lloviendo

a poem, some unedited rain, and a slice of plath

salamancastreets

i woke to the sound of rain
― sylvia plath, the bell jar

see me

the face

in the rain

see me

the fingers

on the pane

see me

before

i am

wiped

away


*one of a series of shots made in salamanca with my ancient olympus om10, with zuiko 50mm f/1.8 lens, and loaded with ilford xp2 super ISO 400 film*

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serene

Death, therefore, the most awful of evils, is nothing to us, seeing that, when we are, death is not come, and, when death is come, we are not.
– Epicurus

we chase it
for eternity
yet, what do we lose

in our (endless)

chase
for, that
serene

(moment)

and
can
we find
it
before that
door

closes?


a dark slice of poetry for wordpress weekly photo challenge – Serene

*shot with fujifilm x100f with fixed 23mm (35mm full frame equivalent) lens at ISO1250, f/4 and 1/60s*

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