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Hypnopompic
A key too rusted
to turn, a door once solid,
now rotting away.

As sentience stirs again,
the dream's images decay.
Belittled
The geography
of doubt engulfs the figure,
so very tiny,

his shadow more prominent
than he is. Can he survive?
On The PodiumThe art of conductivity
as the maestro explained,
is that the man with the baton

serves as a lightning rod,
earthing intuitions from god.
Retrospect
What does she regret?
She has learned the lonely life,
out-lived old lovers.

Memories remain, and yet
those too seem like fading ghosts.
Captured
Pose! The camera
has got the moment frozen,
her body language

untroubled, her youth preserved.
Her real life still ebbs and flows.
Empathy
Can you read her face,
is she wearing hope or pain?
Her visage a mask.
Air Force Revisited.
Flying fortresses,
dense enough to deflect light
yet insubstantial

Water drops suspended in
the high, thin air, wind sculpted.

(Originally:

Flying fortresses,
solid enough to impede light
yet made of nothing.

Water drops suspended in
the high, thin air, wind sculpted.)
Scrap
Neglect, detritus.
Stranded objects make appeal
for reconnection.

But what whole could ever be
of which such remnants are part?
Discus
Marble's ghostly glow
touched by silver moonlight.
Magical still life.
Transported
She stands fixated,
her awareness no longer
focused on the street.

nobody sees what marvel
has claimed her so completely.
Ladders
The rungs rise and fall,
the direction is decided
by the starting point

so the climber discovers:
The way up is the way down.
TidalHigh and low, the moon
drives the ocean's ebb and flow,
the waves shape the land.
Crushing
No space for spirit,
the crushing weight
of anguish, of pain.

Yet release is within reach
If the prisoner lets go.
The Way
Ends and beginnings
cycle perpetually.
Yang dances with Yin.
Missing
Exiled too long ago,
his adopted town sometimes
seems too alien.

Even after all the years
the streets can still betray him.
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Preoccupied
Small and hurrying,
she barely notices columns
of warm, sun-bathed stone.

She walks across the terrace
daily, her lunch time routine.
Privacy
Rose blossom, petals
compacted, as though secrets
were hidden within.

Can you touch the rose's heart?
Will it remain out of reach?
Decomposing
Nobody can know
whose life and line ended here.
Stealthily decay

has established squatters' rights.
No one cares enough to renew.
Ladders
The rungs rise and fall,
the direction is decided
by the starting point

so the climber discovers:
The way up is the way down.
Habitation
yellow light spills from
within the interior.
Outside the night waits.
Realisation
The artist conceives
the shape of hope. Lifeless stone
imbued with spirit.

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May 9, 2012
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Wilderness

:iconalecbell:

A moment, unowned
it seems. In Siberia,
maybe. Winter sun

etched pale on a glass plate,
mysterious yet empty.
:iconalecbell:
A commentary on Oblivion by =anaPhenix

You can see the deviation at full size here: [link]
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:iconcrimsonthrenody:
!CrimsonThrenody Aug 29, 2012
A beautiful description of such a serene atmosphere! Well done, my friend! :heart:
Reply
:iconalecbell:
*AlecBell Aug 30, 2012
Thank you again!

Ana is another photographer whom I often write comments for. She is a very distinctive artist.
Reply
:iconcrimsonthrenody:
!CrimsonThrenody Aug 30, 2012
Wonderful inspiration she brings! :)
Reply
:iconalecbell:
*AlecBell Sep 5, 2012
Indeed so!
Reply
:iconhailstorm13:
*hailstorm13 May 30, 2012
perfect!!:clap::clap::clap: !!! :worship::worship::worship:!!!:iconwineplz:
Reply
:iconalecbell:
*AlecBell May 30, 2012
:heart:
Reply
:iconanaphenix:
=anaPhenix May 10, 2012
:worship: Im so glad that some of my pic inspire you Alec! :hug:
Reply
:iconalecbell:
*AlecBell May 10, 2012
Me too :heart:
Reply
:icontheshadedartist:
Mood: Love ~theshadedartist May 10, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Great picture!
Reply
:iconalecbell:
*AlecBell May 10, 2012
Indeed it is. The work is clearly credited to its creator, =anaPhenix

My poem is a response to her image :nod:
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