Grainy
102 creative works found
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A Chinese Pergoda with a grunge distressed textured feel.
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A grainy image detailing the sad death of a porcupine fish on the beach.
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Again, this was part of my Alphabet photo project where A was for Angel. This angel is located across the street of the Notre-Dame Cathedral in Ottawa, Canada. It is not known who created this sculpture.
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Colorful neighbor that I take pictures of …. often…... expressing her need for me to dry my hair
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Day before Christmas, Amish returning home from church services, the church is located about 100 yards passed the buggy on the right. HDR Images / Prague Images / Aviation Related Images
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Wine bottle containing a mystery message found washed up on the beach.
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Sailboat drifting by “Big Red” lighthouse in the Holland Harbor channel.
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A few stray glances skyward can turn a pleasant afternoon at the bowls club into a spin of paranoia.
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Just a different crop on a beautiful building. And look – no people! / Shot in the good old days of slr and scanners which gives it a nice lo-fi feel…
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Abstract created by nature herself.This is the result of an outgoing tide on a sandy beach.
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Landscapes / Treehuggers / Panoramics / Black & White / Firedancers / Macro / Abstract / Flowers/Nature / Animals / Action Mad bugger on a Bike doing some jumps for the sake of some great shots…class!! gave me some great photo ops, just wish I could find the guy to give him his copies. Disappeared into the sunset I guess
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Enjoy!
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Enjoy!
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To see a world in a grain of sand / And a heaven in a wild flower, / Hold infinity in the palm of your hand / And eternity in an hour. / A robin redbreast in a cage / Puts all heaven in a rage. / A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons / Shudders hell through all its regions. / A dog starved at his master’s gate / Predicts the ruin of the state. / A horse misused upon the road / Calls to heaven for human blood. / Each outcry of the hunted hare / A fibre from the brain does tear. / A skylark wounded in the wing, / A cherubim does cease to sing. / The game-cock clipped and armed for fight / Does the rising sun affright. / Every wolf’s and lion’s howl / Raises from hell a human soul. / The wild deer wandering here and there / Keeps the human soul from care. / The lamb misused breeds public strife, / And yet forgives the butcher’s knife. / The bat that flits at close of eve / Has left the brain that won’t believe. / The owl that calls upon the night / Speaks the unbeliever’s fright. / He who shall hurt the little wren / Shall never be beloved by men. / He who the ox to wrath has moved / Shall never be by woman loved. / The wanton boy that kills the fly / Shall feel the spider’s enmity. / He who torments the chafer’s sprite / Weaves a bower in endless night. / The caterpillar on the leaf / Repeats to thee thy mother’s grief. / Kill not the moth nor butterfly, / For the Last Judgment draweth nigh. / He who shall train the horse to war / Shall never pass the polar bar. / The beggar’s dog and widow’s cat, / Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat. / The gnat that sings his summer’s song / Poison gets from Slander’s tongue. / The poison of the snake and newt / Is the sweat of Envy’s foot. / The poison of the honey-bee / Is the artist’s jealousy. / The prince’s robes and beggar’s rags / Are toadstools on the miser’s bags. / A truth that’s told with bad intent / Beats all the lies you can invent. / It is right it should be so: / Man was made for joy and woe; / And when this we rightly know / Through the world we safely go. / Joy and woe are woven fine, / A clothing for the soul divine. / Under every grief and pine / Runs a joy with silken twine. / The babe is more than swaddling bands, / Throughout all these human lands; / Tools were made and born were hands, / Every farmer understands. / Every tear from every eye / Becomes a babe in eternity; / This is caught by females bright / And returned to its own delight. / The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar / Are waves that beat on heaven’s shore. / The babe that weeps the rod beneath / Writes Revenge! in realms of death. / The beggar’s rags fluttering in air / Does to rags the heavens tear. / The soldier armed with sword and gun / Palsied strikes the summer’s sun. / The poor man’s farthing is worth more / Than all the gold on Afric’s shore. / One mite wrung from the labourer’s hands / Shall buy and sell the miser’s lands, / Or if protected from on high / Does that whole nation sell and buy. / He who mocks the infant’s faith / Shall be mocked in age and death. / He who shall teach the child to doubt / The rotting grave shall ne’er get out. / He who respects the infant’s faith / Triumphs over hell and death. / The child’s toys and the old man’s reasons / Are the fruits of the two seasons. / The questioner who sits so sly / Shall never know how to reply. / He who replies to words of doubt / Doth put the light of knowledge out. / The strongest poison ever known / Came from Caesar’s laurel crown. / Nought can deform the human race / Like to the armour’s iron brace. / When gold and gems adorn the plough / To peaceful arts shall Envy bow. / A riddle or the cricket’s cry / Is to doubt a fit reply. / The emmet’s inch and eagle’s mile / Make lame philosophy to smile. / He who doubts from what he sees / Will ne’er believe, do what you please. / If the sun and moon should doubt, / They’d immediately go out. / To be in a passion you good may do, / But no good if a passion is in you. / The whore and gambler, by the state / Licensed, build that nation’s fate. / The harlot’s cry from street to street / Shall weave old England’s winding sheet. / The winner’s shout, the loser’s curse, / Dance before dead England’s hearse. / Every night and every morn / Some to misery are born. / Every morn and every night / Some are born to sweet delight. / Some are born to sweet delight, / Some are born to endless night. / We are led to believe a lie / When we see not through the eye / Which was born in a night to perish in a night, / When the soul slept in beams of light. / God appears, and God is light / To those poor souls who dwell in night, / But does a human form display / To those who dwell in realms of day. William Blake
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you know, i’m not a photographer, i know the pic is grainy as hell, but i like it anyways. this is the singer of one of my hubby’s old music projects.
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Fresh doggie paw prints in the wet sand. Sherlock Holmes would be thrilled! :)
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