Poetry Contest

O.K., here's the new picture. I browsed around a little and this one really grabbed me. Have fun!
http://i43.photobucket.com/albums/e3...doD/ansel1.jpg

bump.......................

What is it? :lol:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Virgil

What is it? :lol:

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I think that's what you're supposed to tell us, right?

Quote:

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What is it?

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That's why I picked it. ;) I found it striking in it's ambiguity, and I thought it would be interesting to see what people make of it. If you really can't stand not knowing any background info., I'll give you a hint that it's an Ansel Adams photograph. I'm sure a quick google or google image search will help demystify things for those who so desire. :nod:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Xamonas Chegwe

It looks like a gate, but it ain't
It's just paint.
And the sunlight, so bright, is just white;
And the grass and the trees, is just green;
Not a tree trunk, instead, it's just red;
And the building itself is a hue,
Grey or blue?
And the curling wrought iron
And the dapples of shade
And the half-seen facade
And the balled balustrade
Are just splashes
And dabs
And swirls
And specks
And touches
And swathes
And flicks
And flecks
Of pigment and water, applied with a brush
With painstaking care, or perhaps in a rush,
By an artist unknown but with well-tempered sight
For colour,
Perspective,
For texture,
And Light.
It all looks so real but it lacks a dimension;
A beautiful scene, but merely pretension.

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I.Love.This.

bump..........................

ha ha! the photographer yells at the sky,
you ruined my pictures so now say good bye!
you furred them, you blurred them, you reddened blue eyes,
you wouldn't respond when i cried to you, "why?"
but here's my revenge, and boy will it be sweet,
this picture box holds in it for you a treat.
it'll split you and kit you with your deeds to eat -
it'll change your high tune, i swear by my big feet!"
the box then unloading, the photoman set
some strange things by his feet - strange, alien, yet -
to see those set free from the box which he let,
one did not think of such words as "weird" or "grosquete".
no, to all purposes it looked as his equipment
was such as could be found in any new shipment
to room or dark tomb in which photos' lips sent
sweet uncaught kisses to unseen and skipped gents.
yes! none but a camera, lens pointed on high
as the man shouted curses at the silent sky
and railed and bewailed the unfortunate tie
between he and the life-debt given by sun's bye.
"But be that as it may";
he shouted at the day,
"I'll change you - rearrange you - just as i say!
you'll see that you shouldn't to treat me this way!"
and things set - though do not ask me how they work -
he poised one thin finger and did not once shirk
but pressed it, and blessed it, the button which lurked
on the side of his camera, primed, ready, and perked.
then a flash of bright light split itself 'cross the air -
and more, and another; there one, and there! -
and in glee, jubilee, the photographer stared,
"how's that, sky?" he yelped, "now 'tis you who's ensnared!"
and thunder and lightning rent the afternoon -
as far off, the sun's light began to vent the moon
and sunset fell, soft clouds dwelled 'mong the loud booms
as the sky cracked and writhed, its peace ended too soon.
but strange - far too strange for the man on the mount,
whose dreams had poured themselves into this mad fount,
the flashes did fade, did shade themselves out! -
and night fell with calmness upon day's account.
"what"? mumbled the picturist, fervor now worn,
"what - how -" but no words came, his genius was torn,
and he walked but not talked away from the sky's scorn -
and that is the why, and the how, of a storm.

whoa . . .that turned out interesting. oh well, anyone who likes canterbury tales or Kipling's just so stories . . .

Thunderstorms crash
And the sky cracks,
Raving in anguish and beauty and story.
"I must take it back!
I must get it out!
I must capture the dream on a canvas of glass!
The blue is now grey
The white will be black
Grass will grow longer and brush at my back"
The shadow, the shadow, the shadow is coming
The darkness, the darkness, the darkness surrounding
Now as I stand and gaze and imagine
The shade of the stone is so cold, now imagine
A world of no clouds
Or never-blue skies
The hunger, despair, and cold beauty my eyes
Would behold if the sky
Keeps splitting and storming and crashing and growing.
Again, he cried out that he'd soon have it done--
Forever engraved catapulting sky action
Of minutes worth hours of time and refraction.
Now he stands back and sighs with new joy
As the blue returns quickly with new sunny ploys.
The shadow, the worry, the storming is done,
And a gentle light rain breaks through the bright sun.
All that remains is a plate of dark glass
That keeps the remainder of thoughts going past.



That was fun :)

There am I
At least one who I once was
Where am I now
That there once was

Who shall I be
When I return where I was
Will the shadow lay as it did
Exactly as it was

P.S. What a great idea. I read the entire post. Lot's of good stuff.

Here's my entry.

Quote:

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The Climb

This purgatorial climb thins
The breath from my lungs.
The boulders lay like zebras
Drinking from a desert pond,
Mountain stones shaped by eternal storm.

I drink from my canteen
And reinvigorate the rivers of my spleen
Until the dryness behind my eyeballs
Awaken the vital flesh of life
Like a flower stem uplifted after
A dry day and moist night.

I reach the third ledge,
That of the proud, and remark
At my climb. How high?
Seven thousand feet perhaps
And I feel the eyes of God
Pressing me onward, upward,
Without guide, without even onlookers.

I rest here, unpack my camera,
The dry highland, brown terrain,
Making a picturesque moment.
Will God allow me this superbia
In the calefactive afternoon,
Gazing at Earthly veins,
Which are but negatives of human?

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Skies have no shadows
just the ones of clouds
wandering birds
flying dutchmen and
dragons.

Skies have no open holes in them
just those that are filled
with industrial smoke
shadows of birds
lightning and
light
(speed of 300000 kilometres per hour)

Skies are not old photographs
they have no dust on them
no cracked edges
no coffee stains
(but perhaps both forgotten
by the ones
that made them?)
No dead art
nor capturing the soul
of the shadow.

So, certainly
this thing
(jumping over its nonexistant shadow)
this rain
rainbow
moon
stars
and the footprints of legendary lovers and hair of a young greek girl
fullness of night
(and the promises whispered in it)
are just

graffiti
on a wall of an old soviet-time
block of flats

Hope im not too late........

Tender

I have wandered through these gates in my childhood dreams. I have sat with my bare feet dangling in the fountain, the cool water encapsulating my skin allowing for no penetration. I come here to think of you and plunder the treasures that we once enjoyed. No sadness is present here no pain stalks me in this haven I am free from the world outside. I have not forgotten you I have just buried you deep inside of me and when a certain song or spoken word reminds me of you I come to my garden to quell you. I can control you here I can allow the presence of our warm embraces to flood uncontrollably over me. I bathe in the incandescent light you once shone on me. I will go forward one day, but not today, not yet ,my wounds are open and my lifes blood flows freely from me.

Think of me my Juliet, remember our time, and let my love for you encapsulate you forever in my warm embrace.

ooops bus missed well done Riesa!!