The Cliff WalkThe Cliff WalkEclectic and revealing images drawn form my home in the beautiful Pacific Northwest 
Articles
No Vacancy
2008-06-04 22:34:00 The Other Place by William Logan The leaves had fallen in that sullen place, but none around him knew just where they were. The sky revealed no sun. A ragged blur remained where each man's face had been a face. Two angels soon crept forth with trays of bread, circling among the lost like prison guards. Love is not love, unless its will affords forgiveness for the words that are not said. Still he could not believe that this was Hell, that others sent before him did not know; yet, once his name and memory grew faint, it was no worse, perhaps, than a cheap motel. It is the love of failure makes a saint. He stood up then, but did not try to go. More About: Vacancy
Sirens
2008-06-04 02:24:00 This is the one song everyone would like to learn: the song that is irresistible: the song that forces men to leap overboard in squadrons even though they see beached skulls the song nobody knows because anyone who had heard it is dead, and the others can’t remember. Shall I tell you the secret and if I do, will you get me out of this bird suit? I don’t enjoy it here squatting on this island looking picturesque and mythical with these two feathery maniacs, I don’t enjoy singing this trio, fatal and valuable. I will tell the secret to you, to you, only to you. Come closer. This song is a cry for help: Help me! Only you, only you can, you are unique at last. Alas it is a boring song but it works every time. Margaret Atwood
Sea and Land
2008-06-03 05:21:00 Fog Horns by David Mason The loneliest days, damp and indistinct, sea and land a haze. And purple fog horns blossomed over tides— bruises being born in silence, so slow, so out there, around, above and below. In such hurts of sound the known world became neither flat nor round. The steaming tea pot was all we fathomed of is and is not . The hours were hallways with doors at the ends opened into days fading into night and the scattering particles of light. ... More About: Land
Scoreless
2008-06-02 01:46:00 Baseball and Classicism by Tom Clark Every day I peruse the box scores for hours Sometimes I wonder why I do it Since I am not going to take a test on it And no one is going to give me money The pleasure’s something like that of codes Of deciphering an ancient alphabet say So as brightly to picturize Eurydice In the Elysian Fields on her perfect day The day she went 5 for 5 against Vic Raschi
Hartline Washington,USA
2008-05-28 19:39:00 <!--StartFragment-->Don't wanna live in the city,City is way too full.I just wanna be where I can sleepwith both of my eyes closed.Don't wanna live in the country,I can't afford no farm.So I'm in this little town, and I look around,And there ain't that much to do.[chorus:]Let's go down to the cafe and count feedcaps,and count feedcaps, in a row.Red and blue and green over the coffee cups,Stirrin' easy, fadin' slow.JoAnn, you know how much I love you,That's why I brought you here.Where the rent is cheap and the fishin's good,When it don't rain too much.What is this look in your eyes, dear?Are you tired of me?You don't wanna read; nothin's on TV,Don't look at your suitcase like that. Greg Brown 'Counting Feedcaps' More About: Washington
Another Country
2008-05-26 01:59:00 Whoso list to haunt could do worse than to Obtain the license, get the picture. Spook finders must find spooks to put the face, Name and space coordinates together. What is kept in the mind perimeter Retains a wild autonomy through fate. I will retreat to the precorporate. Let fate have what is fate’s and allow This spirit to slip through time’s difficult Nets with the devious fingers of A wild wind, while I run along behind. The Domestic Life of Ghosts by Tom Clark More About: Country
Cliff Ave
2008-05-24 02:28:00 Home Fire by Linda Parsons Marion Whether on the boulevard or gravel backroad, I do not easily raise my hand to those who toss up theirs in anonymous hello, merely to say “I’m passing this way.” Once out of shyness, now reluctance to tip my hand, I admire the shrubbery instead. I’ve learned where the lines are drawn and keep the privet well trimmed. I left one house with toys on the floor for another with quiet rugs and a bed where the moon comes in. I’ve thrown myself at men in black turtlenecks only to find that home is best after all. Home where I sit in the glider, knowing it needs oil, like my own rusty joints. Where I coax blackberry to dogwood and winter to harvest, where my table is clothed in light. Home where I walk out on the thin page of night, without waving or giving myself away, and return with my words burning like fire in the grate. More About: Cliff
Surf City
2008-05-23 07:32:00 Well all be planning that routeWere gonna take real soonWere waxing down our surfboardsWe cant wait for juneWell all be gone for the summerWere on surfari to stayTell the teacher were surfinSurf in u.s.a. From Surfin.USA THe Beach Boys More About: City
Have You Driven A Ford Lately
2008-05-21 19:49:00 He is pushing a black Ford through an empty street - a car like his father's that beat the flat roads like wind in summer and brought him here. He never forgave his father. That was the year he left home. Then there was talk of weather and everyone was packing. Windmills were stopped all over Kansas. He is thinking of fathers, the ways they never forgive you, withholding love like lust. But they quit, they stop like pumps. There is no way to set them working again. He is thinking of mothers, how she could not know how he half followed girls down dark streets of his heart, how that loneliness is passed to sons, to the fathers of sons. He is pushing a black Ford. Its problem is such a heart you cannot give it enough care. Like a father it will quit. And there is no end to this.Depression by Henry Carlile
Futureworld
2008-05-20 17:49:00 There was something eerie in the air, An absence I could not identify. An immense single-pump gas station, Shimmering like a mirage in the heat, Took up a good part of the main drag. I pull in. Step into the heat stunned. The car is too hot to touch. I needed gas but didn't want to get it there. It meant digging up the attendant. From the poem 'PROVO' by Mark Rudman
A Tree in the Clouds
2008-05-18 02:03:00 Dirge in Woods by George Meredith A wind sways the pines, ; And below Not a breath of wild air; Still as the mosses that glow On the flooring and over the lines Of the roots here and there. The pine-tree drops its dead; They are quiet, as under the sea. Overhead, overhead Rushes life in a race, As the clouds the clouds chase; ; And we go, And we drop like the fruits of the tree, ; Even we, ; Even so. More About: Clouds , Tree
Original Eco Car
2008-05-16 07:23:00 Driving toward the Lac Qui Parle River by Robert Bly I I am driving; it is dusk; Minnesota. The stubble field catches the last growth of sun. The soybeans are breathing on all sides. Old men are sitting before their houses on car seats In the small towns. I am happy, The moon rising above the turkey sheds. II The small world of the car Plunges through the deep fields of the night, On the road from Willmar to Milan. This solitude covered with iron Moves through the fields of night Penetrated by the noise of crickets. III Nearly to Milan, suddenly a small bridge, And water kneeling in the moonlight. In small towns the houses are built right on the ground; The lamplight falls on all fours on the grass. When I reach the river, the full moon covers it. A few people are talking, low, in a boat. More About: Original
Red House
2008-05-13 05:47:00 The Unforgiven by Russell Edson ; After a series of indiscretions a man stumbled homeward, thinking, now that I am going down from my misbehavior I am to be forgiven, because how I acted was not the true self, which I am now returning to. And I am not to be blamed for the past, because I’m to be seen as one redeemed in the present... ; But when he got to the threshold of his house said go away, I am not at home. ; Not at home? A house is always at home; where else can it be? said the man. ; I am not at home to you, said his house. ; And so the man stumbled into another series of indiscretions... More About: House
The Owl and the Spirit
2008-05-11 20:42:00 Dragonflies Mating by Robert Hass 1. The people who lived here before us also loved these high mountain meadows on summer mornings. They made their way up here in easy stages when heat began to dry the valleys out, following the berry harvest probably and the pine buds: climbing and making camp and gathering, then breaking camp and climbing and making camp and gathering. A few miles a day. They sent out the children to dig up bulbs of the mariposa lilies that they liked to roast at night by the fire where they sat talking about how this year was different from last year. Told stories, knew where they were on earth from the names, owl moon, bear moon, gooseberry moon. More About: The Spirit , Spirit
Rescue Me
2008-05-11 00:55:00 The Domestic Life of Ghosts by Tom Clark Whoso list to haunt could do worse than to Obtain the license, get the picture. Spook finders must find spooks to put the face, Name and space coordinates together. What is kept in the mind perimeter Retains a wild autonomy through fate. I will retreat to the precorporate. Let fate have what is fate’s and allow This spirit to slip through time’s difficult Nets with the devious fingers of A wild wind, while I run along behind. More About: Rescue Me , Rescue
Heaven and Earth
2008-05-09 19:11:00 "Behold, the grave of a wicked man" by Stephen Crane Behold, the grave of a wicked man, And near it, a stern spirit. There came a drooping maid with violets, But the spirit grasped her arm. “No flowers for him,” he said. The maid wept: “Ah, I loved him.” But the spirit, grim and frowning: “No flowers for him.” Now, this is it — If the spirit was just, Why did the maid weep? More About: Earth , Heaven
Taxidermy Heaven
2008-05-08 18:54:00 Native cemetary near the Spokane Indian reservation,Eastern Wa. USA More About: Heaven
The Town Pump
2008-05-07 19:18:00 Pink dreams are made of this... More About: Town , Pump , The Town
Re: Far and Away
2008-05-04 21:44:00 Very fine framing for this lines of cold colors under a dramatic sky
Re: Far and Away
2008-05-04 06:31:00 I remember that movie:-) A beautiful image. There's a definite progression of land/layers. You know what I mean:-)
Re: Out of Gas
2008-05-04 06:29:00 When I see a building like this I had vague memories from my childhood. Times when we'd be traveling. Fleeting moments. My, my, how things have changed.
Re: Far and Away
2008-05-03 20:09:00 I love that feeling that comes from observing a huge, vast, open sky.
Far and Away
2008-05-03 20:07:00 The Road and the End by Carl Sandburg I shall foot it Down the roadway in the dusk, Where shapes of hunger wander And the fugitives of pain go by. I shall foot it In the silence of the morning, See the night slur into dawn, Hear the slow great winds arise Where tall trees flank the way And shoulder toward the sky. The broken boulders by the road Shall not commemorate my ruin. Regret shall be the gravel under foot. I shall watch for Slim birds swift of wing That go where wind and ranks of thunder Drive the wild processionals of rain. The dust of the travelled road Shall touch my hands and face.
Re: Out of Gas
2008-05-03 08:23:00 This picture says a lot about our changing world Mr R and I particularly like the way you have done it in black and white; a stark contrast to the natural, colourful beauty of nature. A picture can paint many words.
Out of Gas
2008-05-02 22:49:00 Out of gas Out of road Out of car I don't know how I'm going to go and I had a drink the other day Opinions were like kittens I was giving them away I had a drink the other day I had a lot to say And I said: You will come down soon too You will come down too soon You will come down soon too Soon enough you will come down, come down You will come down soon too You will come down too soon You'll come down, come down You'll come down, come down Modest Mouse
Re: Red Angel
2008-05-01 07:07:00 I really don't know what it is about this picture but it really touched me. Beautiful, peaceful and spiritual at the same time More About: Angel
Red Angel
More articles from this author:2008-05-01 05:26:00 Native Woman by A. F. Moritz Her hair back from the wide round face flows, almost a girl’s, so thick, caught back in combs, racing and curling through them with blackest vigor, although it is pure white. Cracked face, dusk-colored: not red but with a deep red struggling under the coming night. The eyes shift quickly, the subway train jerks and rattles, green vinyl, light flickering, silver poles. Eyes driven from ancient calm, which may fear but is never frantic and says nothing, such as looks out from the old Indian portraits—calm is the one thing missing from the beauty of her face in the black window. Those unresting eyes there talk plainly: there’s no money at home, men young and old go wrong, life almost at its end is still day by day harried and perplexed. More About: Angel 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 |
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