Categories
art Earth

Wood Love

An open sack of charcoal; the opening is in the shape of a heart
Charcoal Heart
strips of wood, interlaced
Stripes

Captured in a forest reserve. The torches below were for our evening bonfire. The chopped wood for the bonfire is shown in the second to last photo.

In other news, I managed to make curry, over a coal fire, for ten hungry colleagues. No idea what I was doing and there was lots of improvising. So, it felt like an episode of MacGyver. The ingredients (curry powder, streaky bacon, potatoes, carrots and onions) were already prepped by the research facility that hosted us. Everyone was nervous about the potatoes but I Gordon Ramsayed them and they came out just right.

Torches for a campfire on the ground
Torches
Logs on a log shelf processed in black and white
Shelved
wood for a fire, in an iron grill
Wood Burn

Thank you for viewing.

Categories
art poetry

Rosencraft

Thrust in spells, fire irons were cast
Wild minds centre, great hands are clasped
Feathers fret round von Hoven’s draft
There’s much to fear where Rosen’s in craft

Plated in sheaths, impressions wrought steel
Thorn’s tender roses are flocking in teams
Verita’s lapels shall bind at the mast
What burdens we’ll bear if Rosen’s this craft

Swimming with roses by Stephen Day via Iconophile

Special thanks go to the spectacularly talented artist and photographer, Stephen Day. I found an inspiring story in his photograph, Swimming with Roses, and my poem practically wrote itself. Stephen blogs with the equally fabulous Jennifer Day at The Iconophile.

Categories
poetry

Maximum Dolōr

Maximum Dolor

Derelict
and dark as dawn
there sleeps Narcissus
wrapped up in flor

In that greener garden
were Venus rests
Piaget found us
romping with Faun

Hypnosis
cloaked in silky feathers
bound tightly did she
his powder dreams
in her life long tethers

We feel his screams
and harken
In silence we uproar
No, not again
Maximum dolōr

II

As icy ponds
where pelts the rain
how crushed we are
to hear his pain

May marvels end
no subtle cue
or she’ll come here
to look for you

Here Vera grins
in peace she reigns
on wine filled sacks
o’er toasted grain

Lovingly
she beams
but silver tears will flow
and while Narcissus sleeps
her music belts
the streams
as they go