All posts by victor

crow’s feet

Photography, ,
digital photograph of red-tailed hawk with crow
Red-Tailed Hawk, Virginia Beach, VA 02/14/15

Exhibited at the 32nd Annual Juried Photography Exhibit,
Suffolk Art Gallery from 03-05-16 to 04-15-16.

Published on the Virginian-Pilot’s Local News Section
(03-08-15). It is number three of four in the slideshow
included with Mary Reid Barrow’s
“Colorful Birds Visit From the North When Food is Scarce.”

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sleeping in trees

Poetry,

lucy lived in the trees
but sometimes
she climbed down
to fall forward
                                                               with each step
and to catch herself
                                                                                with each step

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the climber’s heart offering

Poetry

“But if it had to perish twice,” Robert Frost

base camp
and mere bodies
camaraderie
eternal youth
of reach
life & death
will kiss the face

hard to hold
your granite cold
finger ledge
your crystalline
thoughts
your subterranean
face – rising

eight legged
exoskeleton drift
across
fear-of-falling
finger-legs
reach and hold
your chipped face

smear
the expansive sky
rising above
valley below
the bird’s eye view
set upon
a knife’s edge

cracked hearts
covered in chalk
and tape
bleeding boxes
sacrificed
on the stone-face
monolith

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the bleeding doe

Digital Art, Photography, Poetry

you departed
by
the stream

turned
into
a meadow

surrendering
your
fawn

to wobble
on fairy-tale
legs

an empty vessel
shaking
in winter

your fawn
i took
to hold

and fed
his spots
molasses

growing
ravenous
his antlers

a majestic
rack
of finger lakes

melting
the prophetic
snow

feeding
a summer-lake
catharsis

he did
lure
a fair maiden

captivated
by
his berth

with lake
held high
above his head

she plunged
into
his depths

her buoyancy
she did
surrender

the fair maiden
loved
the mighty stag

and he did
return
her love

and his mother
grew for me
flowers

pushed up
through
the warm earth

i picked
them
for the wolf

digital composite photographs of majestic elk with lake held high above his head assembled from the web

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fire poised on stone

when the golden sun stands still, on the sarsen stone

it is the daybreak anticipation of the summer solstice
stonehenge’s heel-stone sits patiently on the avenue
balancing on its jagged peak – the closest star to earth

when the golden sun stands still, on the sarsen stone

people rejoice in the alignment of fission-fire & stone
for in their hearts is felt, the rhythm of an earthly home
this is the milestone to mark the light of longest day

when the golden sun stands still, on the sarsen stone

abstract gif of stonehenge heel stone

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i pass through the hourglass, relative to you

Poetry

warm bronze momentum, the dance
                   a mindless passage through the narrows of a glass world
an hourglass – blown into shape by the creep of evolution
a cradle for fragile eggshell minds; but spirits of the dead still enter
                   to brace against the unexpected of everything that is expected

every person’s fabric stitched together in a day, by thin strands of relationship
the constructs are formed so delicate, that they can unravel at any moment
                   ephemeral but to be placed under the rock – the rock of ritual

the rock is pulverized into sand by the wave, and curved glass distorts vision
                   pressed against the cold barrier, you come face to face with life’s futility
to perceive as forever, to create new realities through a mind that loves and hates
                   the damage that is done
                   how do we once again, feel our planet’s rhythm?

familiar repetition delivers false hope – an unrealistic comfort, a tropical panacea
einstein’s equations are full of black holes
the gravity slave must be constantly turned over, again and again by vigilant hands
                   we pass from one globe to another
                   to stand alone among the others
                   a measure, of that which is relative

relative? relative to what? relative to me, relative to you
                   the relativity of me to you and the sunset
                   bleeding fire through the glass
we pass the day, traveling back and forth through the neck of our own construct

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