*_restrict freedom / surround with a fence / divide one belief from another with a fence / divide one heart from another / fenced with barbe…
On The Fence love this!! linaji thanks for this awesom piece of art my friend!
Our ears have been alert all night for sounds of a hunt, a kill, but so far nothing – just the constant loud grunting, not-quite-roaring,...
They blow away mist and lift all the dark / And bring a smile to your face…..........
walking in the fog / a sea of lost souls / lost their way / forgot their roles / memories of the past / happier times / forgotten by them / no r…
Collaborative work of Roy barry & Sally Omar / / Foggy Promenade / Please check out Roy’s other awesome artwork & writings!!
hair twisted and skewed / from hours spent, / in our passions cry, / Why? / Grey? / You?
TOTALLY INSPIRED THE MINUET I OPENED UP ARLETTA’S WORK / Shades Of Grey Reborn /
*I felt chasm / a deep crack / the window is open / I felt I was being dragged into a whirlpool of emotion / the heart was covered in a thi…
Geir Floede thanks!! The stair to nowhere its awesome!!! /
It is quiet and lonely on this blanketed path / Only fogbound benches witness me pass / I yearn for the warmth of a cheery hearth
The AWESOME Roy Barry posted this stunning art Fogbound Benches / and drew forth these words from me! Chookas! ♥
The boy closed his eyes before stepping into the forest. He knew what darkness awaited, and did not want it to seep beneath his lids. The…
Thereupon Zarathustra walked again for two hours, trusting the path and the light of the stars, for he was a practiced night-walker and loved to look in the face of all sleepers. The valley of the sleepers is a term borrowed from Friedrich Nietzsche’s ‘Zarathustra.’ #4 / #3 / #2 / #1
The silence now is deafening / What do I fear the most?.......................
Mist was rising from the fens, faint tendrils twisting, curling, folding into fog. The lights of the village huddled on a small knoll fad…
A very strange love story…
Wispy tendrils of fog
I love the shrouding effects of fog as it applies to our clarity of mind and to clarity of vision.
Imagine nearly a tonne of live horse flesh pressing against a tiny 30kg….not an equal fight.
I am interested in some constructive criticism please on this writing, as this is the first time I have written about some of my early life in this manner.
I feel the breath of life call from the sky / As silently begins the dawning of the day…...................
The Fog Was So Thick I Could Hardly See The Trees / The air was very still there was not even a breeze / It looked as though I was standi…
Thank you Frederick for the awesome photo that inspired this quirky poem Please check out my friend Frederick’s awesome photos and poems on the RB /
“the sea crowds its silvered children back and fourth under the moon” “what part of land has not been the sea bed” “the quality of …
“darkness and rain an ancient feeling” “words of the river swarming here, in branches of mangrove” “to dry land, water returns tong…
The eerie silence cloaked / The morning’s lovely mask
Caleb was in the field / The fog so thick he could barely see / Charlotte riding her stallion / This made her feel free Caleb thought he …
SharonD and I wrote this poem and SharonD did the artwork..it was the first time on / RB that I had ever collaborated on a poem and it was great fun..Sharon and I intend / to do others..Thank you so much Sharon.. / / Please check out my friend SharonD’s other artwork & writings on the RB
Hear them whispering, telling me stories of long ago …
I wrote this poem in 2005 originally to be included on a commemorite DVD put together for a family reunion. The poem was influenced by my love of Kurrajong Heights and the old family property there at Panorama Point (the highest point) and the many happy years I spent there as a child walking through the huge old pine trees on the property and sitting at the lookout staring across the view of Richmond, Windsor and on to Sydney. Often the view would be blocked by a thick fog and as a child I believed that if I stepped off I would be able to walk on them – as the day went on, the fog would steadily lift until you could walk through it and then it would be gone – until next time. This is all gone now – the property closed and overgrown and the old home bulldozed to the ground. My biggest joy is to still visit as often as I can, climb the fence and sit amongst the trees, staring at the view – its then I can feel the old days welcoming me home!
Slowly the light comes to me, / grey, purple, white, yellows swirling softly and gently around me / Nothing is clear, I twirl around in hop…
I can be all things / To most people / The Magician / The Sandman / But when my potion fails / So does my plan
The daily struggle with bipolar-mixed disorder and schizoaffective tendencies…
Through the gums and creeks / I chase away / And the rain beats on my door / Through the hills and vines / I try to run / And the fog rises on…
Written when I lived in the Clare Valley wine region of South Australia for two years. The poem describes my thoughts and feelings about my time living there.
Raise the curtain – bask in the sun / Rejoice in the wonders of light and life.
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