winter photography – Back to the Monastery

Winters breath

the canvas of

a Winters day

January

i fell below the surface
into the negative
I was told I needed
positive to live

so am I now not living?
it seems I still respire
if provoked in a certain way
I feel the welling of desire

if at some point maybe
things will begin to rise
I will then see through
dishonesty and lies

and start to understand
why I sank so low
for if there is no reason
I do not want to know

how I came to be
in such a place as this
perhaps it’s just as well
that ignorance is bliss

u ever get so cold u just wanna fold in on yourself?

along the narrow shore
whispers collect.

a spoken word
not meant to be heard

by Winter’s chilling touch.

soft sounds
of a Summer’s haunting

leaves that rustle,
undulate to the breeze.
whispered entreaties.

please,
please.

such is Winter’s sound,
till Summer comes around

to hold you once more,
along the narrow shore.

there are times.
yes,
there are times.

little bundles
of events
encapsulated
within a framework
of their own
and mentally shelved
to collect cosmic dust
or left out in the rain to rust

dragged out every now and then
for critical review
then polished up and given to you.

‘there was a time once”
each would say
it was just once,

now it won’t go away.

but still,

there was a time
you held her in your arms.

there was a time
when the beat of her heart
thundered
beneath your trembling body
and shook you
to your core.

there was a time,

but it is no more.

the crossing

Winter fruit

ice shark