be as we glance out from our cabin door, and catch sight of that watching eye, slowly slipping into the infinite expanse of the water--or so it seems--fire swallowed whole by water."
--JW, Feb 4, 2009.

Echouement

Echouement, originally uploaded by PPL 2A.

How could the eye and the mind not be arrested by the poignant juxtaposition seen in Flickr's "PPL_2A's photograph, "Echouement," which called forth these lines from me:

"Echouement" - Run aground

Once a grove of vibrant trees
Felled to deck a sleek, long boat,
Crafted lovingly, launched proudly.
Once she lilted over the waves,
With a grace and ease
That delighted the eye,
And brought joy,
To the sailor's heart.
Now this wood-planked shell
--twice dead, rusted iron,
Once pristine, wood--
Once sustained by Spring sap,
Lies inert, useless,
Unloved, abandoned,
Like a jilted lover,
Wasting away,
In full light of day,
Not even quite alone.
Passing it daily,
The inhabitants
Of the near-by
Apartments--
Comfortable in their
Bourgeois boxes--
They never stop to think,
Their concrete box,
It too will crumble,
And slip into the sea,
Unnoticed,
While another plane
Flies by, overhead,
On its way nowhere,
In total disregard.
--JW, Feb 4, 2009.