Boat On A Mountain Lake — Photo-Artistry by kenne
— John Dewey
Sandhill Cranes at Whitewater Drew (McNeal, Arizona) — Photo-Artistry by kenne
–I. F. Stone
Pistol Hill Panorama — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Sanderling Wading Birds — Photo-Artistry by kenne
It is possible to walk along the shore
run from the incoming waves
or if you prefer to wade in the water
splashing and kicking as the waves
move in and out not distracting
the sanderlings, or are they sandpipers
wading and probing as loud,
squawking seagulls fly overhead
only to be decorated from above.
— kenne
Fiddleneck Wildflowers — Photo-Artistry by kenne
―
Stones — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Stones
I bring them from the mountains,
from the sea, from the edge
of streams and look at them,
heft them, hold them hard
while they keep holding themselves
harder. Is it because
they haven’t had to change
their surfaces in our time
though, in theirs, they’ve suffered
the blunt demands of ice
and water and wind and god
knows fire, been cracked and frozen,
thawed, made molten again
and again have started over
grinding and being ground
from monument to boulder,
to rock, to river stone,
to gravel, to pebbles, to sand,
to slurries of grit, to dust?
— David Wagoner
(Source: Terrain.org)
“Death” — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Flowers Outside the Window — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Lines and Space — Photo-Artistry by kenne
— Cecilia Beaux
Holiday Masks — Image by kenne
— kenne
Sonoran Winter Sunset — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Crossroad
On, what sorrow to have
poems off in the distance
of passion, and a brain
all stained with ink!
Oh, what sorrow not to have
the happy man’s fantastical
shirt—a tanned skin,
the sun’s carpet.
(Flocks of letters
wheel round my eyes.)
Oh, what sorrow the ancient
sorrow of poetry,
this sticky sorrow
so far from clean water!
Oh, sorrow of sorrowing
to sip at the vein of lyric!
Oh, sorrow of dried-up fountains
and mills without flour!
Oh, what sorrow to have
no sorrow, to spend life
on the colorless grass
of the hesitant lane!
Oh, the deepest sorrow:
the sorrow of joy, a plow
Cutting furrows for us
where weeping bears fruit!
(The cold moon rises
over a paper mountain.)
Oh, sorrow of truth!
Oh, sorrow of the lie!
— Federico Garcia Lorca
The Year of the Bighorn Fire and COVID In the Santa Catalina Mountains — Photo-Artistry by kenne
— kenne
Photo-Artistry by kenne
— kenne
Running From Daimons — Grunge Art by kenne
What marks upon the yielding clay? Two marks
Made by my feet, two by my daimon’s feet
But all confused because my marks and his
Are on the selfsame spot, his toes
Where my heels fell, for he and I
Pausing a moment in our headlong flight
Face opposite ways, my future being his past.
— from Images by W. B Yates
Paulo Still Life — Photo-Artistry by kenne
— kenne
(Nōtan (濃淡) is a Japanese word, meaning dark-light, there is no English language equivalent.
It embodies an ancient Eastern concept, in which all things exist as inseparable and in perfect harmony.)
