Another Mixed Double

Another mixed double

Mixed Doubles

 

I take pictures. It’s what I do. Then they sit with me. A living history. Fragments of time I have consumed, shared and stolen. It is a privilege to have these moments at my command. I don’t wish to waste or abuse them. The element of trust is implicit. I honour these people because they have shared a stage with me. These are fractions, splinters of innocence.

Those Random Fields

Those Random Fields

Those random fields

 

The poppies. Luscious red on stalks

In patches. Risen because memory

And a reservoir of love

Deeply held, compels us to plant

The seeds of future hope

And to mark with a beautiful stain

Acknowledgement of desperate human wrongs

That random beauty

From guerrilla planting

We savages come across

And see a whisper

A visual clue

That one hundred years ago

The moans of men

Are not forgotten in soil

Where red remembers

Passion spent

Where sentries speak

That whispered lament

So. Softly go.