February. Get ink, shed tears.
Write of it, sob your heart out, sing,
While torrential slush that roars
Burns in the blackness of the spring.
Go hire a buggy. For six grivnas,
Race through the noice of bells and wheels
To where the ink and all you grieving
Are muffled when the rainshower falls.
To where, like pears burnt black as charcoal,
A myriad rooks, plucked from the trees,
Fall down into the puddles, hurl
Dry sadness deep into the eyes.
Below, the wet black earth shows through,
With sudden cries the wind is pitted,
The more haphazard, the more true
The poetry that sobs its heart out.
Boris Pasternak ♫
“Life is for the living.
Death is for the dead.
Let life be like music.
And death a note unsaid.”
― Langston Hughes
“Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.” ― Wallace Stevens
It isn’t what a picture is of, it is what it is about. — John Szarkowski
Today’s gallery will be the 45th edition of Leanne Cole and Laura Macky’s Monochrome Madness. If you would like to participate and submit a photo in the coming weeks, please email your image to email@example.com and include a link to your blog or website if you have one. It doesn’t have to be WordPress blogger, it can be a Facebook page, a Flickr page, etc. Include your name or your blog name. The image size should be low res, so the largest size should be 1000 pixels or less. The deadline for submission is before 6 p.m. on or before Tuesday, Melbourne time. The earlier the better for Leanne. If you miss the deadline your posting will be the following week. The complete instructions are posted on Leanne’s blog should you have any questions or need help. ❆
“Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray; Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.”
“To hear never-heard sounds,
To see never-seen colors and shapes,
To try to understand the imperceptible
Power pervading the world;
To fly and find pure ethereal substances
That are not of matter
But of that invisible soul pervading reality.
To hear another soul and to whisper to another soul;
To be a lantern in the darkness
Or an umbrella in a stormy day;
To feel much more than know.
To be the eyes of an eagle, slope of a mountain;
To be a wave understanding the influence of the moon;
To be a tree and read the memory of the leaves;
To be an insignificant pedestrian on the streets
Of crazy cities watching, watching, and watching.
To be a smile on the face of a woman
And shine in her memory
As a moment saved without planning.”