Lovers Here, Lost In Poetry
But what is the future of poetry. And what is the past.
A Million Colors
I walked. Into the shop. The one with all the pictures. I studied the walls. My eye caught. On a big one. A pretty one. With lots of red. Pansies, I think it. Was called. With reason.
True Beauty???
So I went for a jog this morning by the Thames. As the burning in my chest became almost unbearable, I paused for a smoke. (Yes I smoke after excercise and I'm generally counterproductive).
Photography...
Photography: art that holds a memory. From the instant I got my first little compact camera - I thought it was the best camera in the world - I was in love with how the lens created so much beauty.