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this is just one of a bazillion beautiful scenes to behold at The Flower of Scotland. Read about it here on The SLuggle.

 

the title of the picture I thought should come from Scotland's Robert Burns, and it's from a lovely love poem called Composed in August which you can find here.

"A picture is a poem without words."

Quote - Horace

 

Ice-abstract.

Amsterdam - Vondelpark - Eerste Constantijn Huygensstraat

 

Copyright - All images are copyright © protected. All Rights Reserved. Copying, altering, displaying or redistribution of any of these images without written permission from the artist is strictly prohibited.

Dawn & poem. Tuscany.CF011538

  

Ogni giorno è diverso dall’altro, ogni alba porta con sè il suo speciale miracolo, il suo istante magico, in cui si distruggono gli universi passati e nascono nuove stelle. I Navajo,infatti, insegnano ai loro bambini che ogni mattina il sole che sorge e’ un sole nuovo. Nasce ogni giorno, vive solo per quel giorno, muore alla sera e non ritornera’ piu’. Dicono ai loro piccoli: Il sole ha solo questo giorno, un giorno. Vivi bene la tua vita in modo che il sole non abbia sprecato il suo tempo prezioso.

  

Hello everyone,

Thank you so much for your visit and support ..

 

All Right Reserved. Pictures can not be used without explicit permission by the creator .

Fabrizio Massetti.

Papilio thoas — Porte-queue thoas

Événement : Papillons en Fête au Cente Jardin Hamel

Ville de Québec (Québec) Canada

 

Papillons en liberté provenant des 4 coins du monde

 

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© Guylaine Bégin. L'utilisation sans ma permission est illégale.

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Papilio thoas — Thoas Swallowtail

Event : Papillons en Fête au Cente Jardin Hamel

Quebec City (Quebec) Canada

 

Butterflies from the 4 corners the world

 

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© Guylaine Bégin. Use without permission is illegal.

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10/7/2010 by 1crzqbn

 

Much better, please View On Black

rose from the depths

mountains, nebulae, oceans

in the infinity nest

they became a silvery and golden echo from afar

Music (2) youtu.be/Jv8WzoF7OI4

 

youtu.be/KjkFA6Cb8EY

 

✨ My painting smells like drops of music, of happiness "impalpable but true" like me ✨💕

 

********************************** ❤ ********************************

✨ Mi pintura huele como gotas de musica , de la felicidad "impalpable pero verdadera" como yo ✨💕

 

✨ " Mi felicidad son las Colores que Pinto en mi Vida " ✨💕

********************************** ❤ ********************************

Mi Felicidad es dar Amor, alegria, appoyo a las personas.

 

Son las palabras que escribo en mis reflexiones o textos, poemas , fotos que hablan

Son las musicas que escucho y canto

Son los perfumes que me rodean lleno des recuerdos, alegrias, penas (tambien es la vida )

Es andar de bicicleta, nadar, jugar tenis, cocinar etc etc...

 

"Es correr por la vida y la Pasion ... " abrirse es vivir, cerrarse es morir un poco.

 

" Mi felicidad es Compartir "

 

Es compartir risas por todo , por nada y a veces por tonterias, tener conversaciones con la gente del dia hasta la noche y seguir de nuevo ! . Un molino que no parra como agua fluyente cargado de iones + , lejos os iones - 😄😄😄

 

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✨ Intercambio, la verdadera communicacion es importante para mi💕. es mi Felicidad ! ✨

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✨ Silencio y Soledad! no me dejan, vivir solo!!! (Sutil) 😂😂😂, Mi Silencio lo doy a mi Alma, a Dios, a mis Seres de Luz, a mis Rezos. Es el silencio hablando de bondad, humildad y amor. ✨

 

💯 Sabes, que a veces puedes vivir, en casa con mucha gente, o tener o vivir una relación de pareja y sentirte solo!, sin tener una persona que te entienda. ! -ahí , faltando algo 👀 faltando El verdadero Amor! .

 

💯Puedes conocer una persona que en poco tiempo te da todo lo que necessitas mientras estas rodeados de gente hace mucho tiempo y no te hace sentir como esta esta persona que te hace vibrar ! en tu Adentro ! ! ! 👀 💕Es Amor!

 

💯 y tambien tener una persona en Second Life que te da lo que necesitas en tu corazon, tu Alma que nadie te dio , como nadie te hace sentir super bien en tu corazon, Alma en tu Realidad ! 👀 💕Es Amor!.

 

Es escuchar, opinar, dar amor, tener empatia, comprender a los demas, tener la mano tendida, siempre hay Esperanza.

  

💕 Son cosas simples . . . mi felicidad 💕

 

que ni el dinero puede comprar,

 

mi riqueza, felicidad no son los bienes materiales, dinero , es Todo aqui que hablo .. y "amour toujours" 💕💕💕💕💕

 

Son cosas simples que me da valor, me llena el Interior,

una vida Sana Pura, me hace crecer, vibrar y me hace feliz

 

Ah y la cosa mas importante de todas, que sin ella no puedes vivir que olvide decir, la salud es mi felicidad. 💕

 

Lea Aboma 15/07/2022

Muchas Gracias y bendiciones a todos 💕^

  

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Cover group : www.flickr.com/groups/14799371@N20/

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* thank you all down for tags/awards *

 

I do not want to stand

under quiet skies.

 

I want them filled with bird song,

the intertwining symphony

of life breathing life

singing life

 

I do not want silent trees

or Silent Springs

without the buzzing

of hummingbirds

or the whisper-flight of wrens.

 

The grass has held worm

for robins, warm-breasted

and numerous —as far

into my memory as I can search.

Where are the robins now?

I haven’t seen one in so long.

 

The Aves are in decline.

 

I do not want to live

in a world without birds.

Without the intricacies of color

the dapper dancing for mates

the delicate strength of wings

teaching us to soar above things,

to be light as the wind

and quick on our feet.

 

How can I soar on wings like eagles, Lord

if there are none to inspire

my soul to lift?

 

Who will announce the gift of sun

after rain? Who will skip on delicate

feet along the shoreline, or lift

their notes on wind and wing?

 

Who will bring morning?

 

Coming too soon —

artist renderings,

a cross-stitched Avocet

on white linen, framed,

picture books and stories

telling of days when the skies

were ablaze with a flurry

of swift flying creatures

— this is what we give

to the generations?

Tales of them?

 

Empty skies

and our

remorseful eyes?

 

I cannot live

in a world without birds.

 

— forgive us our trespasses

 

Poem written by Christina Ward

Macro Mondays - Book

Love Poem is a macro photograph of an anthurium.

" I was born on the holy ground,

Running wild and free,

Across wide meadows by the stream,

Between the mountains and the sea,

 

I grew up there in boyhood days,

Filled with sights and sounds,

My roots run deep here in the clay,

Upon this hallowed ground,

 

Our children came in the early years,

They ran wild but not so free,

For the meadows gone and the stream lies still,

Between the mountains and the sea,

 

Now I am old and not so wise.

As I am supposed to be,

And the nights draw in and the wind blows cold,

Between the mountains and the sea,

 

I was born on this holy ground.

And once ran wild and free,

Across wild meadows by the stream,

Between the mountains and the sea "

 

© Pat Hogan

My Photos on FLICKRIVER;

flickriver.com/photos/137473925@N08/

 

Keep well and positive everbody!!!

Best of everything!

Pat

Poem

From the short and intense evening,

your light seeps into my face,

the smell of your hair is strong

like the smell of the sea

Love Poem 2 is a macro photograph of an anthurium.

Enjoy your weekend!

#watercolors DP2017003-31x24

MonikaSeelig.com

In the minds of mad men

Echoes the darkness of wars,

And in that dark grows the

Media images of death and destruction.

 

And from the shade of our limitations,

we will scream into the void, peace and freedom, then close our eyes and pray, his,

is not the hand that stops the ticking clock.

 

When the bidding is done, the madness will stop, but only for a while, and we will try and release this Dove with a broken wing, and call it peace.

 

Words by, Broken Beacon.

Time, just a bodily experience;

With the change of times...

Events unwarranted , undesirable

Mere glimpses as it appears,

Of ever-changing substance...

 

The viewer and the view

Change like a flicker

Every perception an illusion

Every perceiver the same

 

Certain is the state

Before birth and after death

Uncertain is the state

In between birth and death

 

Look at those changes

Like an entertainment

Scenes changing in a play

Queer, and a source of enjoyment

 

Open the inner eyes

Awaken the Soul

You are neither body nor a living being

Your power knows no bounds.

 

- Anuj Nair

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© 2011 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.

-------------------------------------------------------

www.anujnair.net

________________________________________________

 

© 2011 Anuj Nair. All rights reserved.

All images and poems are the property of Anuj Nair. Using these images and poems without permission is in violation of international copyright laws (633/41 DPR19/78- isg 154/97-L.248/2000). All materials may not be copied, reproduced, distributed, republished, downloaded, displayed, posted or transmitted in any forms or by any means,including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording without written permission of Anuj Nair. Every violation will be pursued penally.

"Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky."

- Kahlil Gibran

 

Trees shaped by the sea wind.

A wild forest, near the sea at Oostkapelle The Netherlands

 

pp: done with Snapseed and Topaz filters

Spring has returned.

The earth is like a child

that knows poems.

R.M.Rilke

poem by AZOURY

tendril suit (BOM) by BYRNE

xinj bow choker by Rowne

anju hair by bonbon

~ Oops ~ Poem by me ~ 03.18.16

 

Why is it we call what we do "mistakes"

And to grow from them is a must.

Yet others we call liars, cheats and fakes

Who have surely broken our trust.

 

For all of you who "allegedly" did me wrong:

I am sorry I doubted you (it shouldn't have taken this long).

  

++++++++++++

Snapshot_080 Stepping into a Spielberg Movie

 

Brush-Textured: Luminance Greyed In (like film losing color) on backdrop and skin, plus added contrast to fabrics and metals

 

"In the Moment" - Random People Series

++++++++++++

The park's has a collection of over 1,000 statues and 150 giant tableaux centered around Chinese folklore, legends, history, and Confucian ideology.

 

On the pillars is a poem couplet written by Yu Da Fu, aptly describing Haw Par Villa then.

 

In the quietness of the hills amidst the rolling white clouds

 

There stand a bright glorious house like blossoming flower petals

 

You can see the vast and clear blue ocean

 

And grazes into the and ripples of the sea waves in the far horizon

Every morning

the world

is created.

Under the orange

 

sticks of the sun

the heaped

ashes of the night

turn into leaves again

 

and fasten themselves to the high branches–

and the ponds appear

like black cloth

on which are painted islands

 

of summer lilies.

If it is your nature

to be happy

you will swim away along the soft trails

 

for hours, your imagination

alighting everywhere.

And if your spirit

carries within it

 

the thorn

that is heavier than lead–

if it’s all you can do

to keep on trudging–

 

there is still

somewhere deep within you

a beast shouting that the earth

is exactly what it wanted–

 

each pond with its blazing lilies

is a prayer heard and answered

lavishly,

every morning,

 

whether or not

you have ever dared to be happy,

whether or not

you have ever dared to pray.

  

~ Mary Oliver.

My little black panther 8

Happy Caturday 11.1.2020 "Poem"

 

Nik Silver efex pro 2

 

A poem from Mr. Goethe:

 

Zum Fressen geboren, zum Kraulen bestellt

in Schlummer verloren gefällt mir die Welt.

Ich schnurr' auf dem Schoße, ich ruhe im Bett

in lieblicher Pose, ob schlank oder fett.

 

So gelte ich allen als göttliches Tier, sie stammeln

und lallen und huldigen mir, liebkosen mir

glücklich den Bauch, Öhrchen und Tatz

ich wählte es wieder, das Leben der Katz.

 

translated by deepl.com:

 

Born to eat, ordered to crawl

lost in slumber I like the world.

I purr on your lap, I rest in bed

in a lovely pose, whether slim or fat.

 

So I am considered to all as a divine animal, they stammer

and slur and worship me, caress me

happy belly, ears and paw

I chose it again, the life of a cat.

 

Happy Caturday! :-)

This first edition of the poems of Nathan Lanesford Foster was printed and bound in 1841 in the print shop in Philadelphia where my great-great-great grandfather worked at the time.

 

For those of you who know Philly: the print shop was located in what is now the 'Old City' section of Philadelphia, near the Betsy Ross House and Independence Hall.

 

More modern editions of this volume are available at select booksellers:

www.abebooks.com/book-search/author/nathan-lanesford-foster/

 

In real life, the horizontal dimension of the photo is about 2.5" (6.3cm)

 

HMM!

Ah vastness of pines, murmur of waves breaking,

slow play of lights, solitary bell,

twilight falling in your eyes, baby doll,

snail of the earth, in you the earth sings!

 

In you the rivers sing, and my soul in them flees

as you desire it, and you send it where you will.

Mark for me my road on your brows of hope

and I in my delirium will release the flock of arrows.

 

Around me I see your waist of fog

and your silence accosts my troubled hours,

and you are with your transparent arms of stones

where my kisses anchor and my damp desire nests.

 

Ah your mysterious voice that love colors and tolls

in the resonant and dying evening!

Thus in deep hours over the fields I have seen

the ears of wheat tolling in the mouth of the wind.

 

Pablo Neruda

 

Lemon Trees Mediterranean, Auto 1 (122, 83, 22) - Moderado

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Auto%201/122/83/22

"Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds -

and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of -

wheeled and soared and swung high in the sunlit silence.

Hovering there I've chased the shouting wind along

and flung my eager craft through footless halls of air.

"Up, up the long delirious burning blue

I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace,

where never lark, or even eagle, flew;

and, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod

the high untrespassed sanctity of space,

put out my hand and touched the face of God."

 

John Gillespie Magee Jr.

BLOG

 

Blog Featuring brands are

Dictatorshop in Swank

 

220ml in Man Cave Event

More Detail credit in blog.

Che

strano

sentire

Ia vita

come

una poesia

 

(🌺 Son felice :

sono viva)

 

Genova, 1976

 

How strange / to feel / the life/ as a poem

"The poem . . . is a little myth of man's capacity of making life meaningful. And in the end, the poem is not a thing we see it is, rather, a light by which we may see and what we see is life."

Robert Penn Warren

Re-Edit of Old Photo

It is a morning full of storms

in the heart of summer.

 

The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs bidding farewell,

the wind shakes them with its wandering hands.

 

Innumberable heart of the wind

beating upon our loving silence.

 

Buzzing amongst the trees, orquestral and divine,

like a language full of wars and songs.

 

A wind that swiftly steals away the fallen leaves

and deflects the beating arrows of the birds.

 

A wind that strikes her down in a foamless wave

and weightless substance, and fires bowing down.

 

It breaks and submerges its volume of kisses

fought at the gate of the summer wind.

  

Color The World Orange flic.kr/gm/3g65nd, Life Island (88, 133, 22) - Moderado

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Life%20Island/89/133/23

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie!

 

This is the first line from a poem written in 1785 by the Scottish poet Robbie Burns. Although the title of the poem is To a Mouse (apparently written in sorrow having accidentally destroyed the home of a mouse while ploughing in his field), much of the poem could be applied to a wee snail!

 

For Macro Mondays theme 'Book'. This wee book is a collection of poems by Robbie Burns, dating from 1913. You might wonder why I would put a snail on such an antique book, but the cover was easily wiped off and care was taken to not allow the snail to come into contact with the thin, delicate pages.

 

No snails were ploughed or otherwise harmed in the making of this photograph.

I THINK THAT I SHALL NEVER SEE------

A POEM AS LOVELY AS A PANORAMA TREE

(WITH APOLOGY TO AUTHOR JOYCE KILMER)

Loch Katrine is a freshwater loch and scenic attraction in the Trossachs area of the Scottish Highlands.

It is the fictional setting of Sir Walter Scott's poem The Lady of the Lake and of the subsequent opera by Gioachino Rossini, La donna del lago.

 

TRUTH

 

We all have our own truth

Credos that we abide by

It stops us falling into murky waters

Getting lost by the wayside

 

It can be difficult staying on the path

I wish I had Dante and Virgil at my side

Instead I rely on your light to guide me

Love like a burning flame inside

 

I knew it would not be easy

I have my own steep hills to climb

But I would do it all again if you asked me

At least I can say I have tried

 

This flame may die down into embers

Ready to ignite at your word

Such love can never be extinguished

Like a heart that never really dies

 

Can I still find my way through the forest

Navigate my way past the lies

See the truth of you in front of me

Answering all the tears that I have cried

  

I have been taking a little break from Flickr after my last upload of images. So consequently I am a bit behind with my usual thank you’s. So I thought I would place this up here in the meantime for you to thank you all for your support. Those of you who have got to know me and my work know how much these pieces mean to me, and the journey that led me to create them and share them here. Each poem is deeply felt and a reality to me, and can be emotionally challenging to write. I am learning that not only do I need time to create them, I also need time to rest in between them. Thank you again for all your kind words, faves and views. I would have found it difficult to keep going without you.

 

This image is the view towards the Altar beneath the East Window of Ripe Church, Sussex, UK, which has medieval fragments of the original stained glass set within the clear gothic window.

 

To see more of my images and poetry have a look at my website:

 

www.shelleyturnerpoetpix.com

  

my dreams are filled with

abandoned places and

closed doors

and

realms that can't be explained in the real world.

and often,

I am curled up into a ball while Lewis screams in the background,

and still,

the echo of silence

reverberates off the walls

until I find an open door-

and ignore it.

“Gardens are poems

Where you stroll with your hands in your pockets.

  

(Les jardins sont des poemes

Ou l'on se promene les mains dans les poches.)”

― Pierre Albert-Birot

Nature scape of winter in the desert! Bridges happen when we choose hope.

Leaning into the afternoons I cast my sad nets

towards your oceanic eyes.

 

There in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames,

its arms turning like a drowning man's.

 

I send out red signals across your absent eyes

that move like the sea near a lighthouse.

 

You keep only darkness, my distant female,

from your regard sometimes the coast of dread emerges.

 

Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets

to that sea that beats on your marine eyes.

 

The birds of night peck at the first stars

that flash like my soul when I love you.

 

The night gallops on its shadowy mare

shedding blue tassels over the land.

 

Pablo Neruda

  

Pemberley www.flickr.com/groups/pemberleysl/, Pemberley (105, 196, 23) - Moderado

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Pemberley/105/196/23

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