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

Light & Dark ~ By Chloe

Candles melting with a dim lit flickering flame, books and potions carefully placed upon the shelf, a cloth draped around her, dancing in the nights wind.

A carefully crafted crown adorned her head and a mantle graced her shoulders, a sign of both light and dark; a beautiful accident. Nestled in between the chest ornament, an ancient stone said to hold enormous power.

She peeked out from beneath the frame, which added a touch of elegance.

Not knowing what the day would bring, she armored herself. Ready to take anything that came her way, head on.

I excited to be the one to announce coming soon to Artemisia SL

Light & Dark Mantle Of Divinity

You can stop by and check out the beautiful creations already released by riding this taxi 🚕 maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Arcanum/221/222/1702

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This is just before the falls drops off over to the right. The mist cloud in the middle back is the mist rising from the Canadian Falls. You are looking from the American Side through Goat Island to the Canadian Falls..

A Generation on Eve of Election

or

A Generation Headed Down the River-Politics Never Were the Answer

(James Watkins) no hdr here

This generation is stuck on the bulwark,

Frozen in headlights gathering stones-

Indiscriminate sons of the morning,

Actual assets with merits unknown.

This is 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 collusion,

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-

Flailing at formats with frogs in the foyer,

Padded with passive, political porn.

Packed into parlors with pigs of persuasion,

Multiplied monsters still 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 conclusion,

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

This is a shot of the entry to Flagler College here in Saint Augustine, Florida. It was previously the Flagler Hotel and was bought and renovated to be what it is now. One of the main attractions to me is the light through the stained glass and chandeliers, along with the beautiful woodwork on the floors and in the structure of the building. I believe this is Spanish Renaissance architecture.

Along with its sister buildings across the street, these hotels were retreats for our cold winter friends to the north...especially the wealthy...and these attractions were among the most elaborate of their time...which included the early 1900s through the "Roaring 20s." As mentioned...this area became a jumping off point for the railroads of the north and west. From here, they built southward in the state to eventually develop all of Florida.

The lights, corners, courtyards, and the utility of these early 20th century buildings speak to the quality and durability with which they are built, and are a lasting testament to Henry Flagler and his family, who really pushed this area into prominence. The underground swimming pool across the street in the sister hotel is one of the first of its kind, and at its peak the largest fresh water underground facility in the US. It was renowned for its "rejuvenating" properties...I expect much like Warm Springs (where FDR spent much time.) This (formerly the Flagler Hotel), the Lightner Museum, and Casa Monica Hotel are very interesting examples of the times and architecture that attract visitors from all over the world.

Angel of Light (James Watkins)

You’re not as you appear

Old friend,

Your crown is sullied brown.

Its golden glory

Sold and shamed-

God’s gift gone underground.

Hypnotized,

You compromised

A dance in dangered round-

The multitudes

With guilt confused-

Then

Brought the building down.

A fine foundation shattered-

It lies like broken glass-

Gone the way

Of winnowed wheat-

Decaying in the grass.

Dead to truth and mercy-

You kindled your own flame-

Then introduced the poison ruse-

Invoked by sacred name.

The darkness now created

Is deeper than the rest-

For others followed helplessly-

You’ve put them to the test.

Stumbling, blind,

And leaderless-

Like sheep

To shearer bound-

With death

You rend the innocent-

They die without a sound.

You’ve filled your coffers

With delight-

Advantaged for all gain-

Clothed with counterfeited light-

And profited from pain.

Some cosmic comic cowboy-

Confused by gaudy grave-

Awaited by its fullness-

In guarded pathway plays.

Rehearse for hell you hero-

You’ve fallen on your sword-

With one mistake too many-

Impaled-

Your plans disgorged.

You’ve taken on

Too much this time-

This giant’s cruel and cold.

Released by

Pressured prophet’s prayer-

Resistant to your mold.

Turn today-

Come face the fact-

Your kingdom’s fading fast.

The words you’ve spoken

Fall like rain,

Then dissipate like gas.

Not one you’ve taken

Will survive-

No single work will last.

Your judgment’s just-

Your time has come-

Your reign is in the past!

Drawn down deviled dancer-

Clown that’s played the fool-

The puppet master’s

Cut the string-

And taken you to school.

The strength you build

With your free will-

A gift that’s gone astray-

Will testify against you-

Its master to obey.

So measure up the moment

You paradox replete…

For every living creature

Serves...

His purpose.

C’est la vie!

James Watkins 2004

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

These gulls like to live dangerously. They are 100 yards from going over Niagara Falls, but feel perfectly safe here in the rocks and rushing water. For sure no one is going to bother them, and they look quite peaceful and happy. Some seem to be observing the beautiful fall leaves while others just listen to the water RUSHING by them. It is the fastest moving water I have ever seen in person, but it looks like it is feathering the photograph in honor of the gulls.

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

At the bend in the Colorado River in front of the springs (to the left) at Glenwood Springs, Colorado. Only a few places left unfrozen in this fairly swift water coming down from the Rocky Mountains. The Railroad tracks and station on the right from the Denver train that comes through regularly...a nice way to come into the mountains. Canadian Geese and a number of duck species love to float around on this river. It is a wonderful place (in season) to raft, mountain climb, bike, motorcycle, golf, ski, snowboard, spa, eat or just relax. Close to many of the famous Colorado ski resorts...on the way from Denver to Grand Junction to Las Vegas and on to Los Angeles.

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

Exactly What Do Colors Do?

Exactly what do colors do?

They give us knowledge,

This is true.

Would you eat a black apple

Or blue stew?

Not me, how about you?

Could you bathe in the light

Of a red sun?

Or see in the light of an orange

One?

You’d shrivel up

Like a raisin,

Not so much fun!

As a matter fact…

You would be done.

Exactly what do colors do?

They make things pretty…

At least…seem to.

They make things different

They make things fun…

Though sometimes

They make things

Ugly my son…

They tell us distances,

Just look at the stars,

They give meaning,

To things in jars-

Just look at the different

Colors of cars.

But in the end,

What they do,

Is make life better,

And easier…

I’m through!!!!!!

James Watkins 01-12-2010

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

Incredibly Strange Tales of "Right About Now" in Northampton, Ma. created by Gonzo2000.

Not HDR The Grand Canyon is right in the confluence of High desert, mountain ranges, the Colorado river, and large Rift zones..The levels of rock denote the different epochs of earth history and the type of rock in these layers give some understanding to the history that formed them. Bright Angel trail starts on the South Rim and works its way down to the floor of the Canyon and the Colorado River...which flows down and separates Arizona and California at the southwest border of Arizona. The canyon is 60 miles north of Flagstaff, Az...but is accessible from the northwest by Las Vega, Nv.... hikers and mule caravans start down Bright Angel every morning in hikes and various length journeys to the Canyon plateau and on down to the canyon floor! Very reasonable facilities on the south rim with lots to eat and do....a very worthwhile destination or stop on the way West.

The Desert Has a Voice (James Watkins)

The desert has a voice that calls

In dry, dirt dreams-

Warm, wind-washed wonders

In wingless, soulless flight.

Cold, moonlit masquerades

Through long level years,

Crying out with countless cares on deafened ears-

Drowned in measured, motor-muffled madness,

And child-chattered, purposeless flight.

Quietly, calmly calling-

Darkened, deepening desert-

Star-filled with stumbling stalkers

And wounded warriors in fevered nights.

Dreams-peaceful, persistent, dreams-

As wheeled sky turns

Eternal turning, evening eyes-

And thoughts of morning colored light.

Millennial seas-

Doomed and dusty years-

Row upon heaping row of years-

Tears-

Caked, covered

And desolate.

The desert has a voice-

That calls and halts

And peers with perfect perspective-

Stopping us in our way.

“I have seen blood-stained battles!

I have seen despot desires!

I have seen prophets come and go,

And ages pass with shallow…glancing blows!

I have seen civilizations crumble…

Tumbling, heavy-handed

Into pagan pasts!”

The desert has a voice-

And every grain of sand has a name-

Every wind-blown grain of sand.

And someone-somewhere-knows the names.

They have perfect place and purpose-

Rocks cry out! Rocks….sing!

Some soaring angelic scribe somewhere

Records the history of rocks, and sands, and deserts.

Drab, dull, drifting desert distances and plans.

Ragged, jagged, craggy-edged

Mountain spine explosions and

Dry, desert sand.

The desert has voice and future-

With lifted hill-high green valley-

And clear bright stream winding

To cool, crystalline sea.

They wait….silently…

Almost… forever waiting-

But I know the secret of deserts-

And –

Dreams.

James Watkins-April 2006

not hdr-I took this picture of a red-backed Midwestern land penguin as he was crawling back up the hill-they have large feet that can be indistinguishable from a man's foot..that is why they are so hard to track, and thus live a very protected life in the wild...the males have larger feet than the females..that is how they are chosen for mating. If left to mate on their own eventually it will just be two huge feet with little small brains running around in the wild...the wings just shrivel up (as they are not used much--..and eventually the birds just walk themselves to death with their over sized feet in the winter twilight. ;)

A Generation on Eve of Election (JHWatkins)

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 in the parlor with pigs of persuasion,

Multiplied monsters still 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

Btw, do you think opposites really attract?

(My most recent in black here)

The Evening News (JHWatkins)

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)

Looks Good Large-----no HDR

Words (JHWatkins)

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

Saint Augustine lighthouse just before sunset..still operational...I never have been upstairs..lighthouse with storm clouds in background gathering at sunset

Note to America (An Angelic Prospectus) {JHWatkins}

Listening to you long enough,

He's let you have your say-

Hunkered down in dreary towns,

Free-falling in the fray.

Some things don’t matter any more-

It’s plain enough to see,

Some things are very simple,

They happen….naturally.

Independence indigence,

Insurrection-on-

Spiritual insanity,

Delusion on the throne.

Continental congress,

Covenant complete-

Freedom found

From captive crown,

Taxation by defeat.

Won in war by warrior

Bowed behind the scene,

Governmental grannies

Gassed and running lean.

Sequential celebration

Leaning to the right,

Took the town

To middle ground

Then sweetened up the fight.

Promise within promises,

Permanence in peace,

Stolen blind

By kindred minds

In national retreat.

God is gone,

Like Gustov’s ghost

On graduated ground-

Ridden rampant on a rail,

Run right out of town.

Religion’s rotting refuse,

Educated zeal,

Baby and bathwater,

Thrown out

By window seal.

Agreement by convenience,

The triad is complete-

The church, the crown,

The golden ground,

Professionals at least.

Garish, gloating, gatherings,

Temperamental tasks-

Tarnished targets

Tempting time with

Brutal baby blasts.

Fallen fronts,

Forensic flash,

Fine and faker fast-

Foul and festering

Filthy freight,

Fleeing from the past.

Happy hoppy horn toad,

Captain of the world-

No feral fear,

Calm crystal queer-

Call every boy and girl.

Mother’s mayhem

Adam’s aunt,

Gone completely mad-

Tried-on,

Tricked-up trousers

Tenderized a tad.

Evening ever-afters,

Happy once again-

Haunted house,

Forget the mouse,

“Egad”

The men are dead.

Lovely Lucys laughing,

Controlling interest lair,

The lion is dead,

So go to bed-

Don’t bother with the bear.

Fashioned fledgling,

Faded farce,

Fractured flaky foe-

Disneyed duckling

Drawn and daft,

Domesticated woe.

Fricasseed and

Freezer freed,

Stolen by the mole-

Galloping,

The gourmet ran

Grimly to the goal.

Down and distance

Delicate,

Don’t do the

Dirty Dan.

Playmate pawns

Now petrified,

Passed on by

Peter Pan.

Willful,

Wicked wonders-

Empty and petite-

Cover blown,

Refused by phone-

Destined for defeat.

Sayonara Sonya-

Cronkite caught a cold-

While Willy Wonka

Whacked a weed,

Then headed down

The road.

Christ like crucifixions,

Criminal and crass,

Crippled captains

Carcassed cold,

Middle-eastern mass.

Choose to tremble,

Choose to cheat,

Choose whom you will serve-

Choose to conquer,

Or..Choose defeat-

The quintessential blurb.

Honing hackers

Headed home,

Hackensackin fools,

Round and round

To tumble down-

With detrimental tools.

Hemispheric hovering-

Contract incomplete-

Pioneered truth

By blazered brute,

Confused by

Quiet elite.

It’s given best,

To those who rest,

In reverential form.

With wealth well cast

To traveler who’s sheltered

From the storm.

Retreat is not an option-

At long last life is spent-

Though living in

And impact zone

Is hardly worth the rent.

Revolution ready-

Armed and graveled green-

No average addled army,

To slay this brazen queen.

Unseen worded Warrior-

Wondrous to behold-

Breastplate bronzed

And burnished-

Countenance so bold.

Dispatched in dog-ged duty,

Determined and complete-

To fight with fire and fury,

Till victory’s at his feet!

James Watkins 10-05

A Creative Thinker!

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

The Lightner Museum used to be a Hotel and includes one of the first and largest underground/indoor pools that was used for years by the guest (spring fed I believe..thought to have recuperative qualities), but is now cemented over and used for a gallery. It also has a nice little restaurant in the basement and is a very cool (as in not hot) place to hide out in the hot summer months when walking around. In the Spanish Renaissance style and a companion to Flagler College (formerly a hotel) and the Casa Monica Hotel next door. Built by Henry Flagler, the railroad baron, to accommodate high rolling guests, before Florida had been completely modernized to the south. Still in Christmas lighting, which I wish they would keep all year round.

Note to America (An Angelic Prospectus) {James Watkins}

He’s listened to you long enough,

Let you have your say-

Hunkered down in dreary towns,

Free-falling in the fray.

Some things don’t matter any more-

It’s plain enough to see,

Some things are very simple,

They happen….naturally.

Independence indigence,

Insurrection-on-

Spiritual insanity,

Delusion on the throne.

Continental congress,

Covenant complete-

Freedom found

From captive crown,

Taxation by defeat.

Won in war by warrior

Bowed behind the scene,

Governmental grannies

Gassed and running lean.

Sequential celebration

Leaning to the right,

Took the town

To middle ground

Then sweetened up the fight.

Promise within promises,

Permanence in peace,

Stolen blind

By kindred minds

In national retreat.

God is gone,

Like Gustov’s ghost

On graduated ground-

Ridden rampant on a rail,

Run right out of town.

Religion’s rotting refuse,

Educated zeal,

Baby and bathwater,

Thrown out

By window seal.

Agreement by convenience,

The triad is complete-

The church, the crown,

The golden ground,

Professionals at least.

Garish, gloating, gatherings,

Temperamental tasks-

Tarnished targets

Tempting time with

Brutal baby blasts.

Fallen fronts,

Forensic flash,

Fine and faker fast-

Foul and festering

Filthy freight,

Fleeing from the past.

Happy hoppy horn toad,

Captain of the world-

No feral fear,

Calm crystal queer-

Call every boy and girl.

Mother’s mayhem

Adam’s aunt,

Gone completely mad-

Tried-on,

Tricked-up trousers

Tenderized a tad.

Evening ever-afters,

Happy once again-

Haunted house,

Forget the mouse,

“Egad”

The men are dead.

Lovely Lucys laughing,

Controlling interest lair,

The lion is dead,

So go to bed-

Don’t bother with the bear.

Fashion fledgling,

Faded farce,

Fractured flaky foe-

Disneyed duckling

Drawn and daft,

Domesticated woe.

Fricasseed and

Freezer freed,

Stolen by the mole-

Galloping,

The gourmet ran

Grimly to the goal.

Down and distance

Delicate,

Don’t do the

Dirty Dan.

Playmate pawns

Now petrified,

Passed on by

Peter Pan.

Willful,

Wicked wonders-

Empty and petite-

Cover blown,

Refused by phone-

Destined for defeat.

Sayonara Sonya-

Cronkite caught a cold-

While Willy Wonka

Whacked a weed,

Then headed down

The road.

Christ like crucifixions,

Criminal and crass,

Crippled captains

Carcassed cold,

Middle-eastern mass.

Choose to tremble,

Choose to cheat,

Choose whom you will serve-

Choose to conquer,

Or..Choose defeat-

The quintessential blurb.

Honing hackers

Headed home,

Hackensackin fools,

Round and round

To tumble down-

With detrimental tools.

Hemispheric hovering-

Contract incomplete-

Pioneered truth

By blazered brute,

Confused by

Quiet elite.

It’s given best,

To those who rest,

In reverential form.

With wealth well cast

To traveler who’s sheltered

From the storm.

Retreat is not an option-

At long last life is spent-

Though living in

And impact zone

Is hardly worth the rent.

Revolution ready-

Armed and graveled green-

No average addled army,

To slay this brazen queen.

Unseen worded Warrior-

Wondrous to behold-

Breastplate bronzed

And burnished-

Countenance so bold.

Dispatched in dog-ged duty,

Determined and complete-

To fight with fire and fury,

Till victory’s at his feet!

James Watkins 10-05

Not Hdr-In West Palm Beach these grasses are being used for landscaping. In the wind they really come to life.

Every Season Has Its Own Glory (JHWatkins)

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

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

not hdr-The light here comes from the backflash of the the lightning not the moon.

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

My review:

How to Write a Poem, written by Kwame Alexander and Deanna Nikaido / illustrated by Melissa Sweet, encourages children to see power in words. It is a great book showing the mechanics and process of writing. This book gives children confidence. Children will begin to see how they can channel their emotions, lift their voices, and change the world. A wonderful think and act “how-to” book. Readers will see how they can begin with a question, use their imaginations, make connections, and then let the words slide down to their pencils. The illustrations used in this book, likewise, encourage readers to use their imaginations, recyclables, and inventive resources to give art to the stories they write. Quite the positive book to use with children!!!

As a librarian, classroom teacher, and art teacher, I would use this book in a lesson (third grade – up). I would read aloud the book to the students, and then have each student close their eyes to think about a question in science or nature of interest to them. I would have each student to take out a sheet of paper and write down their question. Again, I would ask them to close their eyes and visualize the question. Write ten words in the left corner of page about the question and visualization…Use a dictionary, to look up a few of these words to list an additional ten synonyms in the right corner of the page.

Using the question, the list of twenty words and incorporating sensory thoughts, I would ask the students to let the words and thoughts flow to their pencil and write a poem. Afterwards, they could illustrate with magazines, newspapers, scraps, pencil, and crayons.

An additional challenge activity: turn to a reliable source to READ and learn more about their question.

Caldecott Worthy? Absolutely!

Here is how I played out the lesson on my part...

My example…..

Why can a wind storm happen on pitcher’s mound?

Ten words: Dirt, wind, baseball, player, tornado, dusty, hot, swirl, coughing, hazy

Ten additional words from the dictionary: Grimy, grubby, pale, pink, gold, twisty, spiral, billowing,

Windstorm, rotating, hard ball

best viewed large not hdr The waves are the star of the show here!

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

Better Large-Nightfall on the harbor at Drayton Harbor, Washington (Blaine). The lights of all the boats really lit up the water. The tide, being out, actually offered a lot more detail to the foreground than the outgoing water.

The Evening News (James Watkins)

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)

I was standing on a point about 3000 feet up to get this shot..it reminded me of that point in the movie Return of the King (The Lord of the Rings) where Denethor jumped off to end his mortal journey...way up in the air off of the city wall...........it is amazing how they will let you go just about anywhere around the canyon rim that you want to go. I had about 10 feet to turn around in, but a big wind would have been very interesting! There are 100s of places that you can access the edge without restraint..which allows for marvelous pictures, but is also dangerous....so be careful if you go...:}} I think Thelma and Louise may have launched from a point near here also...so...I'm just sayin......beautiful and dangerous.........

This is an hdr shot with 7 pictures I believe, and was taken with my back to the Eastern Wall of the Canyon looking West to the Colorado River which is waaaaaaaay down there...The colors here at sunset are just amazing, and like the ocean, change every minute of every day because of the different position of the sunlight...It is amazing to think that the exact light on the canyon or the ocean (for that matter) is never exactly the same because of the imperfectness of the earth's orbit and rotation...so that each day is very unique...no 2 days alike....use them well while you have them.....

The Evening News (James Watkins)

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)

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)

The Brightness of Our Childhood (JamesWatkins) not hdr

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-

sanctified by inward guide-

satisfiied and free.

Einstein has gone 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

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

Secretive Sliding Sensuality Secreted Silently Shining Sweetly - IMRAN™ (PG13 3D Full Screen)

Sometimes the mind’s eye can see what can’t be seen, either because it’s secret, secreted away from society’s stern scowling sight, or it doesn’t exist in the flesh. But you have to touch it, to experience the full magic. Yet, pent up and ready for flooding release, it gushes forth from the erotic soul, uninhibitedly secreted from the silent unfurling lips of lovers, in daring unsaid whispers, in boldly unstated submissions, engulfed in pink hot flaming wet lips of life, wrapped in love-moistened pink satin sheets, coated in the creative juices of a passionate spirit, flowing, like pure love, mixing into hotter purer love, to make the purest of all lovers loves. Total sweet surrender, sublime submission. “Anything. Anytime. Anywhere.”

© 2020 IMRAN™

3D on Facebook at www.facebook.com/MyIMRAN/posts/4027708400579454

#Art #AbstractArt #erotica #prose #literature #love #lust #desire #romance #submission #mathematics #fractals #3D

Bright Angel trail from the South Rim of Grand Canyon National Park..with snow around in different areas for some contrast..What a wonderful time of year to be here...less people..perfect weather..there is a fire at the inn on the Rim..and you can get expresso drinks at the bar...free wi fi...reasonable prices..the restaurants stay open all year and late..the people are nice..what more could you want for a get away...Some of these natural treasures and gifts are forgotten destinations for vacationers, but they are missing the real beauty of the United States...if they don't see this area...especially in the spring, winter, and fall....summers are fine too if you are prepared for the heat! Each season has its own beauty!

It is similar to the beaches in Florida in that the each evening the sunsets are spectacular...along with the sunrises...the colors of the canyon being a little flatter during the midday, but can be shot then, too, if handled correctly with filters, GND, and polarizers! The Grand Canyon is on the edge of many converging land anomalies...high desert, mountains..the Colorado River...and plains....

The Desert Has a Voice (James Watkins)

The desert has a voice that calls

In dry, dirt dreams-

Warm, wind-washed wonders

In wingless, soulless flight.

Cold, moonlit masquerades

Through long level years,

Crying out with countless cares on deafened ears-

Drowned in measured, motor-muffled madness,

And child-chattered, purposeless flight.

Quietly, calmly calling-

Darkened, deepening desert-

Star-filled with stumbling stalkers

And wounded warriors in fevered nights.

Dreams-peaceful, persistent, dreams-

As wheeled sky turns

Eternal turning, evening eyes-

And thoughts of morning colored light.

Millennial seas-

Doomed and dusty years-

Row upon heaping row of years-

Tears-

Caked, covered

And desolate.

The desert has a voice-

That calls and halts

And peers with perfect perspective-

Stopping us in our way.

“I have seen blood-stained battles!

I have seen despot desires!

I have seen prophets come and go,

And ages pass with shallow…glancing blows!

I have seen civilizations crumble…

Tumbling, heavy-handed

Into pagan pasts!”

The desert has a voice-

And every grain of sand has a name-

Every wind-blown grain of sand.

And someone-somewhere-knows the names.

They have perfect place and purpose-

Rocks cry out! Rocks….sing!

Some soaring angelic scribe somewhere

Records the history of rocks, and sands, and deserts.

Drab, dull, drifting desert distances and plans.

Ragged, jagged, craggy-edged

Mountain spine explosions and

Dry, desert sand.

The desert has voice and future-

With lifted hill-high green valley-

And clear bright stream winding

To cool, crystalline sea.

They wait….silently…

Almost… forever waiting-

But I know the secret of deserts-

And –

Dreams.

James Watkins-April 2006

The most powerful part of the falls seems to be right at the bottom where the lights magnify the beauty at night. HDR? r U kidding

Note to America (An Angelic Prospectus) {James Watkins}

Listening to you long enough,

He let you have your say-

Hunkered down in dreary towns,

Free-falling in the fray.

Some things don’t matter any more-

It’s plain enough to see,

Some things are very simple,

They happen….naturally.

Independence indigence,

Insurrection-on-

Spiritual insanity,

Delusion on the throne.

Continental congress,

Covenant complete-

Freedom found

From captive crown,

Taxation by defeat.

Won in war by warrior

Bowed behind the scene,

Governmental grannies

Gassed and running lean.

Sequential celebration

Leaning to the right,

Took the town

To middle ground

Then sweetened up the fight.

Promise within promises,

Permanence in peace,

Stolen blind

By captive minds

In national retreat.

God is gone,

Like Gustov’s ghost

On graduated ground-

Ridden rampant on a rail,

Run right out of town.

Religion’s rotting refuse,

Educated zeal,

Baby and bathwater,

Thrown out

By window seal.

Agreement by convenience,

The triad is complete-

The church, the crown,

The golden ground,

Professionals at least.

Garish, gloating, gatherings,

Temperamental tasks-

Tarnished targets

Tempting time with

Brutal baby blasts.

Fallen front,

Forensic flash,

Fine and faker fast-

Foul and festering

Filthy freight,

Fleeing from the past.

Happy hoppy horn toad,

Captain of the world-

No feral fear,

Calm crystal queer-

Call every boy and girl.

Mother’s mayhem

Adam’s aunt,

Gone completely mad-

Tried-on,

Tricked-up trousers

Tenderized a tad.

Evening ever-afters,

Happy once again-

Haunted house,

Forget the mouse,

“Egad”

The men are dead.

Lovely Lucys laughing,

Controlling interest lair,

The lion is dead,

So go to bed-

Don’t bother with the bear.

Faded fledgling,

Fashioned farce,

Fractured flaky foe-

Disneyed duckling

Drawn and daft,

Domesticated woe.

Fricasseed and

Freezer freed,

Stolen by the mole-

Galloping,

The gourmet ran

Grimly to the goal.

Down and distance

Delicate,

Don’t do the

Dirty Dan.

Playmate pawns

Now petrified,

Passed on by

Peter Pan.

Willful,

Wicked wonders-

Empty and petite-

Cover blown,

Refused by phone-

Destined for defeat.

Sayonara Sonya-

Cronkite caught a cold-

While Willy Wonka

Whacked his weed,

Then headed down

The road.

Christ like crucifixions,

Criminal and crass,

Crippled captains

Carcassed cold,

Middle-eastern mass.

Choose to tremble,

Choose to cheat,

Choose whom you will serve-

Choose to conquer,

Or..Choose defeat-

The quintessential blurb.

Honing hackers

Headed home,

Hackensackin fools,

Round and round

They tumble down-

With detrimental tools.

Hemispheric hovering-

Contact incomplete-

Pioneered truth

By blazered brute,

Confused by

Quiet elite.

It’s given best,

To those who rest,

In reverential form.

With wealth well cast

To traveler who’s sheltered

From the storm.

Retreat is not an option-

At long last life is spent-

Though living in

And impact zone

Is hardly worth the rent.

Revolution ready-

Armed and graveled green-

No average addled army,

To slay this brazen queen.

Unseen worded Warrior-

Wondrous to behold-

Breastplate bronzed

And burnished-

Countenance so bold.

Dispatched in dog-ged duty,

Determined and complete-

To fight with fire and fury,

Till victory’s at his feet!

James Watkins 10-05

Casa Monica Hotel left and Lightner Museum center..The different color lights are caused by the different wavelengths and different types of bulbs, and in this case, they add a little color which I left in for effect. I tried this picture as an HDR from 3 exposures of the same picture originally, and it just did not have the total dynamic range luminosity-wise, or the smooth light to dark transitions that this true HDR has (I think there were 4 or 5 shots). Compared side by side, anyone would choose the true HDR...but the 1 shot exposure blend has it place..just has to be the right shot. This one, being at night just had too wide of an exposure range...A Shot with less extremes of light would probably be just fine with 1 shot and 3 exposures blended in HDR fashion.

Angel of Light (James Watkins)

You’re not as you appear

Old friend,

Your crown is sullied brown.

Its golden glory

Sold and shamed-

God’s gift gone underground.

Hypnotized,

You compromised

A dance in dangered round-

The multitudes

With guilt confused-

Then

Brought the building down.

A fine foundation shattered-

It lies like broken glass-

Gone the way

Of winnowed wheat-

Decaying in the grass.

Dead to truth and mercy-

You kindled your own flame-

Then introduced the poison ruse-

Invoked by sacred name.

The darkness now created

Is deeper than the rest-

For others followed helplessly-

You’ve put them to the test.

Stumbling, blind,

And leaderless-

Like sheep

To shearer bound-

With death

You rend the innocent-

They die without a sound.

You’ve filled your coffers

With delight-

Advantaged for all gain-

Clothed with counterfeited light-

And profited from pain.

Some cosmic comic cowboy-

Confused by gaudy grave-

Awaited by its fullness-

In guarded pathway plays.

Rehearse for hell you hero-

You’ve fallen on your sword-

With one mistake too many-

Impaled-

Your plans disgorged.

You’ve taken on

Too much this time-

This giant’s cruel and cold.

Released by

Pressured prophet’s prayer-

Resistant to your mold.

Turn today-

Come face the fact-

Your kingdom’s fading fast.

The words you’ve spoken

Fall like rain,

Then dissipate like gas.

Not one you’ve taken

Will survive-

No single work will last.

Your judgment’s just-

Your time has come-

Your reign is in the past!

Drawn down deviled dancer-

Clown that’s played the fool-

The puppet master’s

Cut the string-

And taken you to school.

The strength you build

With your free will-

A gift that’s gone astray-

Will testify against you-

Its master to obey.

So measure up the moment

You paradox replete…

For every living creature

Serves...

His purpose.

C’est la vie!

James Watkins 2004

Formerly the Flagler Hotel...Henry Flagler originally built this as a winter resort for wealthy northern vacationers that wanted to get away from the snow...From here, he extended the railroads into south Florida and was therefore instrumental in opening up the lower part of the state for development.

Eventually the hotel was purchased and is now Flagler College...a fine arts college...with beautiful architecture...as Mr. Flagler spared no expense in the buildings for his original clientele. there are many dramatic and expensive examples of fine craftsmanship from all over the world in these buildings, including the beautiful glass work, crystal, and chandeliers. It is a main tourist stop for visitors and tours are given daily...a magically designed place to me with many photo ops.

A Generation on Eve of Election (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

not hdr...For some reason, this reminds me of the Hot Springs in the mountains of Japan where all the monkeys congregate...I'm just sayin!!

The world famous hot springs/spa at night. This is where Doc Holiday spent his last months...buried nearby. The pools (one very hot...one warm) are fed by the springs nearby and are full of all type of wonderful healthy minerals they say...I just liked the hot water. The temperature at night here was 15 degrees F...so, you didn't stand around the pool long without hopping back in...

The village lights and surrounding area are stunning at night and quaint during the daylight hours...Found a Chinese/Japanese restaurant having a "recession special" with 50% off of all menu items...we took advantage!

The Evening News (James Watkins)

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)

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

photos by Anna Paola Guerra

www.finelinemag.com

Oublie-tout

Dans le vide on accroche des étoiles

les mots comme des lucioles dans le noir de ses yeux

Remember Amber's embers

savor the pining of decembers lovers(...)

Week 30/52 — Outtake #1

He never saw her as less than brilliant. He looked at her and all he saw was her intelligence, her fierceness, her ability to turn this world and the other to get what she thought was right. He never saw her as weak or flawed — that was for other people. Himself, Henry Simmons — playboy and explorer extraordinaire — saw her simply as the perfect woman to love.

image by Jonathan Zawada

www.finelinemag.com

“Here comes Peter Cottontail, hoppin’ down the bunny trail, hippity hoppity Easter’s on its way!” That was the song I heard the neighborhood kids singing outside when I heard a knock at the door. I hadn’t even poured a cup of coffee and someone was already knocking!

When I opened the door, I must have looked just as shocked to him as he looked to me because he took one step backward. For a split second I thought I must still be sleeping and tried to blink myself awake. Suddenly I realized that my little visitor had grabbed me by the hand and was saying “Please! You have to help!!” Before I could ask him what was wrong he blurted out “All of the eggs are missing!”

I invited him in and told him to take a seat while I got my cup of coffee. I was only gone for two seconds when I heard a commotion in the living room. And then there was screaming. I ran back into the living room where I saw Jeremiah, my cat, chasing our little visitor around the room. There were feathers everywhere. I hate to admit it but it was a rather comical scene. I was chasing the cat that was chasing our visitor, a duck, who was flying in circles around the living room. I was finally able to catch Jeremiah and locked him in the bedroom.

I sat down next to our visitor and apologized for Jeremiah chasing him. He accepted the apology and told me that being chased by a cat was less scary than being chased by his wife. I asked him what his name was and cracked a smile when he said “Ace”.

Ace said that he and his wife, Martha, had been woken by screams coming from their neighbors on the other side of the reeds this morning. He and Martha ran to their neighbors nest to see what was wrong and found Beverly passed out on the ground with Hank standing next to her repeating “They’re gone, they’re gone”. Martha asked Hank “What’s gone?” But before Hank could answer there were more screams. They were coming from all around the lake. Just then Beverly sat up and said that all of the eggs were gone. In a panic, Ace and Martha ran back to their nest and were horrified to find it empty.

I asked Ace if he was sure that the eggs had not already hatched. He gave me a look that made me guard my fingers and toes. He said “ALL of the eggs! ALL hatching at the SAME time! I don’t think so!” He looked down and then back up and then apologized for being so snippety.

“The funny thing”, Ace said, “is that we could hear some of the children in the neighborhood singing some silly song about someone named Peter Cottontail”. “And for some reason, today, all of the children were carrying baskets”. And then a light bulb went off in my head. Like I said, I haven’t yet had my coffee.

I told Ace that I thought I knew what was going on. I told him that today is Easter. Since he looked at me with a puzzled look I began to explain it to him. I told him that the song is about Peter Cottontail, the Easter Bunny. Little kids sing this song while they’re hunting for Easter eggs that Peter hid while they were sleeping. Usually, kids have a contest to see who can collect the most eggs. Apparently at the thought of that, Aces lower jaw dropped and he made a gasping sound while he whispered “Our babies”. He asked me what the children do with the eggs after they collect them. I chose to tell him a little white lie by saying that I wasn’t sure. I did not want to panic him any more than he already was. I guess he believed me because he nodded his head up and down in agreement.

I jumped up and grabbed my robe with one hand and his wing with the other hand and ran out the door. I’m sure that I looked like a wild women, running down the road in my pajamas hanging on to a squawking duck with feathers trailing in the air behind us. My reputation did not matter right now. I had ducklings to save.

We rounded up all of the neighborhood children and carefully collected the eggs. I told the children that from now on they should not take any eggs that are lying in a nest and that Peter Cottontail ALWAYS colors his eggs with bright colors so that they would know which eggs are from him. They all said that they were sorry and that they now understood which eggs they could collect.

I got a few strange looks from some of my neighbors on my walk back home, but knowing that I did a good thing by helping out the duck community, I did not let that bother me.

Hearing my name being called from behind, I turned around to see Ace following me. Then I heard peeping. Ace wasn’t calling me; he was calling my apparent namesake, his newly hatched daughter. After a few strokes on her head with my finger, Ace led baby Lisa back to her nest which was now full of little brothers and sisters and one happy Mama.

*Story By: Lisa Zins 03/26/16

**This is a real picture that was edited with the PicsArt App. I did upload the original picture which is titled "The Easter Visitor". I took the photo with a cell camera of a male Mallard Duck looking in my back door on Easter morning 2012.

Saint Augustine, being the oldest city has some beautiful old buildings that have been converted into shops and parkways...I love the gnarly look of them myself...they are mostly old, but functional.

The Evening News (James Watkins)

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)

Saint Augustine, being the oldest city has some beautiful old buildings that have been converted into shops and parkways...I love the gnarly look of them myself...they are mostly old, but functional. These, along with nearby outlet stores, are strangely hypnotic!

Angel of Light (James Watkins)

You’re not as you appear

Old friend,

Your crown is sullied brown.

Its golden glory

Sold and shamed-

God’s gift gone underground.

Hypnotized,

You compromised

A dance in dangered round-

The multitudes

With guilt confused-

Then

Brought the building down.

A fine foundation shattered-

It lies like broken glass-

Gone the way

Of winnowed wheat-

Decaying in the grass.

Dead to truth and mercy-

You kindled your own flame-

Then introduced the poison ruse-

Invoked by sacred name.

The darkness now created

Is deeper than the rest-

For others followed helplessly-

You’ve put them to the test.

Stumbling, blind,

And leaderless-

Like sheep

To shearer bound-

With death

You rend the innocent-

They die without a sound.

You’ve filled your coffers

With delight-

Advantaged for all gain-

Clothed with counterfeited light-

And profited from pain.

Some cosmic comic cowboy-

Confused by gaudy grave-

Awaited by its fullness-

In guarded pathway plays.

Rehearse for hell you hero-

You’ve fallen on your sword-

With one mistake too many-

Impaled-

Your plans disgorged.

You’ve taken on

Too much this time-

This giant’s cruel and cold.

Released by

Pressured prophet’s prayer-

Resistant to your mold.

Turn today-

Come face the fact-

Your kingdom’s fading fast.

The words you’ve spoken

Fall like rain,

Then dissipate like gas.

Not one you’ve taken

Will survive-

No single work will last.

Your judgment’s just-

Your time has come-

Your reign is in the past!

Drawn down deviled dancer-

Clown that’s played the fool-

The puppet master’s

Cut the string-

And taken you to school.

The strength you build

With your free will-

A gift that’s gone astray-

Will testify against you-

Its master to obey.

So measure up the moment

You paradox replete…

For every living creature

Serves...

His purpose.

C’est la vie!

James Watkins 2004

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

It's all about inspiration

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

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

There’s that small flock of birds again, they’ve been flying back and forth between a crane and the library roof…I’m waiting at the window for Emily, she’s going to drive me to the Vets with Goldberg’s body. I found him on his favourite cushion on the settee first thing this morning. He was a big old cat, and he must have died in his sleep. Emily’s due any minute. I wish she could have come this morning. I hope she’s not much longer because it’s starting to get dark… That’s both my beautiful Siamese gone. McCann went years ago from kidney failure; a lot of Siamese go that way. Of course I named them after the menacing characters in Harold Pinter’s play The Birthday Party. I thought that was a fun thing to do, and they were characters all right…

The Vet will take care of everything. I’ve said goodbye, and wrapped him up, and put him in the cat basket… Emily will be upset too…Goldberg used to sit on her lap. He was so affectionate with visitors. Emily must have been delayed… Is that the rain coming on? It looks like it might be spitting… There’s a different flock of birds starting up…Funny this, Goldberg dead, and me watching the birds…Though I never saw the cats at this window, the back garden and beyond was their life… Poor Goldberg… As soon as Emily gets here we can take him to the Vet.

I’ve seen a white man with ocean blue eyes, and golden blond hair. I’ve felt caressing breeze from the blue skies, from way out there. I’ve seen the sun shine like there’d be no tomorrow. And i’ve closed my eyes, and dreamed dreams that could erase all sorrow. I’ve seen such variety of beauty, of honor, of astounding grace. I’ve experienced an all-

encompassing unseen embrace. And there… stood a white woman… who stared into the nights sky from afar. She appeared enamored… by all the stars. Gazing at an extraordinary sight above us… the night sky. But a glimpse of the universe. A veil to the hidden, the sacred, the unseen. A secret world of knowledge… True Riches; Pristine! And

beneath the skies there was a darkness hidden in the shadows, moving about discreetly, watching; as if to be seeking prey. This darkness appeared to be trying to siphon off light from the woman’s soul. And him? Well, he was almost blinded. For the darkness seeks to blacken an ocean so blue! And once the darkness takes over, the purity of truth drowns…

and out comes the voice of darkness, speaking from the blackest ocean to spirits who will hear. With a voice that could throw you into the deepest fear; and make you tremble… at the sound waves. After seeping inside; and distorting the subconscious, this voice speaks many lies… and seeks out any living to enslave! But the woman… she was one of True

Discernment. One that Feels… The Language of the Heart. She Knows of the Truths that are just Beyond the Veil. And she knows of the Lies that spew forth from the darkness. She knows that her Skin does not fully Define her Existence, or Anyone Else’s. And that the Flesh… is Just As Fleeting as the Dust in the Wind. She is Aware of Great Spirit, and of

her connection to All that Exists. All such spirits as hers are as Anchors, Helping to Save the Living from Drowning. For She… is Not Blinded, and will Never allow herself to be. And she could Never Be Compared to those who are blind, and Can Not See! Oh yes, she

Truly sees. She looks with eyes upon All the Living, and does not unfairly Judge. And All Around Her she can Feel a Presence that makes her Soul sing, because her white skin

was spun… from Angels Wings.

– Creative Writing By China Alicia Rivera

photoshopflair.com

Read More Here:

chinaaliciarivera.wordpress.com/2020/06/22/white-skin-som...

or here:

chinaaliciarivera.wordpress.com/

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*Art Blog: photoshopflair.wordpress.com

Peace and Love. ❤️💕

Eat my bones.

Shred my skin.

A few lessons are learned within.

Cuts and corridors,

failing and falling,

laughing at it all, at last.

Please the pain.

Please, the pain.

No matter the gain.

Minutes on the screens

enveloped in my dreams.

Word is new,

ending too soon.

Beginnings forget

to remember it all too.

End it to start a new.

New is just another lie too.

Travel the clock,

afraid of time,

remember to hold back,

trying not to cry.

At arms length an open book,

feel the ink drip down my throat.

No matter the difference,

deserve the change,

Paint chips collecting lead,

a lie as you hold that pencil near your head.

Language speaks,

lacks remorse,

changes our memories,

changes the course.

Not straight or narrow,

but forward on.

Follow me on

into this storm.

follow-art-by-heart.blogspot.pt/

Dr Jahnavi Barua is an Indian author from Assam. She is the author of 'Next Door', a critically acclaimed collection of short stories set in Assam with insurgency as the background. She studied creative writing in the United Kingdom. Barua lives in Bengaluru City.

CC0 - PUBLIC DOMAIN

Tomaszów ♥ Mazowiecki, central Poland, EU

The oldest high school (1903) and top ranked in Poland I lyceum in Tomaszow Mazowiecki

(Poilish) pl.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Liceum_Og%C3%B3lnokszta%C5%82c%C4...

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EN /All of my photos are free of copyrights, you can use. Also commercially. PL / Wszystkie moje zdjęcia są w domenie publicznej. Można wykorzystywać w dowolnym celu

Join our group / dołącz do naszej grupy:

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Short URL / krótszy adres:

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