(a) face (in the crowd)

Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables?
Is it for such I agitate my heart?
– Sylvia Plath

A face in the crowd, for the WordPress Weekly photo challenge

in his

eyes

not (under), his

eye

what will,

unfold,


*shot with fujifim x100f with 23mm (35mm fixed frame equivalent) lens at ISO1600, f/5.6 and 1/170 at the tate modern in London*

stranger

. . .sometimes one feels freer speaking to a stranger than to people one knows. Why is that?
‘Probably because a stranger sees us the way we are, not as he wishes to think we are’
― Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind

stranger, in a strange land

plucked from the earth

roots ripped

torn

stranger, in a strange land

plucked

ripped

torn

stranger, in a strange land

you, smell

so

sweet


stranger

corner

Never think that war, no matter how necessary, nor how justified, is not a crime
― Ernest Hemingway

it could

(perhaps)

be said, that

liberal (thinking) is in, a

corner

right now

the question

is

what will

become

of us

of them

of you

of me


For WordPress Weekly Photo Challenge – Corner

*Image made with Fujifilm X100F and 23mm  fixed lens (35mm full frame equivalent) at ISO1250 (don’t even go there), 1/800s and f/5.6 outside the Cortes, Madrid*

poetry | 101 | rehab | red

No matter how much suffering you went through, you never wanted to let go of those memories
― Haruki Murakami

2015_05_27_22229-edit

 

voices, filled (the air)
have, one more
don’t despair

(warm) fingers, tracing, searching
did they (who watched) care
have, one more

more, and more
no one (really) saw
or so, it seemed

blue eyes
yes (they cared, oh how so much)
told, no lies

feelings rising
choices, stretching
(out)

don’t be scared
choose, the blue
ride, the red

you’ll soon
be

dead


red

This week, my poetry prompt is red

poetry | 101 | rehab | whisper

There’s no need to raise your voice here. You don’t have to convince anybody of anything, and you don’t have to attract anyone’s attention
― Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

2016_08_13_26716

I hear you,

whisper

in the long grass

and in, the reeds

along, the banks.

I hear you,

whisper

in the leaves, of the

trees

and (in) the beards of those

who ride long,

and hard.

I hear you,

whisper

in the (endless) night,

when the stars,

fall,

and (yes)

I hear you, whisper

when you, are

gone.


whisper

This week, my poetry prompt is only a whisper