Category: Everyday Lenses

Behind the Vine

Behind the Vine

I wonder at what you’ve left for me,
How did you know I’d be
Finding divinity
In how the tree and the vine combine?
How could you know I’d stop to see you there?
…I guess that’s why you’re everywhere.

Shooting Windmills

I’ve recently fallen in love with photography again.  So I’ll be posting more pictures here.

Shooting Windmills

It’s time to chase windmills
From the window sills of stills
That pass through glass.

It’s time for a new lens on life that shows
More than a picture knows.

Shiny Technology

Shiny Technology

Brushed metal in waiting,
Stylistic sedating
Of a part of me that I’ve been holding
Inseparably before unfolding
You, who’s been twisting things around
About to let me fall to the ground
Or at least a piece of me
That’s caught in technology.

The Constant

The Constant

I contemplate the changeover, but then
I leave the roll unchanged again.
An immutable constant that’s never unfurled
Next to an ever changing whirled
Of water cycling before it’s gone
By an empty roll left on
Its axle for another day
Of contemplating time away.

Unripened Avocado

Unripened Avocado

The unripened Avocado locks Guacamole in its potential form.
I’m amazed that God didn’t make Guac the norm.
Perhaps a sort of Algae for the fish to eat,
floating on in ooze that turtles would meet
before learning ninjutsu from a rat.
Why wouldn’t God think of that?

Avocado Bandaid

Avocado Bandaid

It was too soon and now too late.
The unripened Avocado
Was slit with a knife
By my wife
Who then taped it shut
Thinking what if we wait
Allowing ripeness to take over and grow
Within our avocado?

Suburban Sunset

Suburban Sunset

White siding changes to pink
In a sunset drink
To be consumed by the dark
Softening shadows that mark
The creeping line of night
Until, without a fight,
Shadow fades with light.

Campfire Smell

Campfire Smell

I breathe in to fill my lungs
with traveled air from where
the orange crackles care
to tackle toes with warm.

While lightning bug illusions swarm
Before the smell of campfire’s let out
Choosing a route that goes
directly to my nose
and fills my lungs with the good
of my childhood.