Archive for the ‘Photo-Artistry’ Category

I Order To Live Fully . . .   Leave a comment

Arizona Sycamore-1-art-72.jpgArizona Sycamore — Photo-Artistry by kenne

I order to live fully,
it is necessary to be in constant movement
only then can each day
be different from the last.

— Paulo Coelho

 

Our Window Of Yesterday Days — Revisited   Leave a comment

Photo-Artistry by kenne

Our Window Of Yesterdays

Like Cinderella’s
Glass slipper

Only one pair
Had the right fit.

In life’s early years
It took time
Searching
For the right fit —
Trying on
Many different shoes
Before the music
Brought us together.

I
Slipped into you

Tying you
To my body –

Knowing
Only you
Could get so close.

We
Have walked

Many miles
Not always in step
But at the start of each day
You were there.

You
Supported each step
Through the good times
When we danced together
And the bad times
When the music stopped.

Over the years
I knew
Where we were going
You knew
Where we had been
As our
 souls
Have now worn thin —
Broken
Held together by twin
Only now expressing
The secret face
Of our enter selves.

Having been seduced
By a lover’s
Darkest kiss
No longer laced together —
Merely to be left behind
In the window
Of yesterdays
Kissed only
By tomorrow’s sun.

— kenne

Cabin In The Northwest   Leave a comment

House In The Meadow-7651-art-72.jpgCabin In The Northwest — Photo-Artistry by kenne

In profound silence
Abanded in the meadow
Not without certain.

— kenne

Posted November 21, 2019 by kenneturner in Information, Photo-Artistry, Poetry

Tagged with , ,

Dark Clouds Over Tanuri Ridge   2 comments

Dark Clouds-art-72.jpgDark Clouds Over Tanuri Ridge– Photo-Artistry by kenne

Signs of fall gone

No more drives up the mountain

as the days become shorter

Evening sunsets now darker

as the rays reflect over the clouds —

winter hides behind the clouds 

— kenne

 

 

Beware   2 comments

Raven-0470-art-2-72.jpgRaven — Photo-Artistry by kenne

. . . beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect . . .

— from The Genious of the Crowd by Charles Bukowski

Lost Universe   Leave a comment

Turkey Creek TrailLost Universe — Abstract Art by kenne

“Our wills and fates do so contrary run/That our devices are overthrown:/
Our thoughts our ours, their ends none of our own.”

–William Shakespeare

Live Jazz In The Old Pueblo   Leave a comment

Old Pueblo  9724 - 2010-08-01-art-72.jpgLive Jazz In The Old Pueblo — Photo-Artistry by kenne

The Weary Blues

— Langston Hughes

Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
     I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
     He did a lazy sway . . .
     He did a lazy sway . . .
To the tune o’ those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
     O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
     Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man’s soul.
     O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan—
     “Ain’t got nobody in all this world,
       Ain’t got nobody but ma self.
       I’s gwine to quit ma frownin’
       And put ma troubles on the shelf.”

Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some more—
     “I got the Weary Blues
       And I can’t be satisfied.
       Got the Weary Blues
       And can’t be satisfied—
       I ain’t happy no mo’
       And I wish that I had died.”
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that’s dead.

 

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