Memory's Waste
For all deep wells life is slow:
Intensive trainining for the World Motorcycle Cham…
After all some joy remains
CENSORSHIP
Please, look at me straight on my eyes!
The Catholic cross in the horizon doesn't bring ba…
Shadows slip over the wall
Life renovation
STILL LIFE WITH WORDS
Gran Canal
LOVING SMILE - 41
Take profit of this week good weather to fix the r…
Francisco hopes for a future without rust
Saint Sebastian Chapel
Imagine you are slim...
Could there be Meeting Points in the eternal journ…
Clinging to earth by nightfall
Paris, 13.11.2015
Transfiguration
Dead end
Venice Lion preparation for new heights
Loneliness
The pond has two lanes
The picnic was postponed
Skin Change
CREEPY DAY
Everything's amazing and nobody's happy
Sometimes the water is taken by the cloud
Heaven belongs to everyone
In Venice there is always something to be restored
In a rainy day like today
There are too many roadkills in Portugal
"Thus Spoke Zarathustra"
Rain didn't come on time
The breath of Lisbon
No one can be indifferent to the magnificence
Time goes too fast
LOVING SMILE - 40
How many are we?
Roots build the life
Venus with a mirror
The day may not be glorious but the crown is there
"TO A GOD UNKNOWN"
I will win the €uromillion
See also...
Group of the Visual Poets (2 photos/day, no invite needed :)
Group of the Visual Poets (2 photos/day, no invite needed :)
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THE EMPTINESS


When the house was taken down
the air that for so long
had been parcelled into rooms
drifted into the day and was lost there.
There were no windows anymore
for the sunlight to fall through,
or landings to rest on, and it fell now
in long beams on the bare ground.
In time the last of brick dust
was carried off by the wind
and there was only the emptiness,
something like the emptiness
that the horse-drawn wagons,
laden with new bricks,
with window frames and tiles,
had first pulled up at.
by Simon RICHEY, in "THE POETRY REVIEW", Volume 105:3, Autumn 2015
the air that for so long
had been parcelled into rooms
drifted into the day and was lost there.
There were no windows anymore
for the sunlight to fall through,
or landings to rest on, and it fell now
in long beams on the bare ground.
In time the last of brick dust
was carried off by the wind
and there was only the emptiness,
something like the emptiness
that the horse-drawn wagons,
laden with new bricks,
with window frames and tiles,
had first pulled up at.
by Simon RICHEY, in "THE POETRY REVIEW", Volume 105:3, Autumn 2015
, .t.a.o.n., Steve Bucknell, and 2 other people have particularly liked this photo
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colours, textures and thoughts of the past !
Armando Taborda club has replied to beverleyArmando Taborda club has replied to Ulrich John clubIt is not what they built. It is what they knocked down.
It is not the houses. It is the spaces in between the houses.
It is not the streets that exist. It is the streets that no longer exist.
It is not your memories which haunt you.
It is not what you have written down.
It is what you have forgotten, what you must forget.
What you must go on forgetting all your life.
And with any luck oblivion should discover a ritual.
You will find out that you are not alone in the enterprise.
Armando Taborda club has replied to Steve Bucknell club"Even the enquirer is charmed.
He forgets to pursue the point.
It is not what he wants to know.
It is what he wants not to know.
It is not what they say.
It is what they do not say."
Steve Bucknell club has replied to Armando Taborda clubArmando Taborda club has replied to Christel Ehretsmann clubArmando Taborda club has replied to Steve Bucknell clubA shell of a home, still full of memories of people's laughter and tears, precious moments of bliss and sadness, life.. tatooed on the bricks, clinging foolishly on the blue tatters on the shattered wall ..
Armando Taborda club has replied to ºLºArmando Taborda club has replied to .t.a.o.n.Sign-in to write a comment.