Nowhere to be Found

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© 2009 - Ben Heine
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A photo I took in Braives, one of
my favorite places in Belgium.

Take Us Away
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© 2009 - Ben Heine

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One of my pics from Portugal.

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Dark Blue

A poem by Peter S. Quinn

Dark blue and red bleed,
The sky of the twilight hour;
So much indifference and agreed,
Sweet ways and sour.
There were times we regretted,
Such a long journey and year;
Yesterdays - even absentminded,
And silly jokes to bear.

Then came dawn and new day,
Charging high through night fires;
Turning and running away,
With our forgotten desires.
All this time is now up burning,
Stop it shall not, hence it will steer;
Like threads to the reason learning,
Nothing forever to adhere.

The end we preferred to travel,
Perhaps alone and even forgotten;
And look at our own to marvel,
Inside hidden or store-boughten.
Times will keep coming - going,
Like the ships to the shore reach;
Everything to distance's growing,
Summers to our memories - each!
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Safari
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© 2009 - Ben Heine

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Adventure

A poem by Steven Curtis Lance

Adventure awaits us
And misadventure too
Daily life debates us
Challenging us to do
That which we cannot bear

That is unless we dare
To cross over borders
Transcending disorders
Defying our own past
To find the now at last

Adventure awaits us
And misadventure too
But destiny fates us
To do what we must do
To get from here to there

And where is there? To be
Within the now and free

(The poem appeared
on Authorsden.com)
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Before/After
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(click on image to enlarge)
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I thought it might be interesting to post this.
I took the photos with a Nikon D70
and edited them in Photoshop.
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The Light
by its Creation
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By Joanne Monte

from the beginning,
was meant to douse the darkness
as it did then in that year;

to sparkle the snowflake
that caught the fringe
of a child's eyelash in the Urals of winter

as it backlit
the blue in his mother's tears;

meant to splash
into the bucket of reindeer milk

as it splashed on the shoulders of peasants
toiling in the fields of revolution
that they, themselves, had plowed;

to creep without reservation
into the blacksmith's shop in Bukhara,
past old city walls;

meant to warm
the bread at supper, the bowl
of sunflower seeds; the sleeping children
in their utopia, snug in blankets
loomed with parrot and peacock feathers
and red squares. But this

had been a dream of light,
and by its creation,
meant to reveal what had been done
in darkness behind the barbed wire,
sharpened by secrets;

the brine pits where men were beaten
into their labor, ankle-deep in mire;
their hands stung by salt water
and the pull of cabbages;

meant to glisten
the sweat on their backs,
and in the beards of Old Believers
wishing to go back before the slaughter,
the forced starvation, the mass graves;

before the light
was meant to pour down the throat
of the iris, choking on its stalk;

before it poured across the canvas
on which Goya painted Saturn
Devouring His Children.

(Poem's source : poemsabout.com)
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