Author: Patrick Jennings

I travel, when I can. Write, when inspired. Photograph, where there's beauty. Make films, for a living. Oh, and I play a decent didjiridu.
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The World Comes Apart, Cannon Beach, Oregon, United States of America

Ashore

The world comes apart a little
As I drag myself up onto the shore
Desperate to make the high tide line
Before exhaustion consumes my consciousness
Which seems already sparsely rational

The flood tide saved me
Put land within my reach
But while the Moon is a compassionate Goddess
The Sea Lord is greedy
And eagerly awaits Her waning influence
To drag me back to His depths

Hand over hand I crawl
Wet sand beneath my nails
Sodden clothes a sullen weight
Every laboured breath sputters salt water
Until my eyes roll back
With a final thought

I hope this is far enough

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Waiting, Taken from a moving taxi, Jakarta, Java, Indonesia

Waiting ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #330

In a moment of sizzle
Humming fan blades
And the thrum of traffic

She waited
For some tasty tidbit
I couldn’t make out from the taxi

She thought about yesterday
And tomorrow
Last week and next month

She thought about everything
But this moment
And the tasty thing sizzling

Or the next moment
When the tasty thing would mercilessly
Burn her tongue oh so deliciously

But…

Who’s to say any of this is true?
I was just a photographer living in the frame
Capturing serendipitous moments from a moving taxi

And now I’m just a poet
Listening to the words as they come
Trying to give them their moment

So all of it is fiction
Or maybe some of it is the truth
Though, hopefully

I’ve created something
Which at least
Speaks truly

Even if
It only speaks truly
About the act of creation

Or maybe, the story
Is just saying something truthful
About the creator

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Billowing Grasses, Gold Beach, Oregon, United States of America

Billowing ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #329

I cut a path through the long grass billowing
Well off the trail the others had tread
And composed there a scene
Few travellers would see

Footfalls through the dunes
Skies grey as the sand
And blackened monoliths
Tossed about like stones
From a small child’s hand

There, in the buffeting wind
Amidst the storm-sodden grass
Shielding the lens
From the rain and debris
I gathered dim light
Small hope had I
This photo could be…

Worth soggy shoes
And cold, wetted socks
My pants would drip water
Later
When twisted in knots

First, back to the car
All shivering raw
Engine now running
With hands to the heater
Hoping to thaw

Now months and months later
At home nice and warm
Editing photos I took in a storm
To my delight I discover
They came out… alright