Magic of the Moon’s Surface

by akervand, posted in Poetry

Hands gliding over the surface,

The reflection calm and cool

Diving into the depths from the heights

Slipping beneath into the water’s warmth,

Waves rocking against waves.

At night, the sea always rages

But never forget the unpredictable

Nature of the tides, ready

And able to become stormy

At a moment’s notice

Though subject to the pull

Of the moon’s gravity.

Floating high amongst the stars,

Her light shines bright in the night

Full and round her globe

Pulling tight against the ocean

Calling her, beckoning her home.

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Purpose

by akervand, posted in Original Work, Poetry

I can feel it sitting there

In the deep, dark pit of me

My story…or maybe stories

Trying to claw themselves free.

I push them down and down

And still they struggle to get out

Free from the darkness

That has trapped them so long

They fight up and out

Into the light for the first time

A few wobbly steps later

They stand tall, breathe, and live.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

by akervand, posted in Poets I Admire

As to some lovely temple, tenantless

Long since, that once was sweet with shivering brass,

Knowing well its altars ruined and the grass

Grown up between the stones, yet from excess

Of grief hard driven, or great loneliness,

The worshipper returns, and those who pass

Marvel him crying on a name that was, –

So is it now with me in my distress.

Your body was a temple to Delight;

Cold are its ashes whence the breath is fled,

Yet here one time your spirit was wont to move;

Here might I hope to find you day or night,

And here I come to look for you, my love,

Even now, foolishly, knowing you are dead.

 

Lavenders in the Breeze

by akervand, posted in Original Work, Poetry

The fragrance of you
In my mind inescapable.
The wind carries you to me,
Lavenders in the breeze.
In an instant transported
Back against your chest
Arms wrapped around
The last time I truly felt
Contentment in who I am.
Left alone, no more lavender,
The dark doubts creep in
Whispering their words once more
You should not be.
But I am.
And I will continue to be
Because one day, once again,
The wind will bring you
Back to me.

The Insult

by akervand, posted in Quotes

There are some people, when passed on the street, for whom a single glance seems to be an insult; the photograph then becomes a superinsult, the ultimate insult.

This would define the stature, the physique (and the myth) of the street photographer, the reporter: a bruiser, a brute, someone who can stand up to the insult hurled back at him, heavy and awkward, blind, desensitized.

– Hervé Guibert, Ghost Image