Uncertain Narrative: Post ob Q 1-4



As fluttering hands weep silently,

She relents on condition,

that he not travel unaccompanied –


shadows seen carving

the lines of the mountains with glaciers,

protected by a wooden box,

lay next to a smaller one of tin,

a package tied with faded ribbon

cut from some forgotten heart.

Forest smiles, useful for loneliness –
first of all,

He will lead this box of sleeping lyres

and do this –
this is four of seven,

the only protector,

feathers dancing with moonlight mist.



The stranger wanted to be left alone,

so he kept moving, moving,

moving unconsciously carrying

his first valentine

as the solitary farm-house,

filled with ravens

playing fiddles merrily,

recedes into memory .



That is his so so sewing,

don’t you think;

for if a rock-star falls

alone in the woods,

does anyone sing the blues ?



Free Verse Format


Often silent archaeology

wish forbidden bells’ secrets –

frosty pagan puppeteers.



Byzantine roundabout body

diffidently drains year –

trail calls bones again .


Pamphlet addition paints

illuminated STOP –

a field kitchen cockatoo denouement.



Defective foot fallacy- orange

denotation constructing emotional appeal –

at the bottom of the paper pool

the Weary Detective pens slogans.


In nearby Eindhoven,

Never miss………………. the movement

Cycle the Van Gogh


This  piece of Broken Folklore includes a Dadaist Fairy Tale Analysis, and accompanying Asemic Collage Illustrations. Any resemblance between the characters/events in this tale and any persons, living or likewise, is an archetypal synchronicity . Please refrain from leaving any significance & empty popcorn containers under your seat.



Future Fable: The City and The Ship of State


I spent half a century seeking an abandoned ship. There is a fog of forgetfulness here. It is used by those without names to wake another day. Snakes slide and shake smoothly along this point of the muddy bank. In the midst of a steep river, the sunset has long since gone, leaving but a hint of vermilion colouring rusted sky at the bleeding horizon. The wounded line darkens into dusk as an old barge chugs silently farther and farther into the muddy waters of the inlet.


It’s one thing to have the dogs chasing birds along the river bank, it is another to seek a rusting dream that hangs in time’s muddy currents. In winter’s eyes – pessimistic safety is a grey stone.


After that man arrives there, across from the landing, the aircraft lifts, seeking a new time zone. His beautiful country is in a state of a creative trance, shambling towards uncertain future – paved hopes turn to broken asphalt . Poorly dressed children sit, in a morning lit by the sun of sorrows, just waiting for a  glimpse of the barges moving towards their unattainable dreams – the towering buildings of the great city.



Miles and lifetimes away, the sunlight spreads a rich glow of entitlement across the water, painting with gold the mirrored windows of the haughty skyscrapers that look down on the river.


People of these towers were rising for the second time in the morning, one of the methods of The Long Dreamers. They never dream of barges and ragged children sitting along muddy banks.



Notations on Antique Paper Mystery Map16


Notations on Antique Paper Mystery Map16

See full online  data by clicking HEAR.


Cleave tosh tesh na wave rood –

Glean tesh raah na sky tang dolh .


Mesh raah na star tang yoahl –

Make maah tesh na raah tang dolh West Niegt.


Fahl tosh raah feather rood na –

Tang tesh hoal’g door na fang yawl.


Commentary Notes:


We walk to the West

seeking answers, unasked for

frost fills our footsteps.



Hills sweep away tears

with long sunsets, early dawn –

how can we make haste ?



Paper flowers wilt

with long reading, brittle light –

wind scrapes dry vellum.



Tomorrow’s words wend

over new tongues, old sounds fade –

were they ever here ?


Refer to Codex Twelve for co-ordinates.


Photographer Prepares for Epic Battle – Broken Folklore

Snarl Two Cameras

~ a broken ballad~



Snarl two cameras

on the military model

to overthrow all time …

Truth how it hammers !

Oh Truth how it hammers !


Battle cable, dear friends,

is my song on the subject.

With but my sting,

The dark lens sing !

Oh the dark lens sing, oh-ho !


No man, I am,

but if you do not advertise,

You see not the marrow of the soul……

camera lens in the bag, in the bag .

Oh Truth how it hammers !



Look to the game not fit to sling,

a very old cable plea …

The dark lens sing !

Oh the dark lens sing oh-ho !


I’m not sure that I am not forced!

Street Smart, examples of graffiti walls,

dancers’ Flash Mob to tango rhythms

captured in natural light

from a moving car. …

Oh Truth how it hammers !



Pavement dancers, portrait prancers,

you need to recover.

Oh a very old cable plea …

The dark lens sing !

Oh how the dark lens sing, oh-ho !


Tripod stand … borrowed at any time.

You will not be able to cry out loud.

Morning friend , father of aperture ,

half a day gone

in a snarl of two cameras.

Oh, half a day gone

in a snarl of two cameras !



Composition of painted walls –

Confetti Chef conveys social commentary,

Pavement dancers, portrait prancers

captured in natural light –

Town fathers whitewash walls.

Oh, half a day gone

in a snarl of two cameras !


The weapons here in the bag…

Oh, secondary motivation,

Compose the shot.

Captured in natural light –

Oh Truth how it hammers !


Pavement dancers, portrait prancers.

Capture the truth in the fading light !

Be brave my friends.

Get likes directed

to the page of cultural justice.

The dark lens sing !

Oh the dark lens sing, oh-ho !

And Truth, Oh how it hammers !



Street Portraiture: Rapport Tips

# 1

Wild her eyes could see their features,

feeding her condolences,

white eyebrows

above weeping.

Hold that Pose


# 2


And, in his mind – deep centre,

a solemn vow. He came to this country

from the dust in the world,

weary, called soft dreamer. . ….Gotcha !




# 3

This fight is my friend,

Savage and sharp forest wolves, as well as,

His Excellency, the dead who had

Walked down for hot cocoa – auto focus off. 


# 4

The fight, this is my friend,

As if those forests of winged tigers,

bright and sharp,

Reach’d the dead house,

his government,

to find them checked ,

White washed,

On the town shelf.

Just breath,….

Load film app now!



Interview with a Revolutionary Photographer

about Framing Randomness



Tell me about how the role was pitched to you.

As my own, it was clean, all of this, simply.


How was Charlotte (as Memory comes to be known) first described?

The photographer, although in this sad world, was pure. Then entered into one of the small movements, a plot direction defined by spectral spoor fragments of sunlight. The subject is framed by Van tins of breath, but with the same computer and camera angle, so that you can not see the middle of the beach. As the forest grows, so does she.  I do not even think of the past, just the photograph.


She didn’t arrive with fire and brimstone and talons ?

Innocent. I asked. Only,……. a new time. To enhance the multi-operation ….. and not feel like you’re afraid … I am the light in the studio.


Were you like, “Guys, can we dial it down” ?

To enhance the multi-operation … … and not feel like you’re afraid … I am always the light in the studio. I fight with my friends, this is my song on the subject. Always consider what the subject is going to be, and how the viewer responds to random light.


What were you more interested in?

The wizard’s head … and wait,…..in his mind’s deep centre, it is a solemn vow. Photography is a type of magical manipulation of light and truth.

What was that experience like, going on the road and having this intense bonding experience with everyone?


No man, I’m on stage with the wild eyes of her features, her pale eyebrows that compassion feeds and balances in white negative space. That is, when the time comes … wait for it … you register your camera.


Was it intimidating to take on this huge role?

As the photographer, you have to work a digital network. Woods said,

Bring your load. Just Look at the cow.” Is it not convinced that he was forced to sing ? It was there.

Is it a question of technique, or do you just sort of absorb who this person is and try to represent it?

He came to this country from the dust in the world. So weary, it has been called a soft dreaming, but really it is a matter of flux and camera distance.  Look again at at that cow. It was there. That is it, when the time comes, growling, roads, and firmware. The user again needs context or more devices slowly choke the passersby. The photographer, you have to work a digital network.

I …


All at sea, did you intend for it to be public ?

Maybe, it was a beautiful thing. All sand track, not only all this sad world, but inner rhythms like jazz . That was what makes it pure. It went into one of the small movements, a plot of substance called bad Kirukamu. I just heard something in the neck of my psyche. I’ve been clean all this time. Just, all these shadows and walls, and that was the purpose for referencing Caxton and alternative photo processes in a digital environment. It went into one of the small plot movements of dust, having been called into mind. Professional strength, calm … the only waterfall of consciousness can be state of photography.

Blackness, so the photographers spent on research (not shown) … it was his birthday at the time of that shot. The word so few people heard. It narrowed their shame, then entered the lion wings of love. From there, being tired, this land is the substance in the world, the bladder.

To see the hot cocoa across the street. Capturing the light in that one moment. Cobble stones under your feet remind you of a tiger in a painted pail. Just remember to close the window when you go.



Notes on the backs of photographs.

1. It was clean. All of this, simply this, sadness- wisdom gorld. All that was purification – grandmother laughed. ABX3

2. The cost of the secondary devices …? T-Even back-channel is much farther .

3. I have the sound you received. Can not throw more. The wild eye function kills more of the lines. Bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb

4. Stern and pale, white hair. Thoughtful forehead. LlalaLaLaLa111-3

5. Called poor chocolate carousel . No answer.

6. Me and my dad … every doorway a home of sand.







in Progress – Implied Space

in Progress 1

You must read the sails of my ship.

Now this action is to be taken,

but there should be caution,

a cotton covered remembrance of childhood fears.

Can you see the Isle of Lyrah ?


The attention to the landscape rises to the top of the voyagers’ minds.



Curiosity, however exaggerated, is an elevated dust cloud of uncertainty,

smoke it slowly.


Global travellers cranked up images,

as the Rocks scraped Rock with a whining roar.

From above , photographic recording showed hot details of Quick indignation.


Strange jointed excrescences studded the cliff’s surface,

forgotten glyphs of a forgotten age.

Evertor of truth, the Grandiloquent of Curiosity sailed into the Bay of Deceitful Kisses,


the still rising cloud that climbed the precipices was not smoke,

but dusty tears.


Fitfully the crew worried as they approached unnamed shores,

sands of prayers or curses  –

It was certain in contrast to previous landfalls,

when the promise of deception and the distrust came;

the Blue Birds of the Isle arrived,

Startling blue secrets sang laments and welcome

on wings of wistful recollections,

dreaming wisps of salt stained  shadows,

A dim racial memory –  artefacts, 

Products of when the Folk had leisure to imagine and time to build.



in Progress2