CLOUD’S ILLUSIONS

  Gardens grow, trees get taller, clouds gather. I see you in the movement, in the air that rushes past time turning, in the scent of sweetened summer now swept into corners now shaded. Clouds gather, trees get taller, gardens grow smaller. Eden is an illusion lost.     All words and photographs by Damien […]

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THE OTHER SIDE

  What is life but a book to read from both sides, from either end, from all there is to see here below the constant clouds of consideration, from far on high where the clouds are carpet and the stars as close to perfection as we can get, for midway through this meander of noise […]

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THE BEAT OF THE BAT

  The brighter man, the lighter man, the darker truth, the deeper vein, bind me to the rough, the real man, I beat as a bat. The clearer glass, elusive glass, the broken bed, the better lay, tie me to the rider, all night, I beat like a bat. The gentle rose, considered rose, the […]

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COLOUR IS WAITING

  And still we will come to lick the honey from the purple petal and still we will come to root out the weeds of worthlessness in gardens where others eat up all that is beautiful. Time turns and we, in turn, follow its path, suns set and the moon shows us its song, hold […]

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ENTANGLEMENTS

There is beauty and there is decay, they are gardeners of the same plot, seeking sustenance from the same sun, shade from the same soil, one awaits the wonder of the weather, the other; weathered by her ticking thunder. There is beauty and there is decay, they are inseparable, one holding fast to its height, […]

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JOURNEYS, PART 18; THE BEAUTIFUL BRINY

— The moon is a diamond dream, a sweet shadow of midnight butterflies drunk on sleep into which we seep like the blood red sun beneath the blue blood sea and we are waves in bottles bobbing along on the beauty and the briny, too intoxicated to think of our time being temporary, too insignificant […]

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JOURNEYS, PART 17, THE BRIGHT RED ROSE

Rough round that rose bordered hem we ran, regardless of where her skirts did scurry, no fretting to the fraying of her fringes, never noticing how nimble had turned to not-so nifty above that border of red roses, oh so pretty… We carried you, like a child, that day, winter now withered as the bark […]

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