Mountains (James Watkins)

mountains grand and gazing-

pillars standing tall-

piercing passioned histories-

hidden in their walls.

delving downward distances-

caverns large and small-

mutant molten metal streams-

fused before the fall.

decant demon-ed destinies-

cooling chasmed halls-

dinosaurs and diamond doors

in massive mirrored malls.

heavy, heaving voices

in paradisian sprawl-

fiery fumes of purity-

creation’s curtain call.

subatomic saturation,

soiled, synthetic signs.

righteous restoration

of prehistoric crimes.

tumultuous-

tempestuous-

waning, wasted pearl-

forethought, full and fragile-

foundation of the world.

hidden in the language

of nature’s cresting yore-

cracked beneath

the stress and strain-

crumbling at the core.

tiny tidbits torn and tumbling-

wiggling in the storm-

recipes and remedies-

chemically reborn.

thickened soups and swirling haze-

brooding-steaming-scorn-

clashing reams of violent schemes-

valleys ripped and torn.

balance within balances,

scrambled eggs at last-

gushing geysered marbled mud

borne before the blast.

consciences of scientists,

syncopated scuds-

bothered by the missing mass-

baffled by the blood.

leaping lemon lizards-

the barn is nearly full-

the hay is neatly in a stack-

the baby’s come full term!

common commonalities,

full circle’s come at last.

see the story in the hills-

yield before your past.

something’s broken,

something’s missing,

something’s come and gone-

something’s at the doorway-

someone’s on the phone.

someone’s at the table-

someone’s on the floor-

someone’s grass

is full of gas-

classical-and more!

rhyming with the timing,

balancing the board-

signals of a sequenced strike,

calm before the storm.

mysteries are meaningful,

when looking at the past.

the scene is somewhat circular,

when stage is come to last.

weakened, muzzled monkeys,

dance before your lord.

the gift of grace is growing cold

squirming on sword.

commentaried cavemen,

come into the fold.

your ears can hear-

your eyes can see-

so come in from the cold.

and listen with some latitude-

to knowledge held in store.

fashioned in the faceless stone

of ancient ocean floor.

squeezed in myriad molecule,

the battle rages on-

raving reverence in reverse

its relevance reformed.

and bow before the evidence-

the courtroom is restored,

through judgment passed,

the script is cast,

in elementary score.

rain fire, you veined volcanoes-

your statement’s on the floor-

and advertise what you surmise-

from secret silent store.

you’ve waltzed in dazzled wonderment-

and touched your maker’s hand,

in timeless thought-

before the fault-

and listened to the plan.

to bring all things to unity-

from eons vile and vast-

to bless-ed end

the future bends,

with glory

unsurpassed.

James Watkins May 2005

non hdr

NIAGRA FALLS AT NIGHT-Constantly changing lights..Canadian falls through light mist top right

Standing on the Precipice (James watkins)

Standing on the precipice-

balanced at junctions,

space and time-

there are no excuses here

no explanations or rhymes.

Locked in lavish rhythm

far beyond the brink-

hid from help or rescue-

on jagged edge distinct.

Weighty voices-

tomorrows bearing-

form forces by the day...

Wound tight

in folds of failure-

by faltering historic foray.

Naked standing truth-

whirl winded and filleted-

open now -

body bleeding-

clean by choice-

ruthless rights parlayed.

Ring round the

restless righteous-

tormented tongues

twisted and advanced.

Weapons trained-

fitting filled-

hopelessness entranced.

New toys

for large little boys-

clicking clocks

in finest fashion.

Positioned perspective-

poisoned possessive power-

from places unimagined.

Whining women-

worn-out white wheezers-

talking days on end-

endless hours

of wasted words-

useless air-

precious spent.

Children torn

apart at seams-

families drugged

and drenched...

Callous toned

nightmares

running wild-

seeds scattered

in the wind.

Lost by generation's

darkened doubt-

aflame

the fearless world-

tossed aside by

hellish schemes-

now rampant-

flags unfurled.

Gone the green

and yearning years-

foundations

fairly laid-

of priceless pearl

in wisdom grown,

crown jewelry

on parade.

But new

the turning earth begins-

choice

once again delayed.

Come cold and calm

courageous men-

run boldly

to your fate.

And stand in

earnest errand bare,

an era

at the end-

to bind yourselves

betrothed and braced-

now finish

without fear. (James watkins 2004)

Better Large-A large and wonderful (to look at) summer thunderstorm moves over a golden wheat field. In the spring or summer this could be the beginning of a tornado, but here just brings heavy wind and rain. The midwest plain states are famous for their thunderheads, torrential rain, and high winds. Traveling through here we really loved the contrast in colors and the soft sunset sky behind the clouds. 0130!

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

THE CURSE DID NOT COME UPON SATURN

(JHWatkins)

The Curse did not come upon Saturn,

Nor cover the planets and stars-

But came to the earth like the lightning

That signals the start of a storm.

It blanketed beautiful valleys

Built in creation’s fire-

Then moved ‘cross the hills

In a torrent-

Which in rapid, recession-retired.

Hating the heart of the future-

Despising all hope and desire-

Erasing eons of dreaming,

With planning and patience conspired.

To bring captivity captive-

To worship a fallen king-

To drain the last drop,

Of life and light-

To crush creativity.

Such serpentine monstrosity,

Will never be wrought again.

Plans will unfold,

But missing their mark,

Will cease to be brought

To their end.

The ignorant souls

Of the dancers-

That danced with the

Sword and the wheel-

And plowed in the fields

Of the broken-

Will never be heard from

Again.

Deceivers will flourish

And be no more.

Liars will all pass away.

Death and destruction

Will struggle and strain-

Then fail at the force

Of the flame.

The heavens are still

Rejoicing.

The stars in their glory

Still sing.

Repeating the strain,

Of original song-

Etched in aged memory.

Clothed in magnificent color-

Reveling in royal plans.

Revealing from the beginning-

The art of the Master’s hands.

As servants new, now recreate-

Envision inhabited lands.

By suffering tried, have spoken

The word-

And left their trail in the sand.

And passing beyond the physical door-

Now come to a heavenly land.

Where monuments new of faith reside-

And sacred spirits stand.

A city of golden glory-

Where day and night descend-

In the light of the great Creator-

Whose promise will never end.

Time itself will flicker and fade,

The fire of the universe wane-

Providence then will have the last word.-

And truth once more

Fall like rain.

James Watkins 11-04

The Ride to the Falls is actually downhill here at the last...thought it would look a little funny flat as in reality it slopes down and to the right. Should I leave it real or level it out? Comments welcome. This is looking toward the Canadian Falls. It is behind Goat Island there in the foreground with the mist of the Canadian Falls rising in the back around the sun. Those are buildings from Niagra Falls, Ontario nearby. NOT HDR

THE OBSERVER (JHWatkins)

(Thanks to that great photographer and preacher Albert Einstein)

Standing…point in time…the observer changes what he sees.

Nothing is observed without changing it.

What do you see?

Beauty observed is beauty changed…

Observers see answers.

No answer is given without a question.

What do you change?

Observing, the observer is changed.

The observed changes the observer.

What do you change?

What do you see?

Observing is not limited by time…Time is a river…

Observers ride the river.

Eventually, what we observe becomes a part of us.

Observing…I have seen the Observer…

And truly…He has seen me.

James Watkins 11-13-2008

Purple Rain Ends Blues Reign In Erotic Exhibitionism Of Nature's Raw Passion At Pastels-Filled Tampa Bay Florida Dusk At Blessed Home - IMRAN™

The sensuality-laden wetness in the air was glowing in pinks like a beautiful lover ready to be penetrated by a thunderbolt, wanting to be taken in a lightning round of lovemaking expanding the mind and stretching the core of her soul and more, to be drenched in a torrent of desire's downpour.

The heat, the chills, the light goosebumps, the heavy grinds, of unbridled uninhibited souls welding and melding. Be, coming, ones. And all in the open, for all to see, hear, smell, and be sprinkled by. Can you feel it?

A light early summer drizzle was forming at the dock of my blessed home in Apollo Beach, Florida. I was bringing the DJI Phantom 4 drone back in for a landing. K2 and Kennedy, my dolphins-loving and drone-watching German Shepherd Dogs, stood ready for its return. And I await your second coming, my flighty, breathtaking princesses, and my loves. Come back to me soon. ❤️❤️

© 2021 IMRAN™

#aerial, #ApolloBeach, #Beach, #blessed, #creativewriting, #desire, #DJI, #dock, #dogs, #erotica, #Florida, #Flying, #GermanShepherdDogs, #gratitude, #Home, #IMRAN, #JetSki, #Lifestyle, #literature, #love, #lovemaking, #lust, #Nature, #Phantom4, #prose, #seaside, #Sunset, #Tampa, #TampaBay, #WaveRunner, #Yamaha

Another in a series of beautiful Florida sunsets..They are pretty all the year round, but especially in the winter...This one was a 9 shot blend with a minimal amount of tone mapping..Probably could have done it with one shot, but it would have taken me much longer..as in hours..to reproduce the subtle light in this one.

Reflections On A Question Not Asked (James Watkins)

I would not worship nature,

but

watch the firestorms

of evening Edens

colliding with collars of stars,

bordering the spreading blankets...

flowing......floating on mist.

Here deep spells

speak to rising heart

of early years... tears...

and beginnings,

failed then

flourishing

in fading light.

Many the meetings in mirrors,

Reflection souls,

Broken and healed,

Sing out, having heard the cry

Wishing, then wondering-

Then washed by

colors of the night.

I would not worship nature

but cry at quietest

whisper of deep dreamy forests

drumming with wooden warmth

lost in caverns,

ascending in autumns,

forsaken in fragments

and

flames of the glowing day.

These flew upward

and rose

towering in grief,

Spending last hours in the

presence of the rising moon,

roaring like hatred from

doom destined disasters

waiting like the wolves

of wicked years.

Who, after violence came

to gentler portions

and reverences-

Listened to

voice that broke

the chain of fears,

melted by

Messianic molecules,

riding silver linings,

linked by lizards

and snakes in the grass..

That tore at seasons

then slithered into

cold corners

waiting for easier prey.

Come softer than nature,

with wounded revelations,

Waves of somber subtle summers,

winters, and springs-

Come straighter and stronger

on strict lines of deft decisions

resting by quietest waters

of heart streams

that have come home

to the

fountain of the universe.

James Watkins 12-31-08

I’VE FALLEN UPWARDS (James Watkins)

I’ve fallen upward,

Into the lights,

Slipping away from

Darkness and night.

Up through the evening,

Into the clouds,

Faster and faster,

Spinning around…

Celestial highways,

Smoother than sound,

Daylight and darkness,

Turned upside down!

I’ve fallen upward,

Flung from the earth

Leaving the ground

Of original birth…

Kaleidoscope colors,

Circling clowns,

Blended with backgrounds,

Faces and crowds.

Just one step forward,

A turn to the right,

A slight separation,

And I will take flight!

James Watkins 03-09

We are passionate about bringing a relaxed approach while creating beautiful, natural and vibrant images.

nada HDR.....Another moonie! This was a really high ISO shot..but I thought it was nice and wanted to share. I have no idea what I caught here..but it looks interesting. I will say this...that object is moving toward Cape Canaveral...down the exact opposite path of the shuttle launch 3 night previous. This shot is looking down the beach South on the Florida coast from the St. Augustine inlet..Vilano Beach. Beautiful stars..I filled out the moon because it was only 70% full boosted the stars so you can see them better. Thanks for all the feedback.

The Curse Did Not Come Upon Saturn (James Watkins)

The Curse did not come upon Saturn,

Nor cover the planets and stars-

But came to the earth like the lightning

That signals the start of a storm.

It blanketed beautiful valleys

Built in creation’s fire-

Then moved ‘cross the hills

In a torrent-

Which in rapid, recession-retired.

Hating the heart of the future-

Despising all hope and desire-

Erasing eons of dreaming,

With planning and patience conspired.

To bring captivity captive-

To worship a fallen king-

To drain the last drop,

Of life and light-

To crush creativity.

Such serpentine monstrosity,

Will never be wrought again.

Plans will unfold,

But missing their mark,

Will cease to be brought

To an end.

The ignorant souls

Of the dancers-

That danced with the

Sword and the wheel-

And plowed in the fields

Of the broken-

Will never be heard from

Again.

Deceivers will flourish

And be no more.

Liars will all pass away.

Death and destruction

Will struggle and strain-

Then fail at the force

Of the flame.

The heavens are still

Rejoicing.

The stars in their glory

Still sing.

Repeating the strain,

Of original song-

Etched in aged memory.

Clothed in magnificent

Color-

Reveling in royal plans.

Revealing from the beginning-

The art of the Master’s hands.

As servants new, now recreate-

Envision inhabited lands.

By suffering tried, have spoken

The word-

And left their trail in the sand.

And passing beyond the physical door-

Now come to a heavenly land.

Where monuments new of faith reside-

And sacred spirits stand.

A city of golden glory-

Where day and night descend-

In the light of the great Creator-

Whose promise will never end.

Time itself will flicker and fade,

The fire of the universe wane-

Providence then will have

the last word.-

And truth once more

Fall like rain.

James Watkins 11-04

not an hdr...purple fountain grass in the wind...in a West Palm Beach, Florida breeze...really fascinating exotic grass for borders or just to look at awhile. Especially beautiful at sunset in the wind.

What Good Are Trees (J.H. Watkins)

What good are trees,

If I miss the heart that spun the seed,

That dreamed the dream,

That danced nuclear in first fiery moments,

Before colors collided on patterns woven in atomic autumns

And stardust stellar stadiums of wintry dawns-

When moons rose only on waters that stilled the night,

That reflected the light that ended eras,

That moved the mountains,

Before the oceans swept canyons clean of crust

And prepared tables for grasses to grow?

What good are wings,

If wonder does not take flight,

Where wild woods bear the broken breath of winds,

That hang soft in southern summers,

Where soaring birds draft

Towering tides of unseen waves

Riding currents, swirling in springs of hope,

Hidden in hills, that no one knows?

What good is hope

That shares nothing in conception,

And wonders without warm witness in cold stolen hours,

Longing in lonely moments, that come only once,

Heave hot and holy breath for seconds,

Then pass without planting or gathering

From the soil of life and the strength of tears

That know the awe of this moment’s birth?

J.H. Watkins 01-09

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

no hdr here...The spray is impressive and one of the most beautiful aspects of the falls at night....you can see the Canadian falls in the mist at the top with the reddish color on it from the lights. Niagra had as much water flow this time as I have ever seen...just immense.

Standing on the Precipice (JHWatkins)

Standing on the precipice-

balanced at junctions,

space and time-

there are no excuses here

no explanations or rhymes.

Locked in lavish rhythm

far beyond the brink-

hid from help or rescue-

on jagged edge distinct.

Weighty voices-

tomorrows bearing-

form forces by the day...

Wound tight

in folds of failure-

by faltering historic foray.

Naked standing truth-

whirl winded and filleted-

open now -

body bleeding-

clean by choice-

ruthless rights parlayed.

Ring round the

restless righteous-

tormented tongues

twisted and advanced.

Weapons trained-

fitting filled-

hopelessness entranced.

New toys

for large little boys-

clicking clocks

in finest fashion.

Positioned perspective-

poisoned possessive power-

from places unimagined.

Whining women-

worn-out white wheezers-

talking days on end-

endless hours

of wasted words-

useless air-

precious spent.

Children torn

apart at seams-

families drugged

and drenched...

Callous toned

nightmares

running wild-

seeds scattered

in the wind.

Lost by generation's

darkened doubt-

aflame

the fearless world-

tossed aside by

hellish schemes-

now rampant-

flags unfurled.

Gone the green

and yearning years-

foundations

fairly laid-

of priceless pearl

in wisdom grown,

crown jewelry

on parade.

But new

the turning earth begins-

choice

once again delayed.

Come cold and calm

courageous men-

run boldly

to your fate.

And stand in

earnest errand bare,

an era

at the end-

now bind yourselves

betrothed and braced-

to finish

without fear. (James watkins 2004)

Vertical Variation...Softened...The Frozen Mississippi River on the Minnesota/Wisconsin border...the Mississippi begins from the snow/rainfall runoff in this area and round about...Also, smack dab on the Mississippi Flyway for you duck watchers...the swans have returned here!!! Taken while sitting on a frozen part of my anatomy that was in constant contact with the snow as I got down low to get this shot! It didn't hurt until it thawed out! Color for impact-black and white for detail. Happy New Year! Notice the animal footprints on right of rock...raccoon? deer? wombat? There may be frozen elves buried like popsicles here...

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

Remember This (James Watkins)

Remember this-

cold December's morning-

(beauty- without warming-)

cold reflective stream.

Remember this-

violent red waiting,

day-glow by the window,

silent-

evergreen.

As sun steps up to

start the daily song,

quietness inside says,

take one step-

alone.

Build your golden dreams-

on visions,

tarried long-

wronged by waiting hours-

long-lived, doubt delayed.

Join the journey homeward,

turn back to yesterday.

Take one step- face tomorrow-

look it in the eye-

take it on.

Forever waits at daybreak,

shines suddenly like the dawn.

Memories rise from roads never taken.

Faces from forgotten pasts,

dare to dream the dream

and not be shaken,

dare to touch the fire at last.

Heart speaks to heart,

spirit to spirit,

stand strong faced

to meet the day-

we will walk,

in paths less taken-

secret signs

to guide the way.

Hope hung highways,

misted mountains-

fears run dry,

bereft of snow.

We will fly

in unknown places,

we will burn

and not grow cold.

Golden sunrise,

brazen morning,

dancing darkness,

falling free-

singing high

with hidden voices-

waking worlds

where shadows flee.

Lengthening light,

long remember,

one who comes

will rule by day!

Come fallen fliers-

torn asunder-

come and rest,

from restless waves.

Sleep your peaceful sleep

you souls arrested,

bright blue morning-

birds ablaze-

strike out new,

to touch the heavens-

stand strong now,

you heavy hearts-

amazed.

James Watkins 03-04

Better Large-Niagara Falls is an American spectacle and historical treasure seen well at night under revolving colored lights. Its detail and contrast at night make it a prime candidate for monotone. The spray is hypnotical and mystical. This is the American Falls...you can see the Canadian Falls in the upper right corner...just as beautiful! 0018

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

A poem of myself (So far) (James watkins)

I was shot from a gun,

chased by time

past pig, pain portals-

beyond blood battered walls,

whetted, washed, and wondering.

My stars burning,

growing in love’s lucid light,

nursed and nutured in stone-

flooded and flowering

in bare…

bright dreams.

Childhood

floated down driveways,

fell sweet from scented,

hidden lookout trees-

bicycles for breakfast-

mothers, brothers,

and families for free.

Secured by father,

knee deep in friends,

i ran -hair on fire-

blazed in brightness-

weekend wild-

bludgeoned by desires-

and tendered by traps

and crimes.

In storms i slew myself-

jumped solid ship into timeless sea,

filled the ancient heart longing,

healed the word wounded warrior

of the soul.

Made peace with time,

sucked fullness of day and night,

walked in smoldering suns,

swam clear deep streams-

and sang the song of songs!

Torched by bridges,

burning face first

into new dawn,

came full round the sun circle-

armed with nuclear wings-

violently flighted,

fast falling forward-

to fathom beginning and ending

of all things.

And ride the flood waters

of opening plains-

with multiplied words

of tortured kings-

resting, completed, tempered, and full-

in fallen disguise of my destiny.

James watkins 4-2007

Leaving (James Watkins)

When I leave,

I want to leave,

Like the sun

Sailing on horizon

When day is done,

Flung out

in ardent array-

Setting in

Short,

Silent,

Celebration-

Last light best-

Gloried in

Colored simplicity-

Unspent,

Then

Unseen-

Resting and waiting

To rise again

In

Morning-starred destiny

and

White-wondered

Dawn.

James Watkins 07-24-08

My first chance back to Niagra Falls this year..I am always amazed and overwhelmed by its power and beauty! This is the true color of the river there for those that haven't been...Just a very dramatic place for those who have eyes to see. The natives seen here seem to like it, too.

A poem of myself (So far) (James Watkins) NOT HDR

I was shot from a gun,

chased by time

past pig, pain portals-

beyond blood battered walls,

whetted, washed, and wondering.

My stars burning,

growing in love’s lucid light,

nursed and nutured in stone-

flooded and flowering

in bare…

Bright dreams.

Childhood

floated down driveways,

fell sweet from scented,

hidden lookout trees-

bicycles for breakfast-

mothers, brothers,

and families for free.

Secured by father,

knee deep in friends,

i ran -hair on fire-

blazed in brightness-

weekend wild-

bludgeoned by desires-

and tendered by traps

and crimes.

In storms i slew myself-

jumped solid ship into timeless sea,

filled the ancient heart longing,

healed the word wounded warrior

of the soul.

Made peace with time,

sucked fullness of day and night,

walked in smoldering suns,

swam clear deep streams-

and sang the song of songs!

Torched by bridges,

burning face first

into new dawn,

came full round the sun circle-

armed with nuclear wings-

violently flighted,

fast falling forward-

to fathom beginning and ending

of all things.

And ride the flood waters

of opening plains-

with multiplied words

of tortured kings-

resting, completed, tempered, and full-

in fallen disguise of my destiny.

James watkins 4-2007

no hdr.shot over Goat Island..toward Canada from New York.....this is the director's cut of a previous shot...highlighting details and not so saturated..this is very close to the colors that were present...The water of Niagra Falls is a shade I haven't seen anywhere else in a fresh water falls. For me, one way to tell if the white balance is correct is to look at the different shades of green in the tree leaves and see if they are realistic and here they are. The evergreens are bluer while the deciduous trees have more yellow in the leaves that haven't turned. And truly this is the color of that beautiful water!

A poem of myself (So far) (James Watkins)

I was shot from a gun,

chased by time

past pig, pain portals-

beyond blood battered walls,

whetted, washed, and wondering.

My stars burning,

growing in love’s lucid light,

nursed and nutured in stone-

flooded and flowing

in bare…

Bright dreams.

Childhood

floated down driveways,

fell sweet from scented,

hidden lookout trees-

bicycles for breakfast-

mothers, brothers,

and families for free.

Secured by father,

knee deep in friends,

i ran -hair on fire-

blazed in brightness-

weekend wild-

bludgeoned by desires-

and tendered by traps

and crimes.

In storms i slew myself-

jumped solid ship into timeless sea,

filled the ancient heart longing,

healed the word wounded warrior

of the soul.

Made peace with time,

sucked fullness of day and night,

walked in smoldering suns,

swam clear deep streams-

and sang the song of songs!

Torched by bridges,

burning face first

into new dawn,

came full round the sun circle-

armed with nuclear wings-

violently flighted,

fast falling forward-

to fathom beginning and ending

of all things.

And ride the flood waters

of opening plains-

with multiplied words

of tortured kings-

resting, completed, tempered, and full-

in fallen disguise of my destiny.

James watkins 4-2007

From 1839 To 2020, It Was Still A Dark Stormy Night.... - IMRAN™

(Prose, Puns, Panorama, Photo, 360°)

It was, literally, a dark and stormy night. I had stepped outside at night to take my domesticated canine beasts for a needed stroll despite the falling rain, the flashing lightning, and the rolling thunder. There was no visible soul nearby as soaked in both the magical moment and the cold rain. Shuddering from the cold, and a feeling of amazement at how blessed I am, I felt the rain and gratitude wash over me.

I managed to take a dozen iPhone 11 Pro Max photos, which I used to create this full 360x360 view to share with you. Here it is, for you to enjoy my warm regards and dry humor from the warmth and dryness of your own home.

Incidentally, the title of this story refers to the first line.... "It was a dark and stormy night....." Even though this phrase is often used in parody as a cliche of first lines in a bad novel...it is actually one of the most beautiful scene-setting semantic structures seen since, say, several centuries. (See what I did there LOL).

The actual lines, written by English writer and novelist Edward Bulwer-Lytton in 1830, are: "It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness."

This same writer also first coined the popular phrase "the pen is mightier than the sword" in 1839. But in 2020, as in 1839, the rain is mightier than the pen, especially a fountain pen. So thank God for so many ways we have to write today.

© 2020 IMRAN™

#360x360, #ApolloBeach, #Boating, #CreativeWriting, #creativity, #equirectangular, #Florida, #History, #humor, #IMRAN, #ImranAnwar, #iPhone, #Lifestyle, #literature, #Nature, #Panorama, #prose, #puns, #Spherical, #Tampa, #TampaBay, #wordplay, #writing

The Evening News (James Watkins) not hdr

Catalytic confrontations

Calculated crawl,

Embryonic isolations,

Future free-for-all.

Energetic exhortation,

Apoplexied brawl,

Catatonic saturation,

Isometric ball.

Egocentric salutation,

Fatalistic fall,

Megalithic mumbo jumbo,

Paganistic pall.

Pugilistic palpitation,

Excavated sprawl,

Perspiration aggravation,

Aspirated wall.

Ammunition malnutrition,

Superstition stall,

California concentrated,

Captivated thrall.

Bound and ground,

Then taken down,

By the very best-

With one more show

Worth watching,

And then we’re headed west.

Recreation generation,

By the book denomination,

Families filled with hesitation,

RVs racked for roaming.

Picking up the pieces,

Layed down on the land,

With wasted wealth and watersheds,

And regions raped by man.

Calibration castigations,

Asymmetric aberrations,

Guided tours with revelations,

Ratted out and ruined.

Catastrophic congregations,

Commutated castings,

Calvinistic computations,

Debonair and prancing.

Altruistic aspirations,

Stoned, bemoaned abbreviations,

Terrified with trepidations,

Gnomes long gone and gassed!

Honed and cloned then overthrown,

Granted one last wish-

Celebrated, then negated-

Dangling near the dish!

Partisan unprinciples,

In petrifying packs-

With news and views

And loop-de-loos,

And stab-‘em-in-the-backs.

Ready for the ruckus,

Sitting at the shrine,

Thought they really

Had the goods,

Now listen to the whine.

Thought they had it marketed,

Cornered and refined,

Around the town

The teaching wound,

Until they lost their mind.

Settling to the bottom,

They slid to lower ground,

Between the lines and valentines,

Some lost their Royal Crowns.

Terroristic tinkering,

Tumbling and tinkling,

Fundamental farkles,

Helpful and home grown.

Patriotic particles,

Hidden in the articles,

Compact and post partial,

Buried to the bone.

Vacuumed packed

And gunny-sacked,

Pre-segmented squalls,

Appalachian apparitions,

Headed to the malls.

Fevered and fantastic men,

Marching to the moon,

With masticating matriarchs,

In subcutaneous swoon.

Breasts blown up beautiful,

Complicated castings,

Fallen faces on the floor,

Mesmerized for masking.

Sacrificial sublimations,

Surrogates sublime,

Tetrahedral, analgesic,

Sentimental crimes.

Pawing, pungent prisoners,

Soothing, sexy swine-

Sows and cows and sinning sons,

Tasting tempting wines.

Navigation nuances,

Nuptials by Nair,

Feudalistic fragrances,

Held up with heavy hair.

Practical imbalances,

Factory unrepairs,

New wave cold and chemical friends,

Facts blown up with air.

Salivating swindlers,

Solo Simon says,

High-falutin prostitution,

Fixed up with the Feds.

Sports and courts and teasing torts,

Women going wild-

Dow Jones Average hemorrhage,

Help the homeless child.

Down the daunting highway,

Less than overnight,

Covering ground without a sound,

Filtered by first light.

Lazy lit up lethargy,

Loosed by lying lips,

Bought the farm in triplicate,

Then sailed a sinking ship.

Galvanizing garrisons,

Gathering at the line,

Pushed ahead though nearly dead,

They won it one more time.

Tested in the tumult,

On solid ground they stand,

Groping with the changer,

Positioned close at hand.

Nightly, brightly flickering,

Turn the clicker off-

Before you go,

Don’t miss the show,

An evening totally lost!

James Watkins (03-06)

World Book Day 2018 (UK)

Better Viewed Large-Bright Angel Trail from the Southern Rim is one of the more magnificent features of the main entrance. This trail seen from literally miles above. Donkeys and people can barely be seen as small dots from this distance. The point of the trail in the distance is an overlook to the canyon floor where the Colorado River is running. From THAT point it is still miles down to the bottom. I took that trip on foot in my younger days in the middle of the summer. It is no small feat.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

STANDING ON THE PRECIPICE

Standing on the precipice,

Balanced at junctions,

Space and time-

There are no excuses here,

No explanations or rhymes.

Locked in lavish rhythm,

Far beyond the brink,

Hid from help or rescue,

On jagged edge distinct.

Weighty voices,

Tomorrows bearing,

Form forces by the day…

Wound tight

In folds of failure,

By faltering historic foray.

Naked standing truth,

Whirl winded and filleted,

Open now,

Body bleeding,

Clean by choice,

Ruthless rights parlayed.

Ring round the

Restless righteous,

Tormented tongues

Twisted and advanced-

Weapons trained,

Fitting filled,

Hopelessness entranced.

New toys

For large little boys,

Clicking clocks

In finest fashion.

Positioned perspective,

Poisoned possessive power,

From places unimagined.

Whining women,

Worn-out white wheezers,

Talking days on end,

Tortured trials

Of wasted words,

Useless air

Precious spent.

Children torn

Apart at seams,

Families drugged

And drenched…

Callous toned nightmares

Running wild,

Seeds scattered in the wind.

Lost by generation’s

Darkened doubt,

Aflame the fearless world,

Tossed aside in hellish schemes,

Now rampant,

Flags unfurled.

Gone the green

And yearning years,

Foundations fairly laid,

Of priceless pearl

In wisdom grown,

Crown jewelry

On parade.

But new

The turning earth begins,

Choice

Once again delayed.

Come cold and calm

Courageous men-

Run boldly to

Your fate.

And stand in

Earnest errand bare,

An era

At the end,

To bind yourselves

Betrothed and braced,

And finish

Without fear.

James Watkins (3-10-2007)

There are times to use discretion when saturating colors...autumn is not it :}

Every Season Has Its Own Glory (James Watkins) not hdr

Every season has its own glory,

Every purpose has its own time,

Every moment has its own story,

Every story has its own line.

I have walked deep into cities,

Shining brightly never to fail,

Listened to heart cries,

Lost in the morning,

Standing on corners

Stagnant and stale.

Where is the hope

That brought forth the laughter?

Where is the song?

The music unveiled?

Why are the choices so

Wasted and bitter?

Gathered in hatred,

Broken and pale.

I have seen (new) stars on the mountains,

Fed on the movement of heaven and earth-

Fired by the framework

Of perfect perspective,

Fueled by the turning of terrible truth.

Come now and sing of mists in the forest,

Sensual sonnets of songs in the dirt-

Come and behold the delicate balance

Of seasons and reasons and rhythms

And birth.

There are the voices lost in confusion,

Crushed in the thriving, deepening swale-

Calloused and cold the circling convenience,

Crippled commotion emotions prevail.

Beacons in quiet of last true performance,

Heralded nature in singular cause-

Perfect and pure

Though wasted and slandered.

Washed by confession

In smoldering awe.

Severed connections, squandered projections-

Revered reflections by stammering tongues-

Coined by controlling contriving convections,

In different directions now written in stone.

Now is the time to look to the heavens,

Now is the moment to take up the cause,

Now is the voice of blazing amazement,

Borne on the winds of the gathering storm.

Listen to stream, listen to forest,

Listen to flower, and staggering fawn-

Listen to voices rolling like thunder,

Come drink of the waters

And dance with the dawn.

Wrapped in the garments of natural beauty,

Facing the force of the burgeoning call-

Strong in the seasons of life and creation,

Firm on foundations that never will fall.

James Watkins 09-01-08

Not HDR...Venus and the sun setting in the West...Over a very flat Florida..with the Atlantic Ocean behind the camera. ..I boosted the existing stars a little....had to.....they were so beautiful.....every five minutes, the sky was going through a different color cycle...just amazing. A High ISO shot that came out fine...tried shooting with a higher ISO instead of too long of an exposure...experimenting...

Words (James Watkins)

There are words above all others-

that fix themselves like stars-

bright beacons in the darkness-

heights hidden in the heart.

They alone take awesome stand--

against the tides of life-

in armed array of power-

an army clothed in might.

Like seeds that fall on watered ground-

form fertile flowing fields-

grown gentle- guides in patience pruned

with perfect plural yields.

Established on foundations strong-

bold buildings built to last-

against the rule of raging time-

eternally recast.

Triumphant- time-transcendent-

translucent, touched and twirled-

the truth unbound and glorious-

runs rampant through the world.

To conquer mountain standing tall

across the pilgrimed path.

And bring to birth the vision small-

the unseen to our grasp.

And leaving doubt behind us-

chaff driven by the wind-

each enemy of hope and faith-

unchallenged to an end.

Now standing hard behind us-

there thronged by secret thralls-

authority and mercy meet-

beyond the cloistered walls.

To loose the power petrified,

by fear’s unyielding grip.

Torn from years of solitude-

this single silent trip.

Bought before on battleground-

beyond the mortal veil-

pursued by death- prevailing -

through ancient rights assailed.

Passed from grave to live again-

new formed the narrow path.

Within the reach of every man-

a gateway firm and fast.

Now brought to bear the tidings glad-

entrenched in solid ground-

in waking realms of glory-

a kingdom newly found.

Come taste the bread of heaven-

and drink the wine of life-

with fellowship and faithfulness

in everlasting light.

Where promises now harvested,

join late and early rain-

appearing at the altar bold-

the circumstances plain.

To stand behind each spoken word-

against the darkened lie-

that proudly boasts against us-

before an open sky.

And crushing all resistance-

bring victories large and small-

to every realm of being-

delivered from the fall.

Extending out beyond ourselves-

we yield to greater need-

and find that loss in giving-

makes living ...

a flowing stream.

James watkins 7-04

Better Viewed Large-A touch of sunset on the Eastern Rim just inside the Park gates. A much quieter experience than the main entrance with unique views of the canyon walls at sun up and sunset, along with a dramatic perspective on the Colorado River way down at the bottom. You really lose perspective of distance when observing because of how large and high the canyon walls are, plus how far away the bottom is from the rim.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

Mountains (James Watkins)

mountains grand and gazing-

pillars standing tall-

piercing passioned histories-

hidden in their walls.

delving downward distances-

caverns large and small-

mutant molten metal streams-

fused before the fall.

decant demon-ed destinies-

cooling chasmed halls-

dinosaurs and diamond doors

in massive mirrored malls.

heavy, heaving voices

in paradisian sprawl-

fiery fumes of purity-

creation’s curtain call.

subatomic saturation,

soiled, synthetic signs.

righteous restoration

of prehistoric crimes.

tumultuous-

tempestuous-

waning, wasted pearl-

forethought, full and fragile-

foundation of the world.

hidden in the language

of nature’s cresting yore-

cracked beneath

the stress and strain-

crumbling at the core.

tiny tidbits torn and tumbling-

wiggling in the storm-

recipes and remedies-

chemically reborn.

thickened soups and swirling haze-

brooding-steaming-scorn-

clashing reams of violent schemes-

valleys ripped and torn.

balance within balances,

scrambled eggs at last-

gushing geysered marbled mud

borne before the blast.

consciences of scientists,

syncopated scuds-

bothered by the missing mass-

baffled by the blood.

leaping lemon lizards-

the barn is nearly full-

the hay is neatly in a stack-

this baby’s come full term!

common commonalities,

full circle’s come at last.

see the story in the hills-

yield before your past.

something’s broken,

something’s missing,

something’s come and gone-

something’s at the doorway-

someone’s on the phone.

someone’s at the table-

someone’s on the floor-

someone’s grass

is full of gas-

classical-and more!

rhyming with the timing,

balancing the board-

signals of a sequenced strike,

calm before the storm.

mysteries are meaningful,

when looking at the past.

the scene is somewhat circular,

when stage is come to last.

weakened, muzzled monkeys,

dance before your lord.

the gift of grace is growing cold

squirming on the sword.

commentaried cavemen,

come into the fold.

your ears can hear-

your eyes can see-

so come in from the cold.

and listen with some latitude-

to knowledge held in store.

fashioned in the faceless stone

of ancient ocean floor.

squeezed in myriad molecule,

the battle rages on-

raving reverence in reverse

its relevance reformed.

and bow before the evidence-

the courtroom is restored,

through judgment passed,

the script is cast,

in elementary score.

rain fire, you veined volcanoes-

your statement’s on the floor-

and advertise what you surmise-

from secret silent store.

you’ve waltzed in dazzled wonderment-

and touched your maker’s hand,

in timeless thought-

before the fault-

and listened to the plan.

to bring all things to unity-

from eons vile and vast-

to bless-ed end

the future bends,

with glory

unsurpassed.

James Watkins May 2005

nada hdr....Oregon Coast just south of Seaside, Or......a beautiful park, beach, and view! I love Oregon, Washington, and northern California (redwoods)

Oceans are Dreams (James watkins) not hdr

Oceans are dreams, that rise and fall

beyond the conscious mind.

Vast volumed vaults transitioning-

rolling ridges ranging high.

Joined with all creation dance,

like liquid living beings-

quiet, dark depths of passion fire-

eternally careening.

Held in viscous vision,

caught between the separate worlds-

all heaven and earthy creature-

floating figured forms unfurled.

Ghosts-aglow and gaping-

gathered gremlins, timeless trails-

beyond all thought or reason-

hidden highways, watery veils.

Desperate, driven, hungry hunters-

casual commerce-bloody blades.

Liquid-larcened fathoms fallen,

fevered fits in cavalcade.

Contrasts, calm and constant-

consumation, cold desire-

carefully crushed by eons,

in vile volcanic fire.

Down some corridor they creep-

until in rest revealed-

unto the doubting dreamers-

caustic children, filled with fear.

Decisioned paths of plans performed,

adrift in thoughtless themes.

Gathered golden wisdom,

wrapped in scientific schemes.

Predetermined, parliamentary,

railing posted parts prevail-

racked with frail-formed falsities

in fictional detail.

Loving lost the guide unseen

that rules the changeless world-

and brings us back to view the sea

in vision's vacuumed swirl.

Childlike faith-vast beauty breathed,

an author, bold and bare-

for silence sake, stark stepping stones-

it's wealth unfolding fair.

Troll the tame and turning tide,

that flows in measured ebb.

Rolled rhythmic rows of constancy

in concentrated web.

Held hot the hidden history,

revealing holy fare-

formed fellowships and mysteries-

plain patterns painted there.

To see the unseen signature-

to touch the untouched realm-

to gaze at guardian glory, graced

by starred..Ascending..

Stair.

James watkins (April 2004)

.Casa Monica has been totally rebuilt and is a wonderful place to stay..if you can swing it...some of the best food in town also..There are wonderfuls shops to the street side on the left..with an art gallery in the building along with a nice coffee shop...It is right on the town square (to the left out of sight), right in front of the Flagler Museum (to the right.) Shops are within walking distance along with the nearby historical district...Built in the Spanish Renaissance style...Saint Augustine is the oldest city in the United States.

When Florida was being populated, this used to be the last stop of the railroads and this hotel along with another (across the street, which was bought and is now Flagler College) were very exotic places for the rich and famous of the day for wintering. Flagler eventually extended the railroad down through Florida to the Miami area.

I have taken some shots of these beautiful buildings at night without using HDR, and they are good, but WITH HDR it is a lot easier to control the lights and contrast..and therefore get a better picture. I can do some of the same things in Shadows/Highlights, but it is nice to have another tool (which I know can only be as good as the toolee!) As long as I take sharp pictures and don't move between shots, the HDRs are staying sharp..which was my main concern along with not creating halos, etc. You pretty much still have to go through your PPing routine with them though, after they have been blended.

A Generation on Eve of Election

(Politics Never Were the Answer) (James Watkins)

This generation is stuck on the bulwark,

Frozen in headlights gathering stones-

Indiscriminate sons of the morning,

Atrophied assets with merits unknown.

Set in the light of internal combustion,

Self deprivation, contiguous bones-

Crushed in the conflict

Of rising occasion,

Lost in the moment

The monument grows.

Dancing with moonlight,

Moonbeams in starlight,

Ridiculed remnants that rattle and roll-

Quixotically quoted in

Careless convention,

National parlance

Of future payrolls.

Pay for the privilege,

Pose for the prattle,

Pause for refreshment,

That causes the cure.

Simple deliverance in

Smokescreen obedience,

Rationale railways

That run on the ruins.

Come to the purpose in patriot persuasion,

Stand in the gap with righteous reward,

Fly in the face of cupcake convention,

Pulses of power that pull

At the thorns.

Hold fast in fear; don’t fall at the junction,

Waste away weather maps

Conjugal forms-

Failing at formats with frogs in the foyer,

Padded with passive, political porn.

Packed into parlors with pigs of persuasion,

Multiplied monsters fixed to the floor-

Pass on to poundings of crux congregations,

Critical mass for the petrified poor.

Crept in concealment configured in catacombs,

Built on the fragments of families forlorn-

Terrified teamsters with tales of their talisman,

Tickled and tortured, then swamped by the storm.

Fancy faced forecasts with fabricate filters,

Lies at the bottom where captives are shorn-

Files of the caveat castaway cheviots,

Horns of the altar now cut to the stone.

Sanctified delegates step to floor-

Out on the borders, go right for the snore.

Sniping at mystical magical merchandise,

Mopping up munchkins with heroes galore.

Gift of gab purposeful prophets in paradise,

Parabolic poetry prose-

Deft and defiant in damaged delusion,

Filled up with ideas but stuck in the door.

Pamplified pollsters perched on the pedestal,

Pale prognosticates barren and bored-

Doubters and doers and leaders and lovers,

Catch me the top of the hour has flown.

Dudley dead do-rights don’t come down a crashin’

Cackling crackers conducive to scorn,

Capped out and crapped out

In Wall Street enduros,

Boiled down to futures and factual whores.

Just enough knowledge to keep them from happiness,

Just enough money to keep them enthroned,

Just enough polish to keep each one sparkling,

Just enough selfishness keeps them alone.

James Watkins 09-02-08

BETTER LARGE. A stark and beautiful contrast in color pallet for this shot from the beach in Marathon, Florida (The Keys). This clear water is typical of the beaches around the keys.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

A NEW DAY (JHWatkins)

A new day begins-

Earthbound-

Ethereal-

Flying around.

Unseen mists of morning-

Open ocean green,

Blue spouted spray queens in

Darkened emerald dreams.

Violent moodiness of

Ancient ocean floors-

Standing silent-

Stopped-

By solid sentinel gray doors.

Open your ears and hear

The ancient song-

We are a breath, one whisper

Then gone.

Gray white clouds in

Measured morning light,

Stretch forth ghostly hands

To distant horizon heights.

Flowing sands,

Rich soft pillows rising,

Foam waters rolled-

Reflectioned sweet-

Blessings stormy,

And daggered deep.

Footpaths fallen-

Though carefully called-

Lie brooding-

Waiting-

Silently enthralled.

Come,

Full-birthed,

Appearing quickly

Thing of ancient beauty-

Aging stars of light-

Bright brilliant singing,

Resisting evil night.

Bring your watchers

High and steep-

Strong on hidden walls,

Soft from winters sleep.

Unchained mystic music-

Mighty opening keys-

Darkened dormant dominions-

Breath of living wings.

Blown now by fire,

Frenzied furnace hot-

Desperate with desire,

Of beauty that is not.

Frozen mountain stars-

Regal, reigning,

Galaxies unfurled.

Swirling, dancing destinies-

On anxious alien worlds.

Future hope through

Eyes that can not see-

Guarded pathways of

Mundaned revelry.

Massive mountain darkness,

Night mystery and pearl,

Deadly wicked wonders,

No heavenly theme imperiled.

Dying dreams-

Sprung to life-

Soon escaped-

From winters white.

Ephemeral future-

Celestially veiled,

Tossed and lifeless,

Embattled and assailed.

Come forth now,

By seasons force,

To plans of old-

Now lend your voice.

Creation sounds,

That groan and sway,

Walking free forever-

With joy,

For one more,

Glorious

Day.

James Watkins 4/04

The Frozen Mississippi River on the Minnesota/Wisconsin border...the Mississippi begins from the snow/rainfall runoff in this area and round about...Also, smack dab on the Mississippi Flyway for you duck watchers...the swans have returned here!!! Taken while sitting on a frozen part of my anatomy that was in constant contact with the snow as I got down low to get this shot! It didn't hurt until it thawed out! Color for impact-black and white for detail. Happy New Year! Notice the animal footprints on right of rock...raccoon? deer? wombat? There may be frozen elves buried like popsicles here...

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

Remember This (James Watkins)

Remember this-

cold December's morning-

(beauty- without warming-)

cold reflective stream.

Remember this-

violent red waiting,

day-glow by the window,

silent-

evergreen.

As sun steps up to

start the daily song,

quietness inside says,

take one step-

alone.

Build your golden dreams-

on visions,

tarried long-

wronged by waiting hours-

long-lived, doubt delayed.

Join the journey homeward,

turn back to yesterday.

Take one step- face tomorrow-

look it in the eye-

take it on.

Forever waits at daybreak,

shines suddenly like the dawn.

Memories rise from roads never taken.

Faces from forgotten pasts,

dare to dream the dream

and not be shaken,

dare to touch the fire at last.

Heart speaks to heart,

spirit to spirit,

stand strong faced

to meet the day-

we will walk,

in paths less taken-

secret signs

to guide the way.

Hope hung highways,

misted mountains-

fears run dry,

bereft of snow.

We will fly

in unknown places,

we will burn

and not grow cold.

Golden sunrise,

brazen morning,

dancing darkness,

falling free-

singing high

with hidden voices-

waking worlds

where shadows flee.

Lengthening light,

long remember,

one who comes

will rule by day!

Come fallen fliers-

torn asunder-

come and rest,

from restless waves.

Sleep your peaceful sleep

you souls arrested,

bright blue morning-

birds ablaze-

strike out new,

to touch the heavens-

stand strong now,

you heavy hearts-

amazed.

James Watkins 03-04

The Brightness of Our Childhood (James Watkins)

The brightness of our childhood

is not completely spent-

but stirs again in drifting dreams-

restless and intense.

Rushing upward, out beyond

the envelope of time-

fueled by futures unfulfilled-

destined and divine.

Gloried, glazing glances-

of eternity-

identified by inward guide

sanctified and free.

Einstein has passed beyond

with pieces of the plan.

He bent the chart,

but missed the heart-

to greener grass he ran.

Organized and energized,

he answered aimlessly-

Beyond pure thought,

the artist wrought-

to answer flawlessly.

Explain the beauty of a lake,

or calling of the sea-

the lonely lover, or the lost-

explain these things to me.

Explain the hurting for a friend-

or mother's mournful cry-

the blazing host of stars that sing-

or the moment that we die.

Explain forever, or forgiveness-

explain both wrong and right-

or nature's curse,

the cause rehease-

an answer would be nice.

Or loose the light of childhood-

a flame still burning bright-

consuming fire of destiny-

devouring darkened night.

Return to heights heroic-

be partial in your place-

uniquely primed,

by grace designed,

to answer

with your faith.

James Watkins 03-05

This is the first time that I have been proud to post my pictures of the Redwoods. It has been so hard to get the bright light and dark shadows right. HDR has really made it a lot easier. Some things are better non HDR...not these beautiful trees. It is the only easy way to capture the large swings in the high dynamic range during daylight hours...and bring out/justify what the floor of the forests really look like when standing in them.

These massive trees can live to be a thousand years old...and were just about made extinct before individuals and the Fed stepped in to save the remaining groves. They are most prominent in Northern California and Southern Oregon...though smaller groves and isolated trees are found much further south and north.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

Reflections On A Question Not Asked (James Watkins)

I would not worship nature,

but

watch the firestorms

of evening Edens

colliding with collars of stars,

bordering the spreading blankets...

flowing......floating on mist.

Here deep spells

speak to rising heart

of early years... tears...

and beginnings,

failed then

flourishing

in fading light.

Many the meetings in mirrors,

Reflection souls,

Broken and healed,

Sing out, having heard the cry

Wishing, then wondering-

Then washed by

colors of the night.

I would not worship nature

but cry at quietest

whisper of deep dreamy forests

drumming with wooden warmth

lost in caverns,

ascending in autumns,

forsaken in fragments

and

flames of the glowing day.

These flew upward

and rose

towering in grief,

Spending last hours in the

presence of the rising moon,

roaring like hatred from

doom destined disasters

waiting like the wolves

of wicked years.

Who, after violence came

to gentler portions

and reverences-

Listened to

voice that broke

the chain of fears,

melted by

Messianic molecules,

riding silver linings,

linked by lizards

and snakes in the grass..

That tore at seasons

then slithered into

cold corners

waiting for easier prey.

Come softer than nature,

with wounded revelations,

Waves of somber subtle summers,

winters, and springs-

Come straighter and stronger

on strict lines of deft decisions

resting by quietest waters

of heart streams

that have come home

to the

fountain of the universe.

James Watkins 12-31-08

The sky ignites with a fiery glow,

Brilliant hues where shadows grow.

Whispered dreams in twilight's crest,

The sun descends, its daily quest.

Colors bleed in a gentle sway,

A masterpiece that fades away.

Night emerges, soft and sweet,

As day and dark in silence meet

Happenstance - Passion Beach

I’m the one you want.

I see it all.

I’d tell you but I’d rather show

you.

I’m the one you want, I’ll put up fists, I’ll lay them down, laughing.

I’ll repose while you rage and then we’ll switch again.

I’ll rip myself down the middle to

expose myself and know

your insides too from hints and whispers;

the way you contradict,

the spaces inbetween.

I’m serious enough to not take you too seriously.

We are challenging and rise to the occasion.

I’m the one you want, brave and terrified, terrifying, comfortable,

I’ll accept and cleave and raise my fists

and then we’ll switch again.

All the while I am not so quiet but hear every word you say loudly, I clutch them.

I’ll laugh out loud and then I’ll cry and you can help and I will cradle you

but never tell.

I’m the one you want.

I’ll show you.

08.13.21

(visit us at subspace maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Lefabre/152/80/1892)

Better Viewed Large. Moultrie Creek just south of St Augustine, Fl about a block from my home. This is the municipal dock there at sunset. I love the warm colors of the winter sunset skies in Florida along with the soft light of early evening. The is a creek leading into the Inter Coastal Waterway that goes north and south all the way up the eastern coast of the US.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

Creation Spoke to Me at Sunset

(James Watkins)

Creation spoke to me at sunset,

under canopy of fading sight,

in groves of winded whispers,

ancient oaks waiting for the night.

Sun-bathed clouds through

dazzling leaves,

dazed and dancing free-

brilliant evening glories,

rhymed in poignant harmony.

Sequined, fragranced beauties-

set in ocean dreams-

softly magnified by waters,

running slow to salty streams.

Lingering beside them,

to breathe the evening sea,

i listened to the placid voice

that feathered on the breeze.

“Remember what you see here-

do not forget this place-

write it on your memory-

do not let time erase”-

a victory won in silence-

as patience conquered haste-

foundation-ed now

in sacred soil,

solidified and safe.

Still delving deep through solid sod,

continuing to bend,

beneath the ground

it rooted down,

to build its strength again.

Did not begin to prosper,

until its hold was right-

then slowly grew in majesty,

upward to the light.

To flourish for

a thousand years,

before the sons of men-

and quietly tell its story,

to all that pass within.

.

James Watkins 05-07

If y'all ever get to Davenport, Ca or are passing through like us, stop at the Whale City Cafe and Bakery....You can overlook the Pacific Ocean and casually have a mocha, breakfast, lunch, dinner, or a bakery item. My wife and I stop here every time we are nearby and sleep right there in our truck on the beach (it has a sleeper like an RV.) That should be good enough for a free meal Whale City!!! Oh, and the view.....not on the menu...can't order it...but it doesn't cost a thing!!!! You can see a seal, maybe a whale sometimes, and sometimes on a very, very special day....a drunk will walk up to you and ask if you have any spare change. Ahhh...those are the days you never forget........even if you try. Oh...and so much for minimalism....lol....the colors of the d300 are just too inviting!! I think that is Nikon's biggest achievement with this and the d3. (along with the low light characteristics)

oceans are dreams (James watkins) not hdr

Oceans are dreams, that rise and fall

beyond the conscious mind.

Vast volumed vaults transitioning-

rolling ridges ranging high.

Joined with all creation dance,

like liquid living beings-

quiet, dark depths of passion fire-

eternally careening.

Held in viscous vision,

caught between the separate worlds-

all heaven and earthy creature-

floating figured forms unfurled.

Ghosts-aglow and gaping-

gathered gremlins, timeless trails-

beyond all thought or reason-

hidden highways, watery veils.

Desperate, driven, hungry hunters-

casual commerce-bloody blades.

Liquid-larcened fathoms fallen,

fevered fits in cavalcade.

Contrasts, calm and constant-

consumation, cold desire-

carefully crushed by eons,

in vile volcanic fire.

Down some corridor they creep-

until in rest revealed-

unto the doubting dreamers-

caustic children, filled with fear.

Decisioned paths of plans performed,

adrift in thoughtless themes.

Gathered golden wisdom,

wrapped in scientific schemes.

Predetermined, parliamentary,

railing posted parts prevail-

racked with frail-formed falsities

in fictional detail.

Loving lost the guide unseen

that rules the changeless world-

and brings us back to view the sea

in vision's vacuumed swirl.

Childlike faith-vast beauty breathed,

an author, bold and bare-

for silence sake, stark stepping stones-

it's wealth unfolding fair.

Troll the tame and turning tide,

that flows in measured ebb.

Rolled rhythmic rows of constancy

in concentrated web.

Held hot the hidden history,

revealing holy fare-

formed fellowships and mysteries-

plain patterns painted there.

To see the unseen signature-

to touch the untouched realm-

to gaze at guardian glory, graced

by starred..Ascending..

Stair.

James watkins (April 2004)

Better Large...not hdr...Mount Ranier in late sunset colors...I have tried to get a good shot of Ranier for about 2 years and keep missing it because every time we are here, the mountain is in fog! I got the sucker this time. Purple mountain majesty. The whole coastal range is amazing...from the Canadian border and beyond...(where they are having the Winter Olympics at Whistler) down to Mt Hood in Oregon...down the west coast...

Mountains (James Watkins)

mountains grand and gazing-

pillars standing tall-

piercing passioned histories-

hidden in their walls.

delving downward distances-

caverns large and small-

mutant molten metal streams-

fused before the fall.

decant demon-ed destinies-

cooling chasmed halls-

dinosaurs and diamond doors

in massive mirrored malls.

heavy, heaving voices

in paradisian sprawl-

fiery fumes of purity-

creation’s curtain call.

subatomic saturation,

soiled, synthetic signs.

righteous restoration

of prehistoric crimes.

tumultuous-

tempestuous-

waning, wasted pearl-

forethought, full and fragile-

foundation of the world.

hidden in the language

of nature’s cresting yore-

cracked beneath

the stress and strain-

crumbling at the core.

tiny tidbits torn and tumbling-

wiggling in the storm-

recipes and remedies-

chemically reborn.

thickened soups and swirling haze-

brooding-steaming-scorn-

clashing reams of violent schemes-

valleys ripped and torn.

balance within balances,

scrambled eggs at last-

gushing geysered marbled mud

borne before the blast.

consciences of scientists,

syncopated scuds-

bothered by the missing mass-

baffled by the blood.

leaping lemon lizards-

the barn is nearly full-

the hay is neatly in a stack-

this baby’s come full term!

common commonalities,

full circle’s come at last.

see the story in the hills-

yield before your past.

something’s broken,

something’s missing,

something’s come and gone-

something’s at the doorway-

someone’s on the phone.

someone’s at the table-

someone’s on the floor-

someone’s grass

is full of gas-

classical-and more!

rhyming with the timing,

balancing the board-

signals of a sequenced strike,

calm before the storm.

mysteries are meaningful,

when looking at the past.

the scene is somewhat circular,

when stage is come to last.

weakened, muzzled monkeys,

dance before your lord.

the gift of grace is growing cold

squirming on the sword.

commentaried cavemen,

come into the fold.

your ears can hear-

your eyes can see-

so come in from the cold.

and listen with some latitude-

to knowledge held in store.

fashioned in the faceless stone

of ancient ocean floor.

squeezed in myriad molecule,

the battle rages on-

raving reverence in reverse

its relevance reformed.

and bow before the evidence-

the courtroom is restored,

through judgment passed,

the script is cast,

in elementary score.

rain fire, you veined volcanoes-

your statement’s on the floor-

and advertise what you surmise-

from secret silent store.

you’ve waltzed in dazzled wonderment-

and touched your maker’s hand,

in timeless thought-

before the fault-

and listened to the plan.

to bring all things to unity-

from eons vile and vast-

to bless-ed end

the future bends,

with glory

unsurpassed.

James Watkins May 2005

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

a poem of myself (So far) jhwatkins

I was shot from a gun,

chased by time

past pig, pain portals-

beyond blood battered walls,

whetted, washed, and wondering.

My stars burning,

growing in love’s lucid light,

nursed and nutured in stone-

flooded and flowering

in bare…

bright dreams.

Childhood

floated down driveways,

fell sweet from scented,

hidden lookout trees-

bicycles for breakfast-

mothers, brothers,

and families for free.

Secured by father,

knee deep in friends,

i ran -hair on fire-

blazed in brightness-

weekend wild-

bludgeoned by desires-

and tendered by traps

and crimes.

In storms i slew myself-

jumped solid ship into timeless sea,

filled the ancient heart longing,

healed the word wounded warrior

of the soul.

Made peace with time,

sucked fullness of day and night,

walked in smoldering suns,

swam clear deep streams-

and sang the song of songs!

Torched by bridges,

burning face first

into new dawn,

came full round the sun circle-

armed with nuclear wings-

violently flighted,

fast falling forward-

to fathom beginning and ending

of all things.

And ride the flood waters

of opening plains-

with multiplied words

of tortured kings-

resting, completed, tempered, and full-

in fallen disguise of my destiny.

James watkins 4-2007

If y'all ever get to Davenport, Ca or are passing through like us, stop at the Whale City Cafe and Bakery....You can overlook the Pacific Ocean and casually have a mocha, breakfast, lunch, dinner, or a bakery item. My wife and I stop here every time we are nearby and sleep right there in our truck on the beach (it has a sleeper like an RV.) That should be good enough for a free meal Whale City!!! Oh, and the view.....not on the menu...can't order it...but it doesn't cost a thing!!!! You can see a seal, maybe a whale sometimes, and sometimes on a very, very special day....a drunk will walk up to you and ask if you have any spare change. Those are the days you never forget...even if you take a pill, they won't go away. Oh...and so much for minimalism....lol....the colors of the d300 are just too inviting!! I think that is Nikon's biggest achievement with this and the d3 (I will say nice things about you if you will give me a free one). (along with the low light characteristics)

A New Day (James watkins) not hdr

A new day begins-

earthbound-

ethereal-

flying around.

Unseen mists of morning-

open ocean green,

blue spouted spray queens-

darkened emerald dreams.

Violent moodiness of

ancient ocean floors.

Standing silent-

stopped-

by solid sentinel gray doors.

Open your ears to

hear the ancient song-

we are a breath-

a whisper-

and then gone.

Gray white clouds in

measured morning light,

stretch forth ghostly hands

to distant horizon heights.

Flowing sands,

rich soft pillows rising,

foam waters rolled –

Reflectioned sweet-

blessings stormy,

and daggered deep.

Footpaths fallen-

though carefully called-

lie brooding-

waiting-

silently enthralled.

Come, full- birthed,

appearing quickly

thing of ancient beauty-

aging stars of light-

bright brilliant singing,

resisting evil night.

Bring your watchers

high and steep-

strong on hidden walls,

soft from winters sleep-

unchained mystic music-

mighty opening keys-

darkened dormant dominions-

breath of living wings.

Blown now by fire,

frenzied furnace hot-

desperate with desire,

of beauty that is not.

Frozen mountain stars-

regal, reigning,

galaxies unfurled.

Swirling, dancing destinies-

on anxious alien worlds.

Future hope through

eyes that can not see-

guarded pathways of

mundaned revelry.

Massive mountain darkness,

night mystery and pearl,

deadly wicked wonders,

no heavenly theme

imperiled.

Dying dreams-

sprung to life-

soon escaped

from winters white.

Ephemeral future-

celestially veiled,

tossed and lifeless,

embattled and assailed.

Come forth now,

by seasons force,

to plans of old-

now lend your voice.

Creation sounds,

that groan and sway,

walking free forever-

with joy,

for one more,

glorious

day.

James watkins 4/04

Looks Good Large......My motorcycle had been complaining about not getting out enough and especially wanted to go visit the local live oaks that this area is famous for...I have never been able to shoot them the way I wanted to...kind of like the Redwoods...until now with HDR...you can minimize the huge contrast difference during the daylight hours....and it is beginning to work....This grove is right next to the Intracoastal Waterway to the back of the camera and right across the street from the Atlantic Ocean.

I love the gnarly look of these beauties..some of them live over 1000 years if I am not mistaken..and the St. Augustine area has some of the best examples in the world! I have been here for about 7 years now and am finding new areas and places to explore every time I make the effort to get out...If you are around..stop at the Matanzas state park on A1A...just north of the Matanzas inlet bridge and check out the trail, the fort, and the trees..the nice rangers let me take this after everyone left so that there wouldn't be any cars around..thanks guys..they were closing the gate...

Creation Spoke to me at Sunset

(James Watkins)

Creation spoke to me at sunset,

under canopy of fading sight,

in groves of winded whispers,

ancient oaks waiting for the night.

Sun-bathed clouds through

dazzling leaves,

dazed and dancing free-

brilliant evening glories,

rhymed in poignant harmony.

Sequinned, fragranced beauties-

set in ocean dreams-

softly magnified by waters,

running slow to salty streams.

Lingering beside them,

to breathe the evening sea,

i listened to the placid voice

that feathered on the breeze.

“Remember what you see here-

do not forget this place-

write it on your memory-

do not let time erase”-

a victory won in silence-

as patience conquered haste-

foundationed now

in sacred soil,

solidified and safe.

Still delving deep through solid sod,

continuing to bend,

beneath the ground

it rooted down,

to build its strength again.

Did not begin to prosper,

until its hold was right-

then slowly grew in majesty,

upward to the light.

To flourish for

a thousand years,

before the sons of men-

and quietly tell its story,

to all that pass within.

.

James watkins 05-07

There’s a thrill in unraveling the layers of understanding

a beautiful way to wander through this world

to glimpse the unseen

to pause and feel something shift

She came seeking inspiration through photos

and for a fleeting moment

I saw her in a way I never had before

bold, radiant, unexpected

A zebra

Not just in black and white

but in all the hidden hues that live between the lines

I hope she sees what I saw

I hope she sees herself

wild, rare, and wholly alive

Look closer

The world whispers more than it shows

A tobacco colored sunset over the Intracoastal Waterway at The Matanzas Inlet below Saint Augustine, Florida.

DOORWAYS (JHWatkins)

Our lives are spent near doorways,

Corridors between heaven and earth-

Mechanisms of the spirit-

Power grids with junctions-

On the borders of decisions-

And destiny generations.

Many have sensed them,

Watched and known

Channels of change,

Releasing forces,

That seasons have sown

Since the beginning-

Leaving footsteps to follow.

Some found them

Under redwood cathedrals,

Soft canopy mists,

Where winter rains washed

The soul survivors,

That could not have grown

Until they had gone

To sing in arenas of angels.

Others surprised the morning,

Resisting by rolling waters,

Speaking to dawn stars,

Bidding the night adieu-

Where the quiet

Was louder than the roaring future,

And, left with one clean choice,

Lit the fuse

That started the fire-

And changed their world.

James Watkins

The Evening News (James Watkins) not hdr

Catalytic confrontations

Calculated crawl,

Embryonic isolations,

Future free-for-all.

Energetic exhortation,

Apoplexied brawl,

Catatonic saturation,

Isometric ball.

Egocentric salutation,

Fatalistic fall,

Megalithic mumbo jumbo,

Paganistic pall.

Pugilistic palpitation,

Excavated sprawl,

Perspiration aggravation,

Aspirated wall.

Ammunition malnutrition,

Superstition stall,

California concentrated,

Captivated thrall.

Bound and ground,

Then taken down,

By the very best-

With one more show

Worth watching,

And then we’re headed west.

Recreation generation,

By the book denomination,

Families filled with hesitation,

RVs racked for roaming.

Picking up the pieces,

Layed down on the land,

With wasted wealth and watersheds,

And regions raped by man.

Calibration castigations,

Asymmetric aberrations,

Guided tours with revelations,

Ratted out and ruined.

Catastrophic congregations,

Commutated castings,

Calvinistic computations,

Debonair and prancing.

Altruistic aspirations,

Stoned, bemoaned abbreviations,

Terrified with trepidations,

Gnomes long gone and gassed!

Honed and cloned then overthrown,

Granted one last wish-

Celebrated, then negated-

Dangling near the dish!

Partisan unprinciples,

In petrifying packs-

With news and views

And loop-de-loos,

And stab-‘em-in-the-backs.

Ready for the ruckus,

Sitting at the shrine,

Thought they really

Had the goods,

Now listen to the whine.

Thought they had it marketed,

Cornered and refined,

Around the town

The teaching wound,

Until they lost their mind.

Settling to the bottom,

They slid to lower ground,

Between the lines and valentines,

Some lost their Royal Crowns.

Terroristic tinkering,

Tumbling and tinkling,

Fundamental farkles,

Helpful and home grown.

Patriotic particles,

Hidden in the articles,

Compact and post partial,

Buried to the bone.

Vacuumed packed

And gunny-sacked,

Pre-segmented squalls,

Appalachian apparitions,

Headed to the malls.

Fevered and fantastic men,

Marching to the moon,

With masticating matriarchs,

In subcutaneous swoon.

Breasts blown up beautiful,

Complicated castings,

Fallen faces on the floor,

Mesmerized for masking.

Sacrificial sublimations,

Surrogates sublime,

Tetrahedral, analgesic,

Sentimental crimes.

Pawing, pungent prisoners,

Soothing, sexy swine-

Sows and cows and sinning sons,

Tasting tempting wines.

Navigation nuances,

Nuptials by Nair,

Feudalistic fragrances,

Held up with heavy hair.

Practical imbalances,

Factory unrepairs,

New wave cold and chemical friends,

Facts blown up with air.

Salivating swindlers,

Solo Simon says,

High-falutin prostitution,

Fixed up with the Feds.

Sports and courts and teasing torts,

Women going wild-

Dow Jones Average hemorrhage,

Help the homeless child.

Down deserted highways,

Less than overnight,

Covering ground without a sound,

Filtered by first light.

Lazy lit up lethargy,

Loosed by lying lips,

Bought the farm in triplicate,

Then sailed a sinking ship.

Galvanizing garrisons,

Gathering at the line,

Pushed ahead though nearly dead,

They won it one more time.

Tested in the tumult,

On solid ground they stand,

Groping with the changer,

Positioned close at hand.

Nightly, brightly flickering,

Turn the clicker off-

Before you go,

Don’t miss the show,

An evening totally lost!

James Watkins (03-06)

not hdr-Very cold night here in Florida tonight..and a clear night for the Moonrise and stars..the stars look like ants there are so many of them.. I highlighted them a little so they would show up..the reflections in the water are moonbeams not stars, but you may see a few of them reflected! A few clouds added some texture to the sky..a great night for photography. At times, the moonlight was so bright I felt like I needed sunglasses....The lights in the distance are St. Augustine and Crescent Beach (the backside of them.) You are looking over the Inland Waterway and Matanzas Creek toward the east and the moonrise. The beach is on the other side of the lights in the distance.

Leida (James Watkins)

Leida moves through skies

Like comets in the stone,

Stark, startled darkness.

Glowing and grieving

All other gems

Of the down black night.

She walks in fields

untrodden-

Comes soft upon a star-

Twinkle-twisted,

Formed and frozen,

Thrust through treasure-

Breaks the gusher

Geyser guided

Diamond light.

Twirling, praising,

Fast amazing,

Liquid lightening,

Breaking, sight-

Where none have gone

She finds a home-

Abiding strength

Of morning bright.

She rules and sings

Of fractured queens,

Repaired, replaced,

And battered.

Of broken wings and

Injured dreams,

The smallest things

In tatters.

In gloried halls,

By weakened walls,

In armor and in battle.

Through timeless test,

To find her rest,

Above the noisome clatter.

Where money has no meaning,

Where paths can have no pain,

Where lives can not be broken,

Where hope can not be slain.

Where time is unimportant,

And conscience is unchained-

Clear choices are

Completed now,

Detailed in deeper dreams.

Where hearts have

Healed completely,

Her love in force remains,

Leida stands

On ageless sands-

A daughter of the king.

James Watkins 04-07

This is the first time that I have been proud to post my pictures of the Redwoods. It has been so hard to get the bright light and dark shadows right. HDR has really made it a lot easier. Some things are better non HDR...not these beautiful trees. It is the only easy way to capture the large swings in the high dynamic range during daylight hours...and bring out/justify what the floor of the forests really look like when standing in them.

These massive trees can live to be a thousand years old...and were just about made extinct before individuals and the Fed stepped in to save the remaining groves. They are most prominent in Northern California and Southern Oregon...though smaller groves and isolated trees are found much further south and north.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

What Good Are Trees (J.H. Watkins)

What good are trees,

If I miss the heart that spun the seed,

That dreamed the dream,

That danced nuclear in first fiery moments,

Before colors collided on patterns woven in atomic autumns

And stardust stellar stadiums of wintry dawns-

When moons rose only on waters that stilled the night,

That reflected the light that ended eras,

That moved the mountains,

Before the oceans swept canyons clean of crust

And prepared tables for grasses to grow?

What good are wings,

If wonder does not take flight,

Where wild woods bear the broken breath of winds,

That hang soft in southern summers,

Where soaring birds draft

Towering tides of unseen waves

Riding currents, swirling in springs of hope,

Hidden in hills, that no one knows?

What good is hope

That shares nothing in conception,

And wonders without warm witness in cold stolen hours,

Longing in lonely moments, that come only once,

Heave hot and holy breath for seconds,

Then pass without planting or gathering

From the soil of life and the strength of tears

That know the awe of this moment’s birth?

J.H. Watkins 01-09 3

Better Large...not hdr...Mount Ranier in late sunset colors...I have tried to get a good shot of Ranier for about 2 years and keep missing it because every time we are here, the mountain is in fog! I got the sucker this time. Purple mountain majesty. The whole coastal range is amazing...from the Canadian border and beyond...(where they are having the Winter Olympics at Whistler) down to Mt Hood in Oregon...down the west coast

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

Mountains (James Watkins)

mountains grand and gazing-

pillars standing tall-

piercing passioned histories-

hidden in their walls.

delving downward distances-

caverns large and small-

mutant molten metal streams-

fused before the fall.

decant demon-ed destinies-

cooling chasmed halls-

dinosaurs and diamond doors

in massive mirrored malls.

heavy, heaving voices

in paradisian sprawl-

fiery fumes of purity-

creation’s curtain call.

subatomic saturation,

soiled, synthetic signs.

righteous restoration

of prehistoric crimes.

tumultuous-

tempestuous-

waning, wasted pearl-

forethought, full and fragile-

foundation of the world.

hidden in the language

of nature’s cresting yore-

cracked beneath

the stress and strain-

crumbling at the core.

tiny tidbits torn and tumbling-

wiggling in the storm-

recipes and remedies-

chemically reborn.

thickened soups and swirling haze-

brooding-steaming-scorn-

clashing reams of violent schemes-

valleys ripped and torn.

balance within balances,

scrambled eggs at last-

gushing geysered marbled mud

borne before the blast.

consciences of scientists,

syncopated scuds-

bothered by the missing mass-

baffled by the blood.

leaping lemon lizards-

the barn is nearly full-

the hay is neatly in a stack-

this baby’s come full term!

common commonalities,

full circle’s come at last.

see the story in the hills-

yield before your past.

something’s broken,

something’s missing,

something’s come and gone-

something’s at the doorway-

someone’s on the phone.

someone’s at the table-

someone’s on the floor-

someone’s grass

is full of gas-

classical-and more!

rhyming with the timing,

balancing the board-

signals of a sequenced strike,

calm before the storm.

mysteries are meaningful,

when looking at the past.

the scene is somewhat circular,

when stage is come to last.

weakened, muzzled monkeys,

dance before your lord.

the gift of grace is growing cold

squirming on the sword.

commentaried cavemen,

come into the fold.

your ears can hear-

your eyes can see-

so come in from the cold.

and listen with some latitude-

to knowledge held in store.

fashioned in the faceless stone

of ancient ocean floor.

squeezed in myriad molecule,

the battle rages on-

raving reverence in reverse

its relevance reformed.

and bow before the evidence-

the courtroom is restored,

through judgment passed,

the script is cast,

in elementary score.

rain fire, you veined volcanoes-

your statement’s on the floor-

and advertise what you surmise-

from secret silent store.

you’ve waltzed in dazzled wonderment-

and touched your maker’s hand,

in timeless thought-

before the fault-

and listened to the plan.

to bring all things to unity-

from eons vile and vast-

to bless-ed end

the future bends,

with glory

unsurpassed.

James Watkins May 2005

Every Season Has Its Own Glory (James Watkins) not hdr

Every season has its own glory,

Every purpose has its own time,

Every moment has its own story,

Every story has its own line.

I have walked deep into cities,

Shining brightly never to fail,

Listened to heart cries,

Lost in the morning,

Standing on corners

Stagnant and stale.

Where is the hope

That brought forth the laughter?

Where is the song?

The music unveiled?

Why are the choices so

Wasted and bitter?

Gathered in hatred,

Broken and pale.

I have seen (new) stars on the mountains,

Fed on the movement of heaven and earth-

Fired by the framework

Of perfect perspective,

Fueled by the turning of terrible truth.

Come now and sing of mists in the forest,

Sensual sonnets of songs in the dirt-

Come and behold the delicate balance

Of seasons and reasons and rhythms

And birth.

There are the voices lost in confusion,

Crushed in the thriving, deepening swale-

Calloused and cold the circling convenience,

Crippled emotion commotion prevails.

Beacons in quiet of last true performance,

Heralded nature in singular cause-

Perfect and pure

Though wasted and slandered.

Washed by confession

In smoldering awe.

Severed connections, squandered projections-

Revered reflections by stammering tongues-

Coined by controlling contriving convections,

In different directions now written in stone.

Now is the time to look to the heavens,

Now is the moment to take up the cause,

Now is the voice of blazing amazement,

Borne on the winds of the gathering storm.

Listen to stream, listen to forest,

Listen to flower, and staggering fawn-

Listen to voices rolling like thunder,

Come drink of the waters

And dance with the dawn.

Wrapped in the garments of natural beauty,

Facing the force of the burgeoning call-

Strong in the seasons of life and creation,

Firm on foundations that never will fall.

James Watkins 09-01-08

Best Viewed Large...Clover in full array in a field next to my in-laws home in Georgia...

A Flower Grew (Poem for Rachel) (by James Watkins)

In deepest realms of glory,

a flower grew and danced

in morning bright-

and dreamed a dream

of golden choices,

of clouds,

and evening flight-

It sang a song with setting sun

that whispered with the wind-

and bloomed in heavens guardian light-

complete and warm within-

To run and play by stardust stream,

beyond the silent dawning,

and bless anew angelic hosts,

above celestial awning.

In father’s heart awoke a flame

aware at its beginning-

the smallest seed of love renewed,

prepared for time unending.

This heavy blow against the realm

of cruelty and darkness,

was sparked by hope

against the storm,

to flourish in its softness.

To topple kings and steadfast things

amazed at hidden wisdom-

that struck the plan, that

moved the hand,

that broke the holy prison.

Revealed in grace and wonder,

to live and dance and sing,

a perfect image of the light,

proceeding from the king.

Empowered by his mercy,

the father spoke the name-

and Rachel came into the earth,

to flower once again.

James watkins 4-2007

We are passionate about bringing a relaxed approach while creating beautiful, natural and vibrant images.

not hdr...Sometimes its just a matter of looking up at the right time...Beautiful sunset over the Rockies in Glenwood Springs, Colorado...just outside our little motel by the Colorado River. We had been traveling in our commercial vehicle and had to stop here for the weekend to avoid chaining up on the mountain passes. Just so happens that they have a world famous hot springs/spa here...:}

The previous night, riding through the Rockies on I-70 with clear roads, snow pack everywhere, and a full moon shining on the snow...was just an unforgettable sight! Every turn in the bend brought the moonlight to a different scene with rivers, mountains, homes, and resorts lit up like fireflies in the mountains!

Mountains (James Watkins)

mountains grand and gazing-

pillars standing tall-

piercing passioned histories-

hidden in their walls.

delving downward distances-

caverns large and small-

mutant molten metal steams-

fused before the fall.

decant demon-ed destinies-

cooling chasmed halls-

dinosaurs and diamond doors

in massive mirrored malls.

heavy, heaving voices

in paradisian sprawl-

fiery fumes of purity-

creation’s curtain call.

subatomic saturation,

soiled, synthetic signs.

righteous restoration

of prehistoric crimes.

tumultuous-

tempestuous-

waning, wasted pearl-

forethought, full and fragile-

foundation of the world.

hidden in the language

of nature’s cresting yore-

cracked beneath

the stress and strain-

crumbling at the core.

tiny tidbits torn and tumbling-

wiggling in the storm-

recipes and remedies-

chemically reborn.

thickened soups and swirling haze-

brooding-steaming-scorn-

clashing reams of violent schemes-

valleys ripped and torn.

balance within balances,

scrambled eggs at last-

gushing geysered marbled mud

borne before the blast.

consciences of scientists,

syncopated scuds-

bothered by the missing mass-

baffled by the blood.

leaping lemon lizards-

the barn is nearly full-

the hay is neatly in a stack-

this baby’s come full term!

common commonalities,

full circle’s come at last.

see the story in the hills-

yield before your past.

something’s broken,

something’s missing,

something’s come and gone-

something’s at the doorway-

someone’s on the phone.

someone’s at the table-

someone’s on the floor-

someone’s grass

is full of gas-

classical-and more!

rhyming with the timing,

balancing the board-

signals of a sequenced strike,

calm before the storm.

mysteries are meaningful,

when looking at the past.

the scene is somewhat circular,

when stage is come to last.

weakened, muzzled monkeys,

dance before your lord.

the gift of grace is growing cold

squirming on sword.

commentaried cavemen,

come into the fold.

your ears can hear-

your eyes can see-

so come in from the cold.

and listen with some latitude-

to knowledge held in store.

fashioned in the faceless stone

of ancient ocean floor.

squeezed in myriad molecule,

the battle rages on-

raving reverence in reverse

its relevance reformed.

and bow before the evidence-

the courtroom is restored,

through judgment passed,

the script is cast,

in elementary score.

rain fire, you veined volcanoes-

your statement’s on the floor-

and advertise what you surmise-

from secret silent store.

you’ve waltzed in dazzled wonderment-

and touched your maker’s hand,

in timeless thought-

before the fault-

and listened to the plan.

to bring all things to unity-

from eons vile and vast-

to bless-ed end

the future bends,

with glory

unsurpassed.

James Watkins May 2005

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

We are passionate about bringing a relaxed approach while creating beautiful, natural and vibrant images.

Kah Kit Yoong----Thanks forstopping by...love your

work.....Knottyy (Darien Chin) pointed me in your direction....Not HDR

Standing on the Precipice (James watkins)

Standing on the precipice-

balanced at junctions,

space and time-

there are no excuses here

no explanations or rhymes.

Locked in lavish rhythm

far beyond the brink-

hid from help or rescue-

on jagged edge distinct.

Weighty voices-

tomorrows bearing-

form forces by the day...

Wound tight

in folds of failure-

by faltering historic foray.

Naked standing truth-

whirl winded and filleted-

open now -

body bleeding-

clean by choice-

ruthless rights parlayed.

Ring round the

restless righteous-

tormented tongues

twisted and advanced.

Weapons trained-

fitting filled-

hopelessness entranced.

New toys

for large little boys-

clicking clocks

in finest fashion.

Positioned perspective-

poisoned possessive power-

from places unimagined.

Whining women-

worn-out white wheezers-

talking days on end-

endless hours

of wasted words-

useless air-

precious spent.

Children torn

apart at seams-

families drugged

and drenched...

Callous toned

nightmares

running wild-

seeds scattered

in the wind.

Lost by generation's

darkened doubt-

aflame

the fearless world-

tossed aside by

hellish schemes-

now rampant-

flags unfurled.

Gone the green

and yearning years-

foundations

fairly laid-

of priceless pearl

in wisdom grown,

crown jewelry

on parade.

But new

the turning earth begins-

choice

once again delayed.

Come cold and calm

courageous men-

run boldly

to your fate.

And stand in

earnest errand bare,

an era

at the end-

now bind yourselves

betrothed and braced-

to finish

without fear. (James watkins 2004)

I swoop and dive into the river James.

Out from the shallow water’s a fish I retain.

My young juveniles with open beaks awaits me.

I nourish them with fish I caught by the talons of my feet.

Pictured taken from a Sony A77II, Sony lens 70–400mm,

1/1250 sec., at f5.6, ISO 400, 360mm