I’ve never studied
What the Poets say
Nor worried much
How they place their words
Or why that way
I do not know
How to write a sonnet
I am not sure
What makes pentameter
Iambic
I hope that’s OK
No matter how many times
I look into myself
Listen to my spirit
I find someone new
I remind myself
These are all
Acts of creation
Rather than discovery
As a photographer
I have never been satisfied with
Two dimensions
A single moment in time
Or even reality
I prefer
To create
Rather than
Record
Light is my palette
A digital file my canvas
A computer my brush
And all the world
Is beautiful data
To be transformed into art
Sometimes
I know
Sometimes not
Which will touch
Which will not
Surprised, too
Often
By how they are read
By what is seen
By others
I love being in a place
Where creativity thrives
Where paint and passion
Offer more vibrance and colour
Than nature’s grandest sunsets
The new obscures the old
The old shines through the new
A temporal collage
Of overlapping insights
Expressions, realizations
Hoping, in the end
The sum of it all
Creates some enduring meaning
I have just the small talent
To capture in image
And evoke in word
An incomprehensible
Perfection
