Archive for the ‘Black & White Photography’ Category
One of Several Low-water Crossings in Sabino Canyon — Image by kenne
Low-Water Bridges
There’s a kind of mischief in a low-water bridge.
Looks harmless when the creek’s quiet—
just a flat stretch of concrete
with dragonflies for sentries.
But you wait for the rain.
Then it turns trickster—
swells its belly,
covers the road,
and dares you to guess how deep.
I crossed one at sunrise once,
boots wet,
heart lighter
than it had any right to be.
The creek chuckled under its breath—
as if it knew a thousand fools before me
had tried to outsmart water,
most have failed to win.
— kenne
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Black & White Image by kenne
Red Rock, Sedona
Below the cliffs,
an old tree lies—
roots exposed,
its body weathered gray
by seasons of wind and sun.
It seems less fallen
than resting,
a figure stretched beneath
the iron-red slope,
its limbs now gone.
And yet,
in the stillness,
the tree remains—
not defeated,
but folded back
into the silence
that bore it.
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Tom Turner at Home in Seattle (In his notes, I came across a Kierkegaard quote, which I used to start the
following three-fragment poem, which reflects Tom’s philosophy.)
I
The whole of my being shrieks in contradiction.
To live is to suffer this clash of opposites—
to despair is to forget it.
II
I am the tension:
finite and infinite,
time and eternity.
If I dissolve it, I lose myself.
III
The contradiction is not my enemy—
it is my teacher.
Through it, I hear the Spirit whisper,
though I only answer in silence.
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Sunset Sky — Image by kenne
Photography patronizes.
Life moves—
blur, breath, forgetting.
A flash halts it,
fixes detail
into permanence—
which is its lie.
— kenne
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Clouds at Sunset — Image by kenne
white clouds unfolding
across the mountain’s dark skin—
light lingers, then slips
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Sonoran Sunset — Image by kenne
Sonoran Negative
Sun leans low,
half-caught in the cactus ribs—
its body broken
into light & shadow.
Above, clouds drift,
wisps scattered
like torn paper,
like smoke
from some far-off fire.
The desert does not move.
Stone listens.
Thorn remembers.
Even the horizon
waits.
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Carrillo Trail In Back & White — Image by kenne
Carrillo Trail—
all bones and silence,
prickly pear flattened moons,
saguaro spines lifted
like darkened prayers.
Black and white holds it,
no color,
only the weight of shadow
and the thin edge
of light
cutting the desert open.
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Saguaro Cactus Down By The Wash — Image by kenne
Gravity Prevails
This old saguaro bends,
arms too heavy for the trunk,
two pressed down to the ground
like crutches that keep it standing.
I know the feeling — knees gone,
back stiff in the mornings,
each step a small negotiation
with the earth below.
They say the cactus has lived
a hundred years, maybe two —
having seen men die younger,
and still it leans,
still it finds a way
to stay upright,
though gravity has claimed
every inch of it.
I used to think
I could resist—
work harder,
drink less,
walk farther,
but the cactus
tells me the truth:
sooner or later,
you bow down.
What matters
is how long you keep
your arms in the air,
catching light,
refusing to be silenced,
before the earth
pulls you all the way down.
— kenne
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Saguaro Sunrise In Sabino Canyon — Image by kenne
At first light
the saguaro rises,
its many arms lifted
like a dynamic congregation.
In Sabino Canyon
the sun spills over ridges,
and each arm throws
a separate shadow—
a forest of silhouettes
born from a single body.
The desert floor
becomes a canvas of shade,
lines stretching,
splitting,
merging again,
as if the giant were painting
its own story in silence.
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Image by kenne
Her white shirt tucked in,
soft against the waistline.
Below, the shoulder bag
rests easy at her thigh,
its strap drawing the eye
to a circle of skin,
a hole cut in the denim.
No accident, but choice—
a small window of daring,
sunlight touching
what fabric withholds.
She moves, and the street notices,
style written in quiet gestures,
confidence stitched
into every seam.
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Audacity
Life meets you
at the line you dare to cross—
not before.
It listens for the weight
in your step,
the courage in your reach,
the fire you throw against silence.
Audacity is the language it knows.
The bolder you speak,
the closer it comes,
opening paths
that hide from the hesitant.
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Clouds Over The Santa Catalina Mountains Front Range — Image by kenne
Above the Catalinas,
clouds sharpen into shadow and flame—
a chiaroscuro sky,
each edge cut bold against the light.
The mountains hold their ground,
stone shoulders darkening
beneath the storm’s bright weight.
In this high contrast of heaven and earth,
the desert waits,
every ridge and ravine
alive with the promise of rain.
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Father and Sons at Street Fair — Image by kenne
A father bends over,
one son tugging at his arm,
eyes bright for the bag, soon full.
The other rests on his back,
head nestled in dream-heavy sleep,
breathing soft against the rhythm
of footsteps and people’s voices.
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Monsoon Clouds Over The Catalinas — Image by kenne
Over the Catalinas,
monsoon clouds rise like mountains
upon the mountain—
rolling, swelling, breaking light
into silver and shadow.
In black and white,
the desert’s colors fall away,
yet the drama deepens:
every ridge sharpened,
every fold of stone
wrapped in the storm’s unfinished script.
The sky is restless charcoal,
the peaks a pale bone line—
between them
the promise of rain,
the hush before thunder speaks.
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White Rose in Black and White — Photo-artistry by kenne
Pale rose, still in frame—
shadows hold what light once gave,
soft in silent tones.
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