Scorn

ReShade 5 - Tools by OtisInf - Console Commands - Hotsampling

Love is like the wild rose-briar,

Friendship like the holly-tree—

The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms

But which will bloom most constantly?

The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,

Its summer blossoms scent the air;

Yet wait till winter comes again

And who will call the wild-briar fair?

Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now

And deck thee with the holly’s sheen,

That when December blights thy brow

He still may leave thy garland green.

Emily Brontë

Topaz Studio

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Use without permission is illegal.

Please, don't fave and run, you will get yourself blocked.

“When men do it, I call it a grunt, but the women’s is a shriek,” retired English tennis star Jo Durie told the BBC. “That’s the difference. The shriek is just so horrible. I can’t bear watching de Brito, and sometimes I have to commentate on her matches. It’s horrible and off-putting.”

Some consider it worse.

“It has got so embarrassing that you don’t want to be in the same room as your parents when it’s on TV,” Julie Welch complained in London’s Daily Mail this year.

“You might just as well have accidentally tuned into a porn film.”

Maria Sharapova has reportedly been recorded at 101 decibels, ahead of Serena Williams (88.9), and only slightly more than the woman many credit — or blame — for starting the whole trend. Monica Seles (93.2 decibels), who was inducted into the Rogers Cup Hall of Fame on Monday night in Toronto, was drawing scorn long before some of the game’s current stars had emerged from elementary school.

Seles, whom Navratilova once accused of sounding like “a stuck pig,” did not embrace the notion Monday.

“If you look back at tapes, as a nine-year-old girl, I was doing the exact same thing,” she said. “I think it’s unfortunate because men grunted many times before — Jimmy Connors (for one) — and nobody said a single word about it. With females, I think for a lot of people, it’s hard to accept when they’re strong out there.”

source: Canada.com/sports

Personnally, it is the only thing that bothers me about Sharapova...nobody's perfect ;-)

It has been a difficult 3/4 weeks for me. Struggling to get in front of the laptop and do some editing. However here is an image that I rush edited on Friday.

Taken in a very derelict, and now collapsing Polish Palace.

A stunning corridor inside a former spa or thermal baths in Romania. New stuff and projects in the pipeline - keep a look out.

My new (and first ever) 2019 Calendar is now available to pre-order and you can do so here:

www.jameskerwin.uk/calendar-2019/

used texture from h_roach - thank you

Thank you Bev for your poem :

dust flew in the air as he galloped away

into the distance he went filled with dismay

would he return and find her gone ...

a chance always ~ he'd known all along

night was closing, there could be no rest

he knew this journey would be the test

his devotion and love could not be denied

always she scorned and his love declined !

through the night and into the dawn

he rode at high speed ~ but forlorn

ahead was the day filled with dismay

he knew what he had to display !

the bands for marriage had to be drawn

and delivered without more delay

but her Fathers permission had to be sought

and he knew that her hand could be bought !

there were many suiters who had failed

and he was the next in line

he could hear her laughter in his ears

it did nothing to allay his fears .............

Annette von Droste-Hülshoff wurde am 10. Januar 1797 auf Burg Hülshoff geboren und verbrachte hier ihre Kindheit und Jugend.

„Du Vaterhaus mit deinen Thürmen,

Vom stillen Weiher eingewiegt,

Wo ich in meines Lebens Stürmen

So oft erlegen und gesiegt, –

Ihr breiten laubgewölbten Hallen,

Wo ewig meine Seufzer wallen

Und meines Fußes Spuren stehen.“

sie ist genau vor 160 Jahren am 24.5. in Meersburg gestorben...

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Annette_von_Droste-Hülshoff

Biography

“Die Droste”—as she is often called in German—was born two months prematurely on January 10, 1797 at Hülshoff, her family's castle near Münster in Westphalia. (Official records state Jan. 12, but according to her sister Jenny's diary, the true birthdate was Jan. 10.)

As was suitable for one born into the nobility, she was christened with the amazingly long name of Anna Elisabeth Franzisca Adolphine Wilhelmine Louise Maria von Droste-Hülshoff. Perhaps because of her premature birth, she was a sickly child who suffered from health problems all her life. She and her siblings (a sister and two brothers) were educated in music and literature by private tutors (Hofmeister).

Annette (her nickname) was a bright child and began writing very early. But as a woman of the 19th century, she had problems being accepted as a serious poet and author.

Much to her disappointment, Annette's first book (1838) was met with either scorn or indifference, and a mere 74 copies were sold. Although later editions of her work sold better, at the time of her death she was still virtually unknown.

Today die Droste is regarded as the most significant poet of her era. Her portrait graced the German 20-mark note until the arrival of the euro.

“...aber nach hundert Jahren möcht ich gelesen werden.”

"...but after a time of a hundret years I want to be read..."

- Annette von Droste-Hülshoff, in a letter (1843) to a friend

In 1825 Annette traveled to the Rhine (Bonn, Cologne, Koblenz) to visit relatives and to meet other German writers, including Adele Schopenhauer, Simrock and A.W. Schlegel.

In 1826, following the death of her father, Clemens August von Droste-Hülshoff, Annette, her sister Jenny and her widowed mother (Therese) lived in the Rüschhaus (House of the Rushes) near Münster, although Annette sometimes also revisited the Rhine and traveled to Switzerland and the Netherlands.

Levin Schücking

In 1831 she met the novelist Levin Schücking (1814-1883), with whom she fell in love. However, the 17-years-younger Schücking seemed to regard her only as a good friend. He encouraged her writing and while she was living at the residence of her brother-in-law (Baron von Lassberg) at Meersburg on Lake Constance (Bodensee, 1841-42), where Schücking was librarian, she wrote some of her best poems.

The pair spent time working and going for long walks together. After Schücking left Meersburg to accept another post (1842), an intensive exchange of letters followed, but he married Louise von Gall in October 1843. Nevertheless, die Droste and Schücking continued to collaborate on various literary projects.

He and his wife even visited Annette at Meersburg in May 1844. But the Droste-Schücking relationship came to a final end in 1846. (Annette was very displeased with things he had written in his 1846 novel Die Ritterbürtigen.)

Droste-Hülshoff continued to write, but her health deteriorated further. Yet somehow she managed to travel to Bonn and Rüschhaus in the year before her death. On May 24, 1848 she died in Meersburg. Two days later she was laid to rest in the local cemetery.

Annette von Droste-Hülshoff left behind a sizable body of work that includes over 250 poems, more than 30 ballads, a novella and other (mostly fragmentary) prose works, plus almost 400 personal letters.

the sects to settle the Dutch country, Mennonites, Amish and Dunkards stand out prominently today for their determination to cling to a simple way of life. Because of their plain clothes and rigid adherence to customs of two centuries ago, they are known collectively as the "Plain People. By their magnificent farms and drab dress you will know them. They keep their homes, and other buildings brilliantly painted often in red, yet wear black or gray clothes.

The Mennonite sect takes its name from Menno Simons, a Dutch priest, though the views of these people originated in Switzerland. The principal tenets of the Church include nonresistance, nonswearing of oaths, nonparticipation in civil government, non-belief in infant baptism, and seclusion from the world. The Church still holds footwashing rituals and baptizes by pouring or sprinkling.

About 1693 a Swiss Mennonite, Jacob Amen, felt that the Church was slipping away from the rigid doctrines laid down by Menno Simons. With sympathizers Amen formed a group known as the "Amish." They virtually bent backwards to return to the original articles of faith.

Buttons gave way to less "worldly" hooks and eyes. Hair grew long about the men's shoulders. Their upper lips were clean-shaven, for a mustache was then the mark of a soldier. Married men only were allowed to grow chin whiskers. The Amish costumes of both men and women remain much the same today as those of two and a half centuries ago.

Even among these hard-working, hard-living, hard-praying folk differences led to divisions of the Amish sect. Broadly, there are two principal branches: House Amish (Old Order), and Church Amish (New Order). The former hold religious services in homes and barns; the latter have church buildings.

Beards and Bonnets of "Plain People"

House Amish use only horse-drawn vehicles. They scorn such modern conveniences as electricity and telephone. Church Amish drive automobiles, may have their homes wired for light and telephone, and wear less drab clothes than the Old Order.

Lament of the Scorned Succubus

In shadows deep, where nightmares creep,

A succubus danced in dreams,

Her kiss once sweet, now bitter deceit,

As love unraveled at the seams.

Her wings once soft, now twisted dark,

Claws ready to strike with spite,

For trust betrayed ignites her rage,

A heart once pure turned to night.

She haunts the dreams, a ghost of pain,

Her gaze now sharp, her smile a snare,

In vengeance’ grip, she stalks her prey,

The succubus scorned, with no love to spare.

Beware her name, the burning flame,

For in her sorrow, shadows thrive,

With hunger fierce, she’ll take your life,

A predator where nightmares arrive.

Seduction's Curse: The Lament of the Scorned Succubus Full Credits here

Sabbath Event Oct. 21 - Nov. 12

Get ready for another round of the Sabbath Event, where gothic and spooky fashion comes to life! Here are some of the exciting highlights you can look forward to:

Bare - Luvy Bat Choker, Bare - Luvy Bat Ears, and Bare - Luvy Bat Wings

This bat-themed set is a perfect mix of cute and spooky. It comes with 12 color options for the choker, ears, and wings, plus 4 metal options for the choker. It’s a must-have accessory for your Halloween looks!

Black Lotus

[BL] Halloween Nails HUDS

Add some Halloween flair with these fantastic nail HUDs! Available in a range of spooky and fun designs. Please note, you’ll need the [BL] Coffin nails, [BL] Claws, or [BL] Toe Nails to use these HUDs. Available designs:

🎃 Aliens

🎃 Blush Snake

🎃 Dalmatians

🎃 Dark Stars

🎃 Galaxy

🎃 Nebula

🎃 Pink MJ

🎃 Pink Spider

🎃 Purple Bats

Insomnia Angel - Hanging Doll

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Cerberus%20Crossing/194/22...

This spooky, adorable doll hangs from your fingers, perfect for any eerie outfit or setting. Take your little haunted companion wherever you go!

Sabbath Socials

Stay connected with the Sabbath Event through their socials:

Sabbath Flickr | Sabbath Facebook | Sabbath Primfeed

Happy Halloween shopping and see you at the Sabbath Event! 🎃

Is it a small thing in your eyes to be loved by God – to be the son, the spouse, the love, the delight of the King of glory? Christian, believe this, and think about it: you will be eternally embraced in the arms of the love which was from everlasting, and will extend to everlasting – of the love which brought the Son of God’s love from heaven to earth, from earth to the cross, from the cross to the grave, from the grave to glory – that love which was weary, hungry, tempted, scorned, scourged, buffeted, spat upon, crucified, pierced – which fasted, prayed, taught, healed, wept, sweated, bled, died. That love will eternally embrace you. - Willian Barclay

POTD 23/366 from the archives

5DMKII, 85mm f/1.8, 1/500 at f/5.0, ISO 100. Natural light & white reflector.

Harsh. She's not cutting you any slack this time.

Experimenting with faux Redscale processing. Hot and steamy.

"Redscale is the name given to a technique of shooting photographic film where the film is exposed from the wrong side, i.e the emulsion is exposed through the base of the film."

'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood

When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud

I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.

"Come in," she said,

"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured

I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word

In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm.

"Come in," she said,

"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved

Everything up to that point had been left unresolved.

Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm.

"Come in," she said,

"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail,

Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail,

Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn.

"Come in," she said,

"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Suddenly I turned around and she was standin' there

With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair.

She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns.

"Come in," she said,

"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Now there's a wall between us, somethin' there's been lost

I took too much for granted, got my signals crossed.

Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn.

"Come in," she said,

"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount

But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts

And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn.

"Come in," she said,

"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

I've heard newborn babies wailin' like a mournin' dove

And old men with broken teeth stranded without love.

Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn?

"Come in," she said,

"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes

I bargained for salvation an' they gave me a lethal dose.

I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn.

"Come in," she said,

"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Well, I'm livin' in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line

Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine.

If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born.

"Come in," she said,

"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

Shelter From The Storm

Lyrics by Bob Dylan

It was in another lifetime one of toil and blood

When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud

I came in from the wilderness a creature void of form

"Come in" she said

"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

And if I pass this way again you can rest assured

I'll always do my best for her on that I give my word

In a world of steel-eyed death and men who are fighting to be warm

"Come in" she said

"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

Not a word was spoke between us there was little risk involved

Everything up to that point had been left unresolved

Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm

"Come in" she said

"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

I was burned out from exhaustion buried in the hail

Poisoned in the bushes and blown out on the trail

Hunted like a crocodile ravaged in the corn

"Come in" she said

"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

Suddenly I turned around and she was standing there

With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair

She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns

"Come in" she said

"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

Now there's a wall between us something there's been lost

I took too much for granted got my signals crossed

Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn

"Come in" she said

"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

Well the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount

But nothing really matters much it's doom alone that counts

And the one-eyed undertaker he blows a futile horn

"Come in" she said

"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

I've heard newborn babies wailing like a mourning dove

And old men with broken teeth stranded without love

Do I understand your question man is it hopeless and forlorn

"Come in" she said

"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

In a little hilltop village they gambled for my clothes

I bargained for salvation and they gave me a lethal dose

I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn

"Come in" she said

"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

Well I'm living in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line

Beauty walks a razor's edge someday I'll make it mine

If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born

"Come in" she said

"I'll give you shelter from the storm".

JOEL 2

Blow the trumpet in Zion,

declare a holy fast,

call a sacred assembly.

Gather the people,

consecrate the assembly;

bring together the elders,

gather the children,

those nursing at the breast.

Let the bridegroom leave his room

and the bride her chamber.

Let the priests, who minister before the LORD,

weep between the temple porch and the altar.

Let them say, "Spare your people, O LORD.

Do not make your inheritance an object of scorn,

a byword among the nations.

Why should they say among the peoples,

'Where is their God?' "

All saints revile her, and all sober men

Ruled by the God Apollo's golden mean -

In scorn of which we sailed to find her

In distant regions likeliest to hold her

Whom we desired above all things to know,

Sister of the mirage and echo.

It was a virtue not to stay,

To go our headstrong and heroic way

Seeking her out at the volcano's head,

Among pack ice, or where the track had faded

Beyond the cavern of the seven sleepers;

Whose broad high brow was white as any leper's,

Whose eyes were blue, with rowan-berry lips,

With hair curled honey-coloured to white hips.

The sap of Spring in the young wood a-stir

Will celebrate with green the Mother,

and every song-bird shout awhile for her;

But we are gifted, even in November

Rawest of seasons, with so huge a sense

Of her nakedly worn magnificence

We forget cruelty and past betrayal,

Heedless of where the next bright bolt may fall.

Robert Graves, "The White Goddess".

"This Gift of love and righteousness

Scorned by the ones He came to save.

'Til on that cross as Jesus died

The wrath of God was satisfied

For every sin on Him was laid."

From the song, "In Christ Alone" Lyrics by Natalie Grant.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=ENtL_li4GbE

View On Black

To dream the impossible dream

To fight the unbeatable foe

To bear with unbearable sorrow

To run where the brave dare not go

To right the unrightable wrong

To love pure and chaste from afar

To try when your arms are too weary

To reach the unreachable star

This is my quest

To follow that star

No matter how hopeless

No matter how far

To fight for the right

Without question or pause

To be willing to march into Hell

For a heavenly cause

And I know if I'll only be true

To this glorious quest

That my heart will lie peaceful and calm

When I'm laid to my rest

And the world will be better for this

That one man, scorned and covered with scars

Still strove with his last ounce of courage

To reach the unreachable star

HDR processing from 5 exposures in photomatix and then processed in photoshop. Blakemere Moss, Delamere Forest, Cheshire

ReShade

UE4 Console Unlocker

Console Commands

Taken with MSI Afterburner

So I started and I continued, there is more, much that I have paused on for just now. Maybe I went off the deep end and I should have paused earlier and taken on a healthy regard of limits realising that the experimental pictures are not the ones to show, rather to wait til the techniques are completed. Here are some edits that I was inspired to create from a captivating mirror lens.

Mirror Lenses have character that some openly scorn. Their build gives them the ability to render out of focus areas into what are referred to as doughnuts. I do mind these circles of light in my pictures. Some see Mirror Lenses as cheap alternatives to other long focal length solutions. Cheap and doughnuty to me say more available characterful lens. This was me editing without an end in mind.

There is just a 'little' editing of the stars as seen that night into this scene of that night. It was an amazing night and I was inspired to continue the light and the tone into the post production. The 'energeric' powers of Tea and next day Coffee can be seen at work within the offerings delivered here.

© PHH Sykes 2024

phhsykes@gmail.com

I was sent forth from the power,

and I have come to those who reflect upon me,

and I have been found among those who seek after me.

Look upon me, you who reflect upon me,

and you hearers, hear me.

You who are waiting for me, take me to yourselves.

And do not banish me from your sight.

And do not make your voice hate me, nor your hearing.

Do not be ignorant of me anywhere or any time. Be on your guard!

Do not be ignorant of me.

The Thunder, Perfect Mind

(Apocryph, gnostic text from The Nag Hammadi Library, 1945)

(Translated by George W. MacRae)

Sankey’s Corner, England

A disused theatre in the UK, a local community group hopes to rescue it in due course.

They hope to begin work this year and were shocked to find out that I knew about them and the theatre despite becoming the first derelict building that I can think of to pay for the heavy renovation work via crowdfunding site, kickstarter.

www.jameskerwin.uk

Getting ready for the North Pole. Italian aviator, aeronautical engineer and Arctic explorer Umberto Nobile (1885 - 1978) arriving in Ekeberg, Oslo on April 14, 1926 with the airship Norge. Nobile is primarily remembered for designing and piloting Norge, which many consider to have been the first aircraft to reach the North Pole. It was also the first aircraft to fly over the polar ice cap between Europe and America. The expedition was the brainchild of polar explorer and expedition leader Roald Amundsen, Umberto Nobile and American adventurer and explorer Lincoln Ellsworth who, along with the Aero Club of Norway, financed the trip, which was known as the Amundsen-Ellsworth 1926 Transpolar Flight.

My restoration and colorization of the original image in the National Library of Norway archive.

"At 01:00 on 15 April 1926, the Norge left Ekeberg in Oslo for Gatchina near Leningrad; after a 17-hour flight, the airship arrived at 19:30, delayed by dense fog along the way. Following the arrival at Gatchina, Nobile announced that the Norge would remain in the airship shed for a week for engine overhaul and maintenance; this included the addition of collapsible rubber boats for emergency use. Although expected to leave Gatchina as soon as the weather allowed after 24 April, the departure was delayed one week as the mooring mast at King's Bay, Spitsbergen had not yet been completed due to adverse weather. Although Nobile was anxious to leave for Spitsbergen even if the mast and shed were not completed as he was concerned about the weather, the departure from Gatchina was postponed once again.

The 16-man expedition included Amundsen, the expedition leader and navigator; Umberto Nobile the dirigible's designer and pilot; Wealthy American outdoorsman, polar explorer and expedition sponsor Lincoln Ellsworth; as well as polar explorer Oscar Wisting who served as helmsman. Other crew members were 1st Lt. Hjalmar Riiser-Larsen, navigator; 1st Lt. Emil Horgen, elevatorman; Capt. Birger Gottwaldt, radio expert, Dr Finn Malmgren of Uppsala University, meteorologist; Fredrik Ramm, journalist; Frithjof Storm-Johnsen, radioman; Flying Lt. Oscar Omdal, flight engineer; Natale Cecioni, chief mechanic; Renato Alessandrini, rigger; Ettore Arduino, Attilio Caratti and Vincenzo Pomella, mechanics. Nobile's little dog, Titina, also came aboard as mascot.On 12 May at 01:25 (GMT) the Norge reached the North Pole, at which point the Norwegian, American and Italian flags were dropped from the airship onto the ice.[13] Relations between Amundsen and Nobile, which had been lukewarm at best, were further strained by the freezing and noisy conditions in the dirigible's cramped control car, and became even worse when Amundsen saw that the Italian flag dropped by Nobile was larger than either of the others. Amundsen later recalled with scorn that under Nobile, the Norge had become "a circus wagon of the skies", an occurrence Nobile claimed Amudsen had greatly exaggerated."

--

(Wikipedia)

Better Large-An electric version of the La Sal Mountains in the background while leaving Arches National Park at sunset.

Mountains (James Watkins)

mountains grand and gazing-

pillars standing tall-

piercing passioned histories-

hidden in their walls.

delving downward distances-

caverns large and small-

mutant molten metal streams-

fused before the fall.

decant demon-ed destinies-

cooling chasmed halls-

dinosaurs and diamond doors

in massive mirrored malls.

heavy, heaving voices

in paradisian sprawl-

fiery fumes of purity-

creation’s curtain call.

subatomic saturation,

soiled, synthetic signs.

righteous restoration

of prehistoric crimes.

tumultuous-

tempestuous-

waning, wasted pearl-

forethought, full and fragile-

foundation of the world.

hidden in the language

of nature’s cresting yore-

cracked beneath

the stress and strain-

crumbling at the core.

tiny tidbits torn and tumbling-

wiggling in the storm-

recipes and remedies-

chemically reborn.

thickened soups and swirling haze-

brooding-steaming-scorn-

clashing reams of violent schemes-

valleys ripped and torn.

balance within balances,

scrambled eggs at last-

gushing geysered marbled mud

borne before the blast.

consciences of scientists,

syncopated scuds-

bothered by the missing mass-

baffled by the blood.

leaping lemon lizards-

the barn is nearly full-

the hay is neatly in a stack-

this baby’s come full term!

common commonalities,

full circle’s come at last.

see the story in the hills-

yield before your past.

something’s broken,

something’s missing,

something’s come and gone-

something’s at the doorway-

someone’s on the phone.

someone’s at the table-

someone’s on the floor-

someone’s grass

is full of gas-

classical-and more!

rhyming with the timing,

balancing the board-

signals of a sequenced strike,

calm before the storm.

mysteries are meaningful,

when looking at the past.

the scene is somewhat circular,

when stage is come to last.

weakened, muzzled monkeys,

dance before your lord.

the gift of grace is growing cold

squirming on sword.

commentaried cavemen,

come into the fold.

your ears can hear-

your eyes can see-

so come in from the cold.

and listen with some latitude-

to knowledge held in store.

fashioned in the faceless stone

of ancient ocean floor.

squeezed in myriad molecule,

the battle rages on-

raving reverence in reverse

its relevance reformed.

and bow before the evidence-

the courtroom is restored,

through judgment passed,

the script is cast,

in elementary score.

rain fire, you veined volcanoes-

your statement’s on the floor-

and advertise what you surmise-

from secret silent store.

you’ve waltzed in dazzled wonderment-

and touched your maker’s hand,

in timeless thought-

before the fault-

and listened to the plan.

to bring all things to unity-

from eons vile and vast-

to bless-ed end

the future bends,

with glory

unsurpassed.

James Watkins May 2005

See the children of the dawn

They lay like rows of tulips

Scorched by raging April frost

Their muted beauty still flows

Etched in hearts by time’s eternal hand

Their fragrances lightly scent the air

Crimson flows among the dews

Encased in frozen wintry daze

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dark breaks the cruel dawn

Hope flees before gathering storm

Lion crouching at the door

Death now stalking ingloriously

The morning dews now fractured

By hideous molten hate

And discharge vile of powder black

Lead propelled by malicious hand

A quieted field of humanity

Stunned by violent intent

Lives torn by wonton scorn

And raging blindness of the man

Gone now the quiet solitude

Of the grander commons

That breaks the midnight peace

Spirits crying, torn by malice

Children of the Old Dominion

Fly like fodder upon the storm

Tossed violently into the abyss

While screams erupt from fated lips

The white hazes of embattled morn

Lie heavy upon Draper's Meadow

While parting spirits drift invisibly

Over sorrow’s stifled glen

Erupting slowly the mournful wails

For brethren cut down by malice

Upon the fields of valor now undone

Breath snatched away by evil’s clone

Down, down sinking into the silt of fate

Lodging within the sands of time

Like the mighty Merrimack

Inglorious in its demise

The cold tomb swallows greedily,

Quickly swallowing the valor of heroes pride

Hiding their glory within a muddy cloud

Where have the children gone?

Vapors of time now fading

Carrying their memories away

Hearts cleave amid whispers low

Fragile bidding our final farewells

Heroes to a watching wondering world

Speak silently to saddened hearts

Stand apart in eternal rest

Passing their memories along the path

See the children of the dawn

They lay like rows of tulips

Scorched by raging April frost

Their muted beauty still flows

Etched in hearts by time’s eternal hand

Their fragrances lightly scent the air

Crimson flows among the dews

Encased in frozen wintry daze

We say goodbye to heaven’s best

Reminders to love and tenderness

Their courage a light to our dismays

Giving hope to those pass this way again

To all who pause upon this path

Consider now the life they gave

Their message remains steadfast

Prevail against evil’s domain!!

In memory of all those who died

On the campus of Virginia Tech

04/16/2007

Original Poem copyright 2007

by Joe Hall

My old art projects updated and reused for Re-use project show in Tel Aviv Sept 5th 08

Ps see my slideshow for the rest.

So I started and I continued, there is more, much that I have paused on for just now. Maybe I went off the deep end and I should have paused earlier and taken on a healthy regard of limits realising that the experimental pictures are not the ones to show, rather to wait til the techniques are completed. Here are some edits that I was inspired to create from a captivating mirror lens.

Mirror Lenses have character that some openly scorn. Their build gives them the ability to render out of focus areas into what are referred to as doughnuts. I do mind these circles of light in my pictures. Some see Mirror Lenses as cheap alternatives to other long focal length solutions. Cheap and doughnuty to me say more available characterful lens. This was me editing without an end in mind.

There is just a 'little' editing of the stars as seen that night into this scene of that night.

© PHH Sykes 2024

phhsykes@gmail.com

#2. I had feelings of affection, and they were requited by detestation and scorn. Man! You may hate, but beware! Your hours will pass in dread and misery, and soon the bolt will fall which must ravish from you your happiness forever. - Author: Mary Shelley

Crossing paths with a crone is believed unlucky by some. Stooped and toothless, she’s a frightful specter of mortality. Those who can meet her gaze and see wisdom there have nothing to fear, but beware to those who scorn or overlook her. As Mother of Creation, she can wield her power in wicked ways, by nightmare, illness or a failed harvest. So next time you happen upon an old woman, pour her a glass of this bright and refreshing beer, look her in the eye, and toast to her good health.

From Strange Fellows Brewing in Eastvan

It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)

Darkness at the break of noon

Shadows even the silver spoon

The handmade blade, the child's balloon

Eclipses both the sun and moon

To understand you know too soon

There is no sense in trying.

Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn

Suicide remarks are torn

From the fool's gold mouthpiece

The hollow horn plays wasted words

Proves to warn

That he not busy being born

Is busy dying.

Temptation's page flies out the door

You follow, find yourself at war

Watch waterfalls of pity roar

You feel to moan but unlike before

You discover

That you'd just be

One more person crying.

So don't fear if you hear

A foreign sound to your ear

It's alright, Ma, I'm only sighing.

This series was inspired by Stephanie's recent posting, "Darkness Revealed". This Painting of the same title was painted the day she posted her photo and expose' on bipolar disease. www.flickr.com/photos/seamesse/2853367117/

Seems that my film cameras had some burning resentments at being stuffed on shelves while the new pretty prima donna digital got all the play time, they must have been hatching this plan for months, I never saw it coming, the last thing I remember was the blinding flashcube from the polaroid under the table.

Ho sceso, dandoti il braccio, almeno un milione di scale

e ora che non ci sei è il vuoto ad ogni gradino.

Anche così è stato breve il nostro lungo viaggio.

Il mio dura tuttora, né più mi occorrono

le coincidenze, le prenotazioni,

le trappole, gli scorni di chi crede

che la realtà sia quella che si vede.

Ho sceso milioni di scale dandoti il braccio

non già perchè con quattr'occhi forse si vede di più.

Con te le ho scese perché sapevo che di noi due

le sole vere pupille, sebbene tanto offuscate,

erano le tue.

Eugenio Montale

Aodhan & Brion Ravens

Photo taken at Ravens Studio

Photographer Bryan Ravens

Editor Ravens Studio

Sonnet 29

William Shakespeare

When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

(Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;

For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Cambridge at Night 8 January 2022. Photo straight from iPhone.

HAMLET

A monologue from the play by William Shakespeare

To be, or not to be--that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles

And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep--

No more--and by a sleep to say we end

The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep--

To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause. There's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscovered country, from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprise of great pitch and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry

And lose the name of action. -- Soft you now,

The fair Ophelia! -- Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my sins remembered.

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A weight of Awe not easy to be borne

Fell suddenly upon my spirit, cast

From the dread bosom of the unknown past,

When first I saw that family forlorn;

Speak Thou, whose massy strength and stature scorn

The power of years – pre-eminent, and placed

Apart, to overlook the circle vast.

Speak Giant-mother! tell it to the Morn,

While she dispels the cumbrous shades of night;

Let the Moon hear, emerging from a cloud,

At whose behest uprose on British ground

That Sisterhood in hieroglyphic round

Forth-shadowing, some have deemed the infinite

The inviolable God that tames the proud.

William Wordsworth 1822

dedicata a Franco Luca un uomo di grande coraggio....

Ho sceso, dandoti il braccio, almeno un milione di scale

e ora che non ci sei è il vuoto ad ogni gradino.

Anche così è stato breve il nostro lungo viaggio.

Il mio dura tuttora, né più mi occorrono

le coincidenze, le prenotazioni,

le trappole, gli scorni di chi crede

che la realtà sia quella che si vede.

Bella's Nocturne

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Starry%20Isles/7/102/4054

When reckoning comes,

Sometimes it arrives like rain

On a waiting garden.

A woman scorned

Will only blossom more

Beautifully than before.

(That's just what I'm called by those I've scorned.)

Wasabi // Pink Hair 🆕ANTHEM

{Sakura} Lottie Romper - Fatpack 🆕BigGirl 2/15 - 3/10

FOR : Lara, Legacy, Kupra, Reborn

Lagom - Scorned valentine @Main Store

Lagom - Hair-do Fatpack 🆕TLC

{moss&mink} Modern Princess - Princess Kitty RARE

{moss&mink} Heart Side Table

FOXCITY. Photo Booth - Cozy Bedroom (Blush) (Rez)

- Sweet Art - Gaming Girl Set FATPACK @Main Store

😻 MY BLOG

I see faces

Mountains (James Watkins)

mountains grand and gazing-

pillars standing tall-

piercing passioned histories-

hidden in their walls.

delving downward distances-

caverns large and small-

mutant molten metal streams-

fused before the fall.

decant demon-ed destinies-

cooling chasmed halls-

dinosaurs and diamond doors

in massive mirrored malls.

heavy, heaving voices

in paradisian sprawl-

fiery fumes of purity-

creation’s curtain call.

subatomic saturation,

soiled, synthetic signs.

righteous restoration

of prehistoric crimes.

tumultuous-

tempestuous-

waning, wasted pearl-

forethought, full and fragile-

foundation of the world.

hidden in the language

of nature’s cresting yore-

cracked beneath

the stress and strain-

crumbling at the core.

tiny tidbits torn and tumbling-

wiggling in the storm-

recipes and remedies-

chemically reborn.

thickened soups and swirling haze-

brooding-steaming-scorn-

clashing reams of violent schemes-

valleys ripped and torn.

balance within balances,

scrambled eggs at last-

gushing geysered marbled mud

borne before the blast.

consciences of scientists,

syncopated scuds-

bothered by the missing mass-

baffled by the blood.

leaping lemon lizards-

the barn is nearly full-

the hay is neatly in a stack-

the baby’s come full term!

common commonalities,

full circle’s come at last.

see the story in the hills-

yield before your past.

something’s broken,

something’s missing,

something’s come and gone-

something’s at the doorway-

someone’s on the phone.

someone’s at the table-

someone’s on the floor-

someone’s grass

is full of gas-

classical-and more!

rhyming with the timing,

balancing the board-

signals of a sequenced strike,

calm before the storm.

mysteries are meaningful,

when looking at the past.

the scene is somewhat circular,

when stage is come to last.

weakened, muzzled monkeys,

dance before your lord.

the gift of grace is growing cold

squirming on sword.

commentaried cavemen,

come into the fold.

your ears can hear-

your eyes can see-

so come in from the cold.

and listen with some latitude-

to knowledge held in store.

fashioned in the faceless stone

of ancient ocean floor.

squeezed in myriad molecule,

the battle rages on-

raving reverence in reverse

its relevance reformed.

and bow before the evidence-

the courtroom is restored,

through judgment passed,

the script is cast,

in elementary score.

rain fire, you veined volcanoes-

your statement’s on the floor-

and advertise what you surmise-

from secret silent store.

you’ve waltzed in dazzled wonderment-

and touched your maker’s hand,

in timeless thought-

before the fault-

and listened to the plan.

to bring all things to unity-

from eons vile and vast-

to bless-ed end

the future bends,

with glory

unsurpassed.

James Watkins May 2005

ANTAYA, Bones & Scornes, Enchantment, Wino Mino

aersgoth.blogspot.com/2025/08/morticias-dismay.html

'the mind can never sleep', says an old friend, amiably scarred with gallic scorn, 'so it limps into dreams, crippled from fatigue and embarassment. it cries and sobs and moans, it succors itself with thumb-sucking fantasies (les erotiques des enfants) and neurotic tantrums of finger shadows. dreaming is the mind clutching shamefully to its own dark, soothing womb, pouring our miseries into the narcotic wine of unbounded thought.

'when you dream you are really only punch drunk on the most human liqour.'