Poetic Shutterbug

The Camellia a Poem Stunning fanciful garb in a garden so fair. Delicious petals so soft and fragile protect hidden gems. Dewdrop  kissed by rains refreshed. A showstopper parading pink hues at nature's red carpet event.

As confident as a rose with satin soft petals delicately swaying  against raging winds in awe of your flexibility I applaud your confidence. As strong as a rose with lean green limbs standing tall against Winter storms in praise of your strength I salute your courage . As.beautiful as a rose with sweetness divine bearing gifts against nature's wrath in praise of your beauty I bow to your perfection Inside and Out. I am participating in Macro Monday 2

Source: Photo of a blackbird taken at the San Francisco Zoo Blackbird He teeters softly balancing unconscious upon fog dampened phone lines. Feathers his garment, he awakens to windswept mist and shattered street scenes below. Emerging from his protective quarters inside himself, he spreads his wings and surveys concrete organisms below his perch where the cumulus provide a warm, safe haven. He flutters haphazardly on broken streets surrounded by industrial obesity in search of discarded morsels to satisfy his hunger. Innocuous in his size he is not noticed and therefore not seen, though rises above it all naturally gifted with wings of freedom. Homeless His cries hidden sleeping consciously upon garbage strewn pavement. Newspapers his blanket, he awakens to deafening sirens and the morning rush hour. Emerging from the daily news and fetal position he sits ...

Photo by Joanne Olivieri - Poetry by Liz Paez Two Years Ago in memory of my Grandma by: Liz Paez Two years ago you were taken from me Your last breath forced out your lungs. Time goes by so quickly, and yet- nothing has been done. Still no man responsible for ending your life this way How can I move on when all I do is relive that day. Its been two years since you left- that's two years I've gained with you by my side. That doesn't make it any easier because i still sit here and cry. My tears pierce my skin like bullets- a pain that will never go away. Stings like the cut of a knife- burns like the candle's flame. Two years ago you were taken from me and yet- you haven't left. Your presence is felt around me, every time air expands my chest. Its been two years since you left but I know you are still here. Your spirit grows within me with each increasing year. And if I want to see you, all i do is close my eyes- for this nightmare I've been living is slowly passi...

Photo by Joanne Olivieri - Verse by Liz Paez The last time I saw you- dad, was that really you? Defeated by the anger of your own childhood Conquered by the only pain you knew. The last time I saw you- Dad, it was hard to watch. Unidentifiable actions, and unrecognized thoughts The last time I saw you- Dad, that was all I could hear force felt through the walls, sounds of sirens near The last time I saw you- Dad, how can this be? The last time I saw you You weren't loving me

Photo by Joanne Olivieri Poetry by Liz Paez I was given these two poems by a friend of a friend. It touched me in such a profound way that I see life in general a little different as a result. These poems are raw and poignant and come directly from the heart and soul. Poetry is born in the soul and these two poems clearly display that aspect. Life is fragile as so eloquently versed through this poetry. Being of such a personal and tragic nature, I want to personally thank Liz Paez for allowing me to publish her poems and to Julie for sending them to me. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Let me give you some background on this first poem. Liz's Grandma was killed in December of 2008. Little information is known except for how she was found. Based on that information and the events that happened that day, Liz wrote this poem - I guess Heaven Couldn't Wait. I Guess Heaven Couldn't Wait I guess Heaven couldn't wait To d...

I first met Pat St. Pierre when she submitted A Taste Of Summer to Ya'Sou ! ezine for publication. Her poetic voice is such that she can artistically express her thoughts within a simple yet complex imagery that not only entertains but tells a story. Her poetry is reflective and ground within her own roots, calling on memories and the complexities that life hands us. When I found out she had published Theater of Life I was thrilled. I knew I was in for a treat and decided to read this book while out in a nature setting so that I could involve all the senses clinging to her words. Her poems are telling, they have meaning and are written with care. Metaphor is highly present and regarded in each verse with endings that have the reader contemplating life as in the poem - The Woman in Me As a child vibrant colored leaves were gathered on autumn days and preserved in picture frames. The woman in me views autumn as God's angels having painted a majestic array of colors. As...

I lose myself in your natural beauty garden maze

there are not many people out there who will understand the reality of difference the oneness of being alone and the loneliness of isolation the dream desires wish the kiss of the world laid upon my lips placed with the ease of the sun rising so effortless such a flow like waves of nothing more and to see something more than myself every time i look in the mirror the eyes staring back have lived millennia having held every drop of Life in flows of tears of blood to drink upon my name my words my uplifting soul with no expectations of receiving such a beautiful gift my selflessness for you the love i offer up like a sacrificial idiot dumb to the nature of the Beast having spared my soul for the eyes of another and yet through time through my death and birth each life i have ever lived is filled with daily omens reminders of JUST who i am and what i am and will never be another like identical to this difference that is Me. by Leonardo Minjarez

Poetry by Taylor Graham and Photo by Joanne Olivieri (Poetic Shutterbug) I really did not have a photo that fit the poem but for some reason I liked the above pic with the verse. Enjoy! HOME IMPROVEMENT We’re blackbirds in search of a nest here, among the aisles that taste of new-milled lumber and sawdust in fluorescent sparkles, leading to the Paint Center with its color-chips that ring like china in a farmhouse cupboard. I run my finger over cool adobe tile and carpet samples that smell of tabby fur, a hearth cat who lives at peace with blackbirds. No, a blackbird barely survives here, out of the rain that artilleries the roof; he lives on bolts and wing- nuts, disappears into high-gloss Ebony. You’ve got your cart loaded with rolls of stockwire fence and studded T-posts we’ll haul home to drive into bed- rock-mortar, throwing a line around old Miwok kitchens that were open-air to ridge and canyon before this range was subdivided. Miwoks gone out of mind like birds in th...

Photo taken by me at the San Francisco Botanical Gardens JACK AND THE REDWOOD Imagine ascending on ropes, not quite to heaven – to the Canopy Kingdom where toppled crowns turn to dust, to soil nourishing lichens and featherleaf ferns, huckleberry thickets rooted in rot. Gird yourself in harness, Jack, and not for lumber. Climb the beanstalk that sprouted when Caesar was a child, its roots vast as underworlds unseen. All you know is what you see, and feel with hand and sole: the trunk, more than 20 feet thick at the base, rising buttressed to look out over a forest in coastal cloud. Pull yourself up as in fairy-tale to meet – not slay – this giant tree. Climb above his deep green shadow till daylight filters through the highest branches, 350 feet above forest floor. Now, flop down in the palm of his hand. Pop a huckleberry in your mouth. Give your host – this giant – a seedy grin. He holds you by your roots.

Photo of Tian Tan Buddha taken by me in Hong Kong 2008 The Buddha Speaks I am poor I have no place to weep my occupation s fixed fixedly I sit a thousand years come wearing the richest of smiles go subtly extending a hand as if having given something to humanity I don't know what I can give and don't hope to gain I just want to keep my tears keep them till my work is done deep green sandalwood turns to ash parched red stars are falling by Gu Cheng (1956 - 1993)

Photos taken by me @ The San Francisco Botanical Gardens This is a guest post by Taylor Graham. Taylor, I so much appreciate your loyalty and friendship. Thank you so much for your poetry. HOPING FOR SPRING Gray sky lowering with just a horizon-line of light that moves beyond you. The apple tree’s white petals promise fruit. Tonight, storm. Will weather strip each bud? Wild geese whispering – they’ll fly before morning: March sounds its call of Leaving. On the hilltop, one bare oak. Remember, leafless trees still can blossom with wings.

From my PhotoScapes Unleashed Series Tainted Heart Fiery venom pervades darkened arteries love, a dying flame

Both photos taken by me -View of my Street from the Great Highway along Ocean Beach The wind caresses my face while I follow cotton candy clouds dancing against blue skies. Seagulls gracefully swirl above while black hawks hover over sand dunes. The pounding of waves against the shore reverberate in a familiar echo as an aquatic symphony permeates the salt air. I breath and inhale the refreshing sounds in a moment of sheer joy. When all of a sudden, the silence interrupts. The birds mute, the wind quietly slapping my cheeks without even a whisper and the waves lost. Heavy footsteps, my own, are all I can hear amongst the dead solitude despite the colors of life surrounding me. For a moment, the deafness brings me to a place of relentless despair. A place where complete quiet resides and my ears no longer exist. Sounds escape me and I am lost in a world without life.

Photo taken by me @ Ocean Beach in San Francisco. Ethereal Beach Walk He walks among saltwater sea tears skimming forgotten footprints eroding the shore. Translucent silver jewels reflect the sun forming crystalline memories. Child's play echoes off turquoise depths and thunderous wavelengths cleansing high tide. He hears, sees and feels clinging as a barnacle to shore buried as a sand dollar beyond footprints.

Photographs taken by me at the California Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate Park. Sea Cultures Indigo gemstones Coalesce into iridescent Prisms of reflection Creating cavernous worlds Anchored below Concrete technology. An ancient kaleidoscope Unspoiled, untouched Naturally evolved Anticipates The modes of discovery Beneath the surface.

Photo by DK Miller of the Shutterbug Eye @ theshutterbugeye.blogspot.com GRANDPA REMEMBERS The river in its rippling sheen of patterns green and silver, blue with sky, rocks, trees inverted, sound of silkworms on mulberry leaves, soft water-sounds of Mother spinning, reeling threads from boiled cocoons twisted into yarn, spools he holds as she weaves a fabric, then knits the silk to stockings for so many children in that low-built room by fire- light, shadows in the upper loft – no attic in her house of rich scarcity, of getting along with God’s blessings. A cushion if a guest should call... the childhood home a man can never see again. How far he travels, year by sunny afternoon before he finds this very night’s bed, and lets sleep’s river-currents over-flow his mind. By: Taylor Graham

This is a guest post by my dear friend Leonardo Minjarez . He is a wonderfully talented poet and photographer and I am so thrilled to have his work showcased here. Enjoy. If you would like more information on Leo and his work please contact me. Thanks. The need to make sense of such Darkness i will write and write until my fingers bleed and my heart has healed (which ever comes first?) for to hold back these torrents of thoughts rain pierced my mind and fester to sore my blackened heart upon spikes of your smile impaled by words you had spoken and the touch of flesh encased with crystalline sweat and your eyes oh your eyes how could one forget? the need to dive into the pools of your soul endless endless forever night as i would gladly wrap myself among the folds of darkness and be led by the Devil himself into a world of your eternal bliss.

Ocean Beach in San Francisco This is a guest post by my buddy Mitch Marcus. It is a raw, passionate and compelling poem. I want to thank Mitch for his contribution to my blog. You can visit his blog by clicking the link at the end of this poem. The photo above was taken by me at Ocean Beach in San Francisco. Enjoy! To Love Is To Live I miss her so much I will patiently wait for her For the rest of time I dream of redemption Of receiving a short note That asks Will you come to me? Half way around this world Will you come for me? Yes, I say I will cross the oceans And ford the rivers I will come for you I will listen harder I will see clearer I will speak less I will love more Although that seems impossible To love anyone more Than I love you Than I had loved you Than I will love you I miss her so much So much that I cry on a perfect day I miss her And I will wait Forever http://theargus.today.com