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it’s not red, but this is the red sea on the shore of jeddah, saudi arabia. photography by ssj
is the wave
that creates the wave
that creates the wave
that creates the wave
that reaches my feet
the same wave
that reaches my feet? -
the shot that got the drop on the shooter. photography by ssj
two birds with one shot
and there’s but one caveat:
birds free, shooter not.__________
copyright © ssj april 2016 -
Image courtesy of Pixabay.Com
1.
When you find sad hearts
that know no love and patience:
Forget smarts, just farts. -
Here’s another play at mixing media: the poem ‘Light Breathes On’ presented in a video capture, from behind obscure glass, of pigeons nesting just outside my window, this time with Bach’s composition ‘Awake, Calls The Voice To Us, BWV 140’ synced into the background.
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the cavern of a mall, after hours. photography by ssj
there’s no sadder place
than a mall shuttered silent.
green gnomes dream of hay.Copyright © SSJ October 2016
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Photo of the Bard Laureate from The Guardian
“How can the life of such a man
Be in the palm of some fool’s hand?”
– from ‘Hurricane‘, a song written by Bob Dylan and Jacques Levy, 1975From any angle, radical defines Bob Dylan.
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photo courtesy of pixabay.com
Where affords the best of views
The edge of a woodland yawns
To the spiders of the wind, cotton-hard
Caressing where one is stretched
Between trees and skies;
(more…) -
photo courtesy of pixabay.com
liquid seeping through the ground
and the life that sprouts is but
a tiny strand of green and white;
a root hugs the earth, a new leaf
fixes face toward space and time
azure now, then gray and windy
and when some dogs bark, a spine
quivers gently a consciousness. -
photo courtesy of pixabay.com
There are more to them than
name and symmetries
colors and textures
dwelling in the vastness of
a fluidity that marks
their nooks and crevices
edges and eyes grasping
the folds of an ocean. -
morning in a jeddah neighborhood. photography by ssj
Morning hears the panicking
Of fearful birds in the eye of sun
And settle only when
Blinding red shall close them down
On horizontal weariness.Then Evening listens to the sighing
Tracking on her knees it seems
Sounds of living that have died
And those of living that shall die
And tiny hearts would beat along
The rhythm of a vastness.-© 1979 SSJ
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Author’s note: The poem ‘Flight’ is part of a collection of 8 poems, At The Edge of Things, written and published in FOCUS Philippines magazine way, way back in 1979 when I was still a student of electrical engineering. In time, I shall be posting the rest of the collection, in line with my effort to homestead most of my previous and current literary works here, in one place. And yes, this blog will present new materials too. Mostly poetry, some short fiction.
- when the lustered sea embraces the sand, is it to claim or cede its flotsam? when my mind sails with the rolling wind, is it to cast or catch a sparkle?
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