Of the field and fall
What from grace we yield
of the summer-sated grasses
and the golden-hour lasses . . .
Letting go the season
has come to pass
What wouldn’t I
do to spare you?
The earth drops her gown
from green to gold to brown
but the last thing She’ll see
is blue . . . remembering
what She once knew
. . . all the women do.
© Liana 9/14
daughters, Love, photography, poetry, Portrait, Women |
coming of age, daughters, photography, poetry, portrait, women |
my friend Liane’s texts usually start this way:
sometimes mine do, too
I don’t do that anymore very often
which she always sees right through
I see her clearly, too . . . I could wear that dress and I’ve been
that hot mess . . . I’ve hedged
my bets with the same selvage so I say something
rock when she says something sand
she unravels the mesh of my flimsy plan
she says just listen Liana . . . I say I’m listening Liane
when we can’t see ourselves in the darkness
at least you know who I am
Liana 9/14 for Liane Q
We were hiking Kennesaw Mountain a couple days ago and the red-tailed hawks were soaring about . . . I got Jezebel, my telephoto lens, all ready and called up to the sky: OK! Now do something you’ve never done!!
That’s when one of the hawks flew right above my friend Terri and I and hovered there like a body-builder posing for the camera.
Now THAT, as my friend Gabriel would say, was BADASS.
The beach buskerer was trying soooooo hard to be cool . . . kept saying yeah I’m chill, it’s chill . . . right up until the wave surprised him yesterday at Tybee Island.
So this isn’t the shot he’ll be using on his new CD cover.
It’s the burden of the poem
and breast that I must say goodbye,
The life that’s built on gods
and dreams will further
And when was Simple
all so honest? I’ve
laid that dream down, too,
To carve a path
there’s a principle to you.
~ Don Miller,
There’s a Principle to You
“I am tired of reading reviews that call
A Good Man brutal and sarcastic. The stories are hard but they are hard because there is nothing harder or less sentimental than Christian realism.”
“When I see these stories described as horror stories I am always amused because the reviewer always has hold of the wrong horror.”
~ Flannery O’Connor (who was born in Savannah, Georgia)