Day 352 – Columbine

Columbine

Day 352

15 Columbine Flowers by Vivian Alston

One flower for the girl
who wrote a story about others
and her love and respect for their rights
One flower for the girl
who said yes to the question
that caused her death but rekindled life
One flower for the man
who asked a child to hold up
a picture of his family while he died
One flower for the boy
who risked his short life
to help others reach their safety
One flower for the boy
who didn’t make it out
but died as a distraction to save others
One flower for the boy
who could not run away
or yell for help to save his own life
One flower for the boy
who had a sweet heart
but was made with a dark shade of skin
One flower for the girl
who was trapped
by herself in a tiny bathroom stall
One flower for the teacher
who warned the school
in exchange for his young life
One flower for the boy
who hid his sister
and friends to save their lives
One flower for the brother of a girl
who threw himself in front
to save his least favorite teacher
One flower for the girl
who tried to help
these young men realize their mistakes
One flower for the boy
who picked up the guns
after the suicide to keep everyone safe
Two flowers for the boys
who made an unchangeable mistake
that cost them everything

Day 351 – It is Really Blue!

It is Really Blue!

Day 351

’Twas na her bonie blue e’e by Robert Burns

’TWAS na her bonie blue e’e was my ruin,
Fair tho’ she be, that was ne’er my undoin’;
’Twas the dear smile when nae body did mind us,
’Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o’ kindness:
’Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o’ kindness.

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me,
But tho’ fell fortune should fate us to sever,
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever:
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.

Chloris, I’m thine wi’ a passion sincerest,
And thou hast plighted me love o’ the dearest!
And thou’rt the angel that never can alter,
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter:
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter.

Day 350 – Poppies Will Put Them to Sleep

Poppies Will Put Them to Sleep

Day 350

Somewhere Over the Rainbow by E.Y. Harburg

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high,
There’s a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue,
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true.

Someday I’ll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far
Behind me.
Where troubles melt like lemon drops
Away above the chimney tops
That’s where you’ll find me.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly.
Birds fly over the rainbow.
Why then, oh why can’t I?

If happy little bluebirds fly
Beyond the rainbow
Why, oh why can’t I?

Day 349 – Boom

Boom

Day 349

Stars Wheel in Purple by Hilda Doolittle

Stars wheel in purple, yours is not so rare
as Hesperus, nor yet so great a star
as bright Aldeboran or Sirius,
nor yet the stained and brilliant one of War;

stars turn in purple, glorious to the sight;
yours is not gracious as the Pleiads are
nor as Orion’s sapphires, luminous;

yet disenchanted, cold, imperious face,
when all the others blighted, reel and fall,
your star, steel-set, keeps lone and frigid tryst
to freighted ships, baffled in wind and blast.

Day 348 – Thursday, Not so Late

Thursday, Not so Late

Day 348

Thursday by Edna St. Vincent Millay

AND if I loved you Wednesday,
Well, what is that to you?
I do not love you Thursday­
So much is true.

And why you come complaining
Is more than I can see.
I loved you Wednesday,­ yes ­but what
Is that to me?

•••
My boss was standing next to me as I shot this photo, and he could not, for the life of him, figure out why in the world I was shooting it this way.
“It’s all about the bokeh, baby!”

Day 347 – This One is Mine

This One is Mine

Day 347

Scent of Irises by David Herbert Lawrence

A faint, sickening scent of irises
Persists all morning. Here in a jar on the table
A fine proud spike of purple irises
Rising above the class-room litter, makes me unable
To see the class’s lifted and bended faces
Save in a broken pattern, amid purple and gold and sable.

I can smell the gorgeous bog-end, in its breathless
Dazzle of may-blobs, when the marigold glare overcast you
With fire on your cheeks and your brow and your chin as you dipped
Your face in the marigold bunch, to touch and contrast you,
Your own dark mouth with the bridal faint lady-smocks,
Dissolved on the golden sorcery you should not outlast.

You amid the bog-end’s yellow incantation,
You sitting in the cowslips of the meadow above,
Me, your shadow on the bog-flame, flowery may-blobs,
Me full length in the cowslips, muttering you love;
You, your soul like a lady-smock, lost, evanescent,
You with your face all rich, like the sheen of a dove.

You are always asking, do I remember, remember
The butter-cup bog-end where the flowers rose up
And kindled you over deep with a cast of gold?
You ask again, do the healing days close up
The open darkness which then drew us in,
The dark which then drank up our brimming cup.

You upon the dry, dead beech-leaves, in the fire of night
Burnt like a sacrifice; you invisible;
Only the fire of darkness, and the scent of you!
—And yes, thank God, it still is possible
The healing days shall close the darkness up
Wherein we fainted like a smoke or dew.

Like vapour, dew, or poison. Now, thank God,
The fire of night is gone, and your face is ash
Indistinguishable on the grey, chill day;
The night had burst us out, at last the good
Dark fire burns on untroubled, without clash
Of you upon the dead leaves saying me Yea.

Day 346 – Look at Me

Look at Me

Day 346

When I shoot a photo tomorrow evening, it will be the final photo of this project.  I have been dragging my feet about getting 346 – 364 posted; maybe I am postponing the inevitable, or more likely I am just lazy and spending too much time playing games on my iPhone – Words With Friends and Draw Something have me hook, line and sinker….  In either case, I am just posting the one photo tonight, or should I say, this morning (?) as it is almost 1:00 am and I am just plain pooped – tonight a book has been distracting me:  a nice bit of camp in a book titled Dark Shadows:  Angelique’s Descent by none other than the original Angelique, Lara Parker – prurient curiosity led me to read it, however it is an engaging story, if a bit on the dark (pun intended) side.

Until tomorrow…..  and a word of warning, lazy Cyndi has let the flowers do all of the work – I went out day after day and shot flower after flower because I just didn’t feel like “working” on anything that would make me have to think, which would therefore force large amounts of black smoke to pour from my ears.  I think it was a good compromise.