Images Of Light
grey ghosts move through empty, dark streets
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The Siege
A new post on my blog:
The Siege
They were taken captive by surprise It was an unseen enemy They had to stay inside It was everywhere Unseen
Siege
…
At night we sit with our fearsAfraid to sleep Not sure what the morning will bring
Siege
Barbara R Maxwell
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Focus on The infinity of The sky
Focus on The infinity of The sky
I like this misty look carved out of a drop of rain in the morning fog. Silver plated on curbs and ship’s ropes around. Covers with a white satin curtain a summer that never came. Summer. Summer. Summer. It doesn’t sink into my shoes. It doesn’t wet my pants’ bottoms. It doesn’t collect the dust of the road into the tight knitting of the t-shirt fabric. Everything is different than previously,…
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Alicja
Alicja-an extremely talented Artist and Her personal website.
My Beautiful Alicja – an extremely talented Artist and Her personal website.
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This is just the beginning. The Official Shop The Photographic World of Tom Wasilewski is open!
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Aberdeen Christmas Lights Switch-on Parade 2017
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Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Macbeth
walking shadow Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
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pressure | a man goes to sea for many reasons. perhaps to sense it's beauty and stare at the infinite horizon that offers no questions, and seeks no answers. but there are also those who go to sea ultimately because they are lost, and never want to be found |
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A port is a delightful place of rest for a soul weary of life’s battles. The vastness of the sky, the mobile architecture of the clouds, the changing coloration of the sea, the twinkling of the lights, are a prism marvelously fit to amuse the eyes without ever tiring them. The slender shapes of the ships with their complicated rigging, to which the surge lends harmonious oscillations, serve to sustain within the soul the taste for rhythm and beauty. Also, and above all, for the man who no longer possesses either curiosity or ambition, there is a kind of mysterious and aristocratic pleasure in contemplating, while lying on the belvedere or resting his elbows on the jetty-head, all these movements of men who are leaving and men who are returning, of those who still have the strength to will, the desire to travel or to enrich themselves.
“The Port” by Charles Baudelaire
Crónicas Portuarias II A port is a delightful place of rest for a soul weary of life’s battles. The vastness of the sky, the mobile architecture of the clouds, the changing coloration of the sea, the twinkling of the lights, are a prism marvelously fit to amuse the eyes without ever tiring them.
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…When sleep deserted me
I crawled out of my bed unseen
To delve into the crevices of the dark
With the curiosity of an explorer
And the near comatose of a somnambulist
I walked up and down the steep slopes of the night
Like a night watchman
Without a lantern in his hand
Sitting there, I listened to the song of night birds,
The rustle of leaves,
The howl of wolves,
And the night wind’s rave
Valsa George
Night birds song ...When sleep deserted me I crawled out of my bed unseen To delve into the crevices of the dark…
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O nieba płynnych pogód,
o ptaki, o natchnienia.
Nie wydeptana ziemia,
nie wyśpiewane Bogu
te drzewa, te kaskady
iskier, ten oddech nieba,
w ramionach jak w kolebach
zamknięty. Jak cokoły
drzewa z szumem na poły;
serca jak dzbany łaski,
takie serca jak gwiazdki,
takie oczu obłoki,
taki lot – za wysoki.
Słońce, słońce w ramionach
czy twego ciała kryształ
pełen owoców białych,
gdzie zdrój zielony tryska,
gdzie oczy miękkie w mroku
tak pół mnie, a pół Bogu.
Twych kroków korowody
w urojonych alejach,
twe odbicia u wody
jak w pragnieniach, w nadziejach.
Twoje usta u źródeł
to syte, to znów głodne,
i twój śmiech, i płakanie
nie odpłynie, zostanie.
Uniosę je, przeniosę
jak ramionami – głosem,
w czas daleki, wysoko,
w obcowanie obłokom.
K.K. Baczyński
8 IX 42 r.
Miłość O nieba płynnych pogód, o ptaki, o natchnienia. Nie wydeptana ziemia, nie wyśpiewane Bogu te drzewa, te kaskady…
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These wet rocks where the tide has been,
Barnacled white and weeded brown
And slimed beneath to a beautiful green,
These wet rocks where the tide went down
Will show again when the tide is high
Faint and perilous, far from shore,
No place to dream, but a place to die,—
The bottom of the sea once more.
There was a child that wandered through
A giant’s empty house all day,—
House full of wonderful things and new,
But no fit place for a child to play.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Low tide These wet rocks where the tide has been, Barnacled white and weeded brown And slimed beneath to a beautiful green,
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A port is a delightful place of rest for a soul weary of life’s battles. The vastness of the sky, the mobile architecture of the clouds, the changing coloration of the sea, the twinkling of the lights, are a prism marvelously fit to amuse the eyes without ever tiring them. The slender shapes of the ships with their complicated rigging, to which the surge lends harmonious oscillations, serve to sustain within the soul the taste for rhythm and beauty. Also, and above all, for the man who no longer possesses either curiosity or ambition, there is a kind of mysterious and aristocratic pleasure in contemplating, while lying on the belvedere or resting his elbows on the jetty-head, all these movements of men who are leaving and men who are returning, of those who still have the strength to will, the desire to travel or to enrich themselves.
“The Port” by Charles Baudelaire
Crónicas portuarias I A port is a delightful place of rest for a soul weary of life's battles. The vastness of the sky, the mobile architecture of the clouds, the changing coloration of the sea, the twinkling of the lights, are a prism marvelously fit to amuse the eyes without ever tiring them.
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Our common days.
Last days are many changes.
This is a new home with my beloved Alicja.
This is the hope and fresh wind in the sails.
It was a quietly sleepy night,
wide open arms and her lovely green eyes.
Last days.
Together.
Last days Our common days. Last days are many changes. This is a new home with my beloved Alicja.
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A lot of steps around Aberdeen harbour. I love the smell of the sea.
I love the stories of silent ships. Rustle rusting rust from rusty anchors.
Tom Wasilewski
Pentax K-1
Voigtländer Ultron 40mm f/2 SL II Aspherical
Voigtländer Color-Skopar 20mm f/3.5 SL II Aspherical
SMC Pentax-DA* 60-250mm F4 ED [IF] SDM (FF mod)
Tamron Adaptall 2 135mm f/2.5
I Love the Smell of the Sea A lot of steps around Aberdeen harbour. I love the smell of the sea. I love the stories of silent ships.
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wednesday
i a m positive that you are made of s t a r d u s t and water balloons, oil pastels and the collection of settled sugar at the b o t t o m of my c u p s o f t e a Megan Grace Pentax K-1+ Tamron Adaptall 2 135mm f/2.5
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The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Carl Sandburg
Fog I
Fog II
Fog III
Fog IV
Fog V
Fog VI
Fog VII
Fog VIII
Pentax K-1+ Voigtländer Ultron 40mm f/2 SL II Aspherical
Fog The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on. Carl Sandburg Pentax K-1+ Voigtländer Ultron 40mm f/2 SL II Aspherical
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