bien pensees (no accents?)

On photography


I have learnt to look without seeing,
Always through glass,
Distanced, but not darkly.
Peppered by the sprinkled words of conversations unheard
Surrounded by the actors caught
Frozen in my photographs.

Always absent but there; behind, not in,
Dot and pixellated
Photon by photon
Until one drowns
In the waves of
Every moment of the moment caught,
On, not forgettable.

Oh for the light amnesia,
And warmth of memory's gentle caress,
For the organic software that does
Blur, edit or elide,
And kindly sharpens only that beyond the sight
Of photographs.



Spot

(through a glass "darkly":-The phrase is interpreted to mean that humans have an imperfect perception of reality). And dogs?

books

Spot isn't naturally well informed but he reads a lot, and these are some of the reference books he has to hand in his very untidy study. Please feel free to borrow one.

two sisters

drawing by Andreina Bertelli, and Hope by Alba Chapman












Hope

Here I am
at the end of the line

as I close the door
to the present
that is already past

I glance
at the future
that is today

and I wait
for Hope to come

terzanelle for anonymous

Spot finds villanelles tough but terzanelles ...

thanks for stimulating his interest.

.......................................................................................

I saw a dappled fish gleaming

To leap and take the fly

And fall back to waters teaming

.......

To disappear beneath the silver sky

Full of life and dreaming

To leap and take the fly

.......

Swifts arrow in, and screaming,

To touch the water with a sigh

Full of life and dreaming,

....

As willows watch the running by,

Waiting as they always do

To touch the water with a sigh,

....

Their roots contorted so, to

Touch the earth, absorb, or die

Waiting as they always do.

....

Of this I know not the meaning

Except our time is short and so I

Touch the Earth, absorb or die,

And fall back to waters teaming.

.....

Spot, one I wrote today

halcyon days

when we are old and grey
will we remember the flash
and the stream of the day
rippling now
under the bough
down to the sea
and away?

poem by Spot on seeing his mother getting wet

Blair's rain

these daisies are out everywhere. One small detail should suggest that this is out of the family archive. Will it rain on my party? Will it ever stop raining?
was this poem written by a Cornishman?
"All b****y clouds, and b****y rains,No b****y kerbs, no b****y drains,The Council's got no b****y brains,In b****y ........... ." (Put in your own wettest place). Thank you Hamish.

a sad day

on a black day
I am Spot no more
but Spo, bright and gay;
and sore.

but there are too many unwanted pups in the world, so the T's had to go.

and Tomorrow is my birthday, and I am expecting lots of friends and presents and a party, at HOME.

Deirdre

Tomorrow we say farewell to our friend Deirdre for the last time. She was a popular woman with a mordant wit and a generous heart. She spent her life looking after others and in the end was given so little time for herself; Spring came and she died. We will all miss her very much.

would anenomes

in a wood I would be

in ashes and flame

an anenome

by nature and by name

a poem by Spot the one I did earlier

hanging out

the boss's boss doing her chores