Tag: Art

A Journey in Half-Light (XII)

Dreaming the Blue

  Dreaming the Blue Wild North, pure and true A mystical land The elements in command Breathing through my soul Life’s transparent, whole ~ Photographer: my good friend and wonderfully rude witch MrsRedHead Photography

Love is Love

  Love is love It remains the same Only the human experience of it Is in constant change Our hearts are created to love Love itself doesn’t bring pain Only when we shut it down For one Reason or the other, we are slain It’s beyond the story Allowing love

The Kiss

  There is some kiss we want with our whole lives, the touch of spirit on the body. Seawater begs the pearl to break its shell. And the lily, how passionately it needs some wild darling. At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come and press


  Listen deep below a river flows invisible, quiet and strong following the rhythm of a soundless song Listen to the flow it will show a life No-one seems to know Listen…   View: Drawings  

Art of Nature

  I know, Voting it’s such a bore! Perhaps, even so, maybe you will throw one after me for this One Life International Photography Competition?  

Weekly Photo Challenge: Escape (II)

  Escape into the enchanted world of colors, poetry and music where common reality is cut down naked by a gentle dreamers sword of tunes Enveloped in the mystery of a caressing mist a homecoming of the soul In this place of no place here… grey turns light becomes visible

Weekly Photo Challenge: Escape (I)

Weekly Photo Challenge: Pattern (III)

Sir Herbert Read quoted in the book The Art of Looking Sideways by Alan Fletcher

Weekly Photo Challenge: Pattern (II)

A Dreamers Walkabout

A Dreamers Walkabout The Burren was calling out For a Dreamers walkabout Quietly moving through The many shaded mountains of blue Carefully touching the bones of the Earth A silent reflection of life’s true worth Tunes carried by the wind Remembrance of an ancient song within Timeless simplicity touching the


Not long ago I all of a sudden found myself with a black pen in my hand. It was moving to it’s own rhythm over the paper, as if it was listening to a beat from another world and lines started forming themselves into strange images, landscapes and beings I

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