Search Results for: China

Olympus OM-2 by Patrick JenningsApr 29, 20157:00 am

Love is easier

I am as baffled by our ability to love as our ability to hate, and especially baffled by people who seem to love hating. How is that possible?

I no longer have the energy for hate. It brings me no pleasure, no relief, only tension, pain, anger.

Poetry by Patrick JenningsApr 28, 20157:00 am

As grains of sand

We drift through time
As grains of sand
Jostled by ripples
Upon dunes unseen

Poetry by Patrick JenningsApr 22, 20157:00 am

On the outside, looking in

Sometimes I feel left out,
On the outside, looking in.

It’s not because I’ve been put there.
Outside is a place I have chosen.

And yet, I peer inside,
Longing to be in there.

Abstract by Patrick JenningsSep 19, 201511:09 am

Houston, we have a problem

When I was a kid we had one of those huge station wagons with the fake wood side trim and a jump seat that faced backwards. My dad loved to drive, so every weekend we’d pile into the car, all six of us, and go for drives through the central New Jersey countryside.

Poetry by Patrick JenningsSep 20, 201510:52 am

Pic and a Word Challenge #3: Depth

I have explored
The depths of the people I love
And discovered profound beauty

Still, there remain aspects unseen
Valleys undiscovered
Some never to be revealed

Abstract by Patrick JenningsApr 15, 20157:00 am

Shadow in the Singing Sands

Dragging my feet along the dune’s crest I notice the shadow falling away in the sand. Stopped, I am a willowy figure, impossibly tall, in a cloudless, windless expanse of sand beyond my cinematic imagination. A lone — lonely — silhouette for whom the Mountains of Singing Sands do not offer a whisper. Isolation. Solitude.

Framing the picture is easy, but the figure… the figure lacks form. A couple of poses make no improvement, until I hold my left arm out and the camera strap falls from my shoulder.

Poetry by Patrick JenningsApr 29, 201512:29 pm

Words come

Words come
Through sources unbidden

Not intended
For me alone

I write them
Or not

Poetry by Patrick JenningsJan 13, 20167:11 pm

Prayer Wheels

Clockwise. Always clockwise. Clockwise round. Walking, spinning. Always clockwise. The wheels turn, continue turning, after they pass. Some turn and turn and turn while others fight against the inertia. Pilgrims, bright and tattered, or bright, or tattered. Some of these too will turn and turn, always clockwise, round the cluster of buildings capped in gold and brass at Labrangsi.

I will not count them: the prayer wheels, the meters, the pilgrims, the steps, the number of times I will feel the smooth patina of wood against my palm. I say to Emma: “I want to do this.” She assents.