Rachel J Bowler's photos with the keyword: park

Now only glimpsed. A myth. A lamentation. A disappearing Sanctuary. The fog recedes. Fleeing from Its own reflection. The destination Never reached.

I wait Without cover Whilst the cold sharpens in. Death pulling to the floor. Is it possible to revive The mists of eternity? The frost smothers Einstein white, And gravity pins me To this place. I dare not look up. Hope would crush me.

Show me the beauty of that snowy-scene. This is how I want to remember things. Beneath the lamplight in my street; Bright and alive. Tonight I am wide-eyed Tracing tracks along the road. Let me watch the people stroll, Hand in hand. Hope shines for a moment. And I will dream. This one seems to look a lot better when printed out.

I wait for a tomorrow Filled with summer. I feed my thoughts But this is no sad interim. My eyes are impatient For the frost to melt To be contracted anew, The blunt force allayed. But the sharpness shrinks, When the fullness of winter Is renewed daily, Until the view becomes clear. And dullness reminds me That I escaped. (Inspired by Sonnet 56)

I often go to the place Where the trees still whisper Their time travel magic, Releasing memories Frozen in the sun. Is this the trickery Of hope? After all these years, What am I expecting? Perhaps a sign That the year Has not yet ended.

The cloak of loneliness was a distant weed. Something only half comprehended, Barely regarded. Pondered on but not yet worn, Let alone handed down. In the shade of spring Everything stretched ahead, And there was no rush to get home.

Martin Czerny You explain this world to me with an image. I realise then that you have been reduced to poetry. Albert Camus

In a thousand Different directions, Following many Paths not one, The branches Show us the way, And whisper A kind of freedom We can barely Understand.

Martin Czerny Warley Park and Lightwoods Park near Birmingham are separated by a main road, but are almost interconnected. Both parks have been a feature of my life since I was born. When my parents decided to move house in 1977, they moved from living just around the corner from Lightwoods Park, to a very short walk from Warley Woods. I spent most of my free time as a child and teenager in these two parks. Both places have a strong nostalgic hold over me - as places where youthful dreams were conceived, and as places where broken dreams are reflected on as an adult.

Morning star, Out of the winter sun You appeared in black With chords of comfort, And all the songs I had ever known. I traded my soul For a lyre For you to play. And when the darkness Came I listened, until A nightmare Set me free.

In the winter I came back, When the mist was down. I could still read the signs That pointed the way Towards solitary benches. So I chose one and sat, And drizzle mingled Between every pore, Until it reached Ethereal peace.

'There's the ladder without-a-top,' said Silky, pointing. 'No one has ever climbed beyond the three thousandth rung, because they get so tired. And there's the tree-that-sings. It's singing now.' So it was - a whispery, beautiful song, all about the sun and the wind and rain. The children could understand it perfectly, although the tree did not use any words they knew. It just stood there and poured out its song in tree language. Enid Blyton - The Folk of the Faraway Tree

Through the house No longer there, She walks. At a distance, Across the open grass. Sitting on a bench In the height of summer. At dusk, she lingers On the outskirts Of the fair. A thousand years Away, Alluded to By lovers On a r Rainy day. The real story Never told. The winter warning.

There is no symbol here. No infinite reaching To the other side. No secrecy Or sacred rites. Patterns of thought And feeling Comfortably cease. There is no need To seek the sky, Or what's beyond. There is already Light enough To see.

Soon the fog will lift And the sun will Tear into Another day. Reaching into The infinite Beyond oneself, The space on The other side, Is limitless In its nothingness.

Benevolently It descends. A half-memory I can't quite Recall, Which still Surprises, As if Something Has already Happened. There is no Uneasiness and The shadows Disappear When I try To touch them Into solitude.