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Brighton street scene.
This is Saturday outdoor flea market at Upper Gardner Street. A variety of stalls from street food to antiques, comics, vinyl records, local farm produce and many more.
Thank you for viewing. If you like please fav and leave a nice comment. Hope to see you here again. Have a wonderful day 😊
Brighton 🇬🇧
19th January 2020
Former themes Curves, Biscuits, Wavy Lines, Zigzag and Festive Season captured for Macro Mondays year-end theme: Redux 2022. HMM everyone!
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All of my photographs are under copyright ©. None of these photographs may be reproduced and/or used in any way without my permission.
© VanveenJF Photography
NEW "DANIMAN JEANS" EXCLUSIVELY AT THE MAN CAVE EVENT.
Flickr Page: www.flickr.com/photos/187610748@N07/
CAT
Entre mans hi tinc l'enginy
No serveix per llaurar la terra
no conrea els camps d'ordi
ni tan sols per netejar el bosc
Entre mans tinc el meu enginy
Ara premo el botó
Després miro i torno a observar
L'entorn no s'ha bellugat
No passa ni un alè d'aire
però fa fred, sobretot a les mans.
Entre mans tinc la meva ventura.
OC
Ai mon esperit dins mas mans
Es pas de servici per laurar la tèrra
Conrea pas los camps d'òrdi
Ni mai per desbarrassar lo bòsc
Ai mon esperit dins mas mans
Ara quisi lo boton
Puèi agachi e torni observar
L'entorn s'es pas bolegat
Pas un buf d'aire passa
Mas fa freg, subretot dins mas mans.
Ai ma fortuna dins mas mans.
thanks a lot for comments fav's and invites always appreciated
Sonja Parfitt's most interesting photos on Flickriver
He spoke English and became the opening for my photos of the emigrants from Senegal. When they realized that they were getting the pictures I was taking of them, so that they could send them to the family in Africa, they willingly volunteered for photography.
think twice ...
;-) ...
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cv6tuzHUuuk
"Walk Like an Egyptian" from the album Different Light.
ƒ/5.6 35.0 mm 1/30 1600
_MG_9619_pt2
♪♫♪
www.youtube.com/watch?v=kw9-i8IhvJ8
♫♪♫
A force d'y croire
On pourrait savoir
D'où vient l'instinct masculin
Quelle qu'en soit la cause
L'image qu'on impose
Un homme doit devenir quelqu'un
Ou il n'est rien
On croit toujours maîtriser sa vie
Savoir tracer son chemin
On croit fier de nous avoir tout compris
Jouer celui que rien n'atteint
En fait on est sûr de rien
Juste un homme qui grandit
Un moment dans sa vie
Juste un homme qui fait tomber les à priori
Comme un homme sans abri
S'abandonne, se confie
Et qui donne tout ce qu'il a en lui
A force d'avoir un rôle, un devoir
On perd ce qu'on a de bien
A force et à cause d'imposer les choses
On perd celles auxquelles on tient
Et d'où l'on vient
Juste un homme qui grandit
Un moment dans sa vie
Juste un homme qui fait tomber les à priori
Comme un homme sans abri
S'abandonne, se confie
Et qui donne tout ce qu'il a en lui
A force d'y croire
On pourrait savoir d'où vient l'instinct masculin
Juste un homme qui grandit
Un moment dans sa vie
Juste un homme qui fait tomber les à priori
Comme un homme sans abri
S'abandonne, se confie
Et qui donne tout ce qu'il a en lui
C'est dans notre histoire
C'est dans nos mémoires
C'est dans les regards
C'est dans les miroirs
ⓒRebecca Bugge, All Rights Reserved
Do not use without permission.
A bronze piece depicting a man reclining in attendance to a banquet. It was once part of the support for a bronze bowl. From Dodona, Greece and probably a Laconian work, dating to circa 530-500 B.C.
Now on display at British Museum.
Vintage portrait of a man in a neat suit reading a magazine (or possibly a catalogue of some kind) - taken at Hall photo studio in Borås, Sweden, in the early years of the 20th century.
The photo studio was run by two sister, Ellen Hall (1873-1956) and Ida Hall (1874-1955), which seems to have opened in 1903.
A man alone on the cliffs, a silhouette against the darkening sky, the waves crashing far below, their mournful roar rising like the echoes of forgotten grief, each tide a reminder of his sorrow.
Above, a seagull passed aimlessly, their shadow brushing the stone like fleeting memories, untouched by the weight of his sorrow.
The sea, infinite and unyielding, stretched endlessly before him, cold and indifferent, a reflection of the depth of his loneliness, the tide relentless in its rhythm, as if mocking his stillness.
He lingered there, eyes hollow, staring into the abyss, as though pleading for it to speak, to give meaning to the silence that consumed him, to the sorrow that the tide could never wash away.
by bes~• Morocco 09/24
bliss .l. people among us