Category: Fujifilm X-T2

The Turn that is not Return

The world begins
To turn again
No longer still
Though somnolent, still

The long exhale
Following the deep, deep breath

The moment which moves
Between the change
And knowing
There is no going

back

Such exquisite line
Forms an art without figure
The face of Islam

Nearly lost
In a palette of greys
The little heron lingers
One-legged in the winter chill
In a meditative peace
I only dream of mastering

Sail the slate sea
On friendly breeze
Which powers me

Hold the tiller fast
As grey gulls surf
The unseen wave
Leeward of the mast

And I at peace
In my dead reckoning
Far between the harbours
Of duty and burden
Riding the tide of release

Time and space
Seem empty
Without your

Presence

Under androgynous sky
Sun or moon
Father or mother

The camera never lies
But the photographer
Knows how to fib

There is a path
To distant peak
Though peak itself
Remains obscure

And should I find
A mountaintop
Who’s to say
I find the one

Reserved to some
Refused to those
Who’ve never known
The pinnacle

On every beauty find redress
The film of some small discontent
Such that those who can’t possess
May pose desire circumvent

But I this beauty’s grunge perceive
Projection of my ego’s fear
So let such love that cannot be
Reveal my weakness to be clear

Many layers deep
The serrated edge cuts
Through the camouflage of bullshit

Reveals a jagged truth
Painful and disturbing
Integrity’s challenge

Never are we more beautiful
Than when we conquer
The falsehoods of our fears

Wind and whitecaps swish about
Sounds as crisp as winter air
My near frostbitten ears select
Imagine gentle warmth
In sunlight’s amber hue detect

I linger here
Instead the heated hearth of home
Frigid fingers upon my camera work
Until chill moment captured thus
By an eye that cannot shirk