Capturing the world with Photography, Painting and Drawing

nowness

Woodland Song …..

A Woodland Song
Nigel Borrington 2020

I sense suspense and peacefulness
where light and shadows loll,
it’s there my mindful heedlessness
now frees my soul to stroll.

A forest path empowers strength
that worldly cares conceal —
then demonstrates, beyond arm’s length,
a living scene surreal.

The way the arms of trees reach out
to all that share its space;
the way they wave their leaves about
and breathe wood scents I trace.

The little birds slip ‘tween the leaves
of understories, green —
where tiny fruits and bloomers tease
with scents that go unseen.

A red-tailed hawk, perched high in pine,
alerts with high-pitched call,
while restless ravens realign
in rowdy free-for-all!

There’s more that linger here unheard
that know I’m passing through;
their many eyes watch undeterred
‘til I am out of view —

I feel their spirit walk with me
and feel a sense I’m blessed;
all offer sense of reverie
and nature at her best.

If solitude shares strength renewed
and natural for free,
I’m sure to find that interlude
promotes reality.

There is no question of just when
I’ll go again to find,
that perfect place that pulls me in
so, I can lose my mind —

The woodland song, like silent friend,
knows all I can’t resist,
and there’s no need to comprehend
its soulful kiss, when missed!

2020 Joy A Burki-Watson


I dream of you, to wake, by : Christina Rossetti

Dreams of the morning light
Irish Landscapes
Country Kilkenny
Nigel Borrington 2020

I dream of you, to wake’ by Christina Rossetti

I dream of you, to wake: would that I might
Dream of you and not wake but slumber on;
Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone,
As, Summer ended, Summer birds take flight.
In happy dreams I hold you full in night.
I blush again who waking look so wan;
Brighter than sunniest day that ever shone,
In happy dreams your smile makes day of night.
Thus only in a dream we are at one,
Thus only in a dream we give and take
The faith that maketh rich who take or give;
If thus to sleep is sweeter than to wake,
To die were surely sweeter than to live,
Though there be nothing new beneath the sun.


Whispering Waves : A poem by – Edel T. Copeland

Whispering Waves
County Kerry, Ireland
Irish landscapes
Nigel Borrington 2020

Whispering Waves
Edel T. Copeland

Waves come crashing to grey sullen shores.
Powerful and strong, it breathes and roars.
Cascading and caressing each grain of sand,
A warm embrace between sea and land.

High above, a seagull soars high.
Wings of purity it spreads to fly.
Battling high against darkened cloud,
In a wind that blows fiercely, flying graceful and proud.

Beneath, the sand is soft and warm.
Sculpted by nature, it’s weathered the storm.
A passionate battle between calmness and rage,
A new chapter’s beginning; don’t turn the last page.

I listen again to the whispering waves,
Music of nature calming and brave.
Its power unknown, its stillness untamed,
Mysterious and magical, a treasure earth claims.


October : Robert Frost – 1874-1963

Octobers trees
Lumix GX1
Black and white Landscpares
Nigel Borrington 2020

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
To-morrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
To-morrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow,
Make the day seem to us less brief.

Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know;
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away;
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!

For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.


Monday Poetry, In the winter forest, Emma Funnell

In the winter forest
Emma Funnell

The trees move in the Winter Forest,
They sway with the gental breeze.
Naked as the leaves fall to the ground,
And the water will slowly freeze.

The forest casts shadows on the snowy grounds,
As the light of a thousand stars shine through.
The angels dance and sing in the snow,
As the sky turns to a midnight blue.
One angel sings of the moon and stars,
Another sings of the sun.

They play in the trees and howl with the wind,
Their wings glistening as through the forest they gracefully run.
By day the Winter Forest is quiet and peaceful,
But by night it’s alive with games and song.
The angels, fairies, moon and stars,
Beckon you to come along.

Join in with their dance in praise of the night,
Run with the wolves fast and free.
When the sun comes up they will say goodnight,
Silent again the Winter Forest will be!

EMMA Funnell


Sophie Scholl and the white rose Movement – Angles in the darkness …..

Yesterday I posted some images relating to the fantastic Jewish memorial in Berlin, I did not want to add any words to these images because I just wanted to and hoped that these images would share a feeling that I had walking and standing among the stones of this amazing public sculpture.

Today’s post is a little different, while In Berlin I came across the story of Sophie scholl and the body of Students of which she was a big part, called the “white rose“, Sophies’ story needs words, is all about words!. Words they, and she,this group used, words full of truth! yet by the simple act of using these words so many of these students including Sophie lost there lives!

If you want to try and understand what life was like under the Nazi dictatorship of the 1930’s and 1940’s, in Germany then you would be hard pushed to find any better example than the life story of Sophie scholl and the white rose movement, This was a group of German students who like many felt extremely disturbed and deeply saddened by the events they found happening around them and they simply wanted to express this feeling.

For the act of using their minds and voices to express what was a natural reaction, they lost their own lives. Sophie Scholl is one of the most famous of these student she was executed on 22 February 1943 (aged 21). She is just one individual among millions who lost their lives during the horrors, but I feel her story adds pure clarity to the events that she could not and would not tolerate unfolding around her!

How many of us today would be so brave?

“Who among us has any conception of the dimensions of shame that will befall us and our children when one day the veil has fallen from our eyes and the most horrible crimes – crimes that infinity outdistance every human measure – reach the light of day”


Sophie scholl

It is an absolute tragedy and as Sophie herself said inhuman CRIME that someone who could and should have spent a lifetime adding to the world around herself, contributing to man kind! was killed by men who only held bitterness and discrimination of all kinds in their hearts.

I feel that by knowing more about human people like Sophie scholl, I understand the history of the Nazi’s much better, these men and women who formed their ranks embodied the very heart and soul of evil and bitterness, heartless discrimination of all kinds and not just racist discrimination but ones based of what they felt was a social right to be better than other humans based on nothing!

There is no-one better than anyone else, there is no position based on wealth, location of birth or physical standing that puts anyone higher in life than anyone else !! PERIOD!

I would like to declare myself a member of the “white rose” ! as I know if I lived Back then at 21 I would have wanted to join!

Sophie Scholl – an ANGLE in the darkness !!

Quotes from Sophie Scholl the white rose


A Friday morning poem, “Friday Morning” – by: Ghada Shahbender

The Red Cottage door
Irish Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington

Friday Morning – Poem by Ghada Shahbender

A blank wall the ugly color of dust
Two drain pipes covered in pigeon droppings and rust
I roll down the shutters to keep Friday morning out
The humid air, the children who swear and the parents that shout.

Newspapers, a cigarette and a huge coffee cup
Heart pouring to Kika, waiting for my children to wake up.
Remembering the years when they came to my bed at dawn
Droopy eyes and toothless mouths open wide in a sweet breathed yawn.

They have grown up and I have aged.
The boys actually drive and the girl is engaged.
I tell the parrot it’s been a wonderful trip.
I pick up my coffee and take another sip.


An October Sunset, Duncannon Beach, County Wexford, Ireland

A collection of images, all taken on my favorite beach in county Wexford – Duncannon beach, with its fort overlooking one end of the beach and a view down toward hook head at the other. The Sunsets here in October can be amazing and full of Autumn light 🙂 🙂

There are also pictures here of Molly, our much loved golden retriever, she is sadly no longer with us but she is always remembered and missed for moment like these ones. It was always great fun watching her exploring beaches and the sea, she love swimming so much she would spend hours returning sticks and balls from the water 🙂 🙂


Sonnet to Collecting Seashells

Sonnet to Collecting Seashells

During youth I was quite the collector
of ocean cretin’s annealed sandcastles
Though the hosts inside could not be cheaper,
their fleshy coats were worth all the hassles

Content I was amassing worn seashells;
daily did this fine collection accrue
Though furnished, barren felt those wooden shelves,
as even pearls are lesser than a jewel

Still, the sand was warm; the waves were soothful
and regardless of what hollowness struck,
the beach granted a chance to feel fruitful
so long as one had either skill or luck

Alone was I, but daresay not lonely,
but I was not happy until married.

Original Poem


The Angel – A poem by William Blake

A September Sunrise, County Kilkenny
Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington

poet William Blake
#11 on top 500 poets

The Angel – Poem by William Blake

I dreamt a dream! What can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen
Guarded by an Angel mild:
Witless woe was ne’er beguiled!

And I wept both night and day,
And he wiped my tears away;
And I wept both day and night,
And hid from him my heart’s delight.

So he took his wings, and fled;
Then the morn blushed rosy red.
I dried my tears, and armed my fears
With ten-thousand shields and spears.

Soon my Angel came again;
I was armed, he came in vain;
For the time of youth was fled,
And grey hairs were on my head.

William Blake


William Butler Yeats country, Those Images A poem

Those Images – Poem by William Butler Yeats

What if I bade you leave
The cavern of the mind?

There’s better exercise
In the sunlight and wind.

I never bade you go
To Moscow or to Rome.

Renounce that drudgery,
Call the Muses home.

Seek those images
That constitute the wild,
The lion and the virgin,
The harlot and the child.

Find in middle air
An eagle on the wing,
Recognise the five
That make the Muses sing.

William Butler Yeats


Irish landscape photography , On Summer Hill, Poem By: John K Trainer

On summer hill
fading to black and white
Irish Landscape images
Nikon D700
Tamron 17mm lens
Nigel Borrington

On summer Hill
John K Trainer

The fragrance of a memory
From childhood long ago
I’m brought back
To a fenced in back yard
Crayola blue sky
Burnt umber ground
Islands of green and yellow grass
The scent of Summer Hill wafts
As the unseen is revealed
A dream remembered then forgotten
You say it didn’t happen
I recollect the aroma that says it did


Craftsmen in pictures : Tom Allison – blacksmith

Tom Allison blacksmith blueberry hill farm and muckross farm
county kerry
Nigel Borrington

TOM ALLISON

Last week while visiting Muckross Traditional Farm, I was lucky enough to meet and chat with Tom Allison, he is an experienced professional and you can tell that he has a passion for blacksmithing. With his easy-going way of showing you how he works and creates some amazing items.

Tom studied blacksmithing at Hereford College in 1997 and continued his training with an apprenticeship in Wales for 2 years. Tom moved to Sneem in 2000 to set up his own forge and since then has completed a number of major commissions.

I spend a good amount of time watching Tom work in the old forge at Muckross Traditional Farm while he demonstrated the old skills of blacksmithing. His work ranges from contemporary art and designs to traditional historical reproduction and restoration.


Friday Poetry – Old Bones, by -Gary Snyder

Old Bones

Out there walking round, looking out for food,
a rootstock, a birdcall, a seed that you can crack
plucking, digging, snaring, snagging,
barely getting by,

no food out there on dusty slopes of scree—
carry some—look for some,
go for a hungry dream.
Deer bone, Dall sheep,
bones hunger home.

Out there somewhere
a shrine for the old ones,
the dust of the old bones,
old songs and tales.

What we ate—who ate what—
how we all prevailed.

Gary Snyder


Serenity Lake By Charleigh Huston

Serenity Lake

Charleigh Huston Dec 2015

‘Twas my spring of youth in that lot
That now haunts my mind by that spot
Of which I could not love less –
Wonderful loneliness,
Of the lake’s Serenity gown,
With nature circled ’round.

But when Death hath reached its grasp
Upon Serenity’s water – poured into his flask,
The sadistic sagacious wind went by
Murmuring the funeral cry –
Then – I finally awake –
To the terrors of Serenity Lake.

Yet I persist that it was not fright!
Simply Death’s delight –
Fueled by the Void of Sorrow,
Pierced by Serenity’s arrow –

No! – This Love I must define!
The trip to the lake, of thee and thine.

O! – Death’s grasp laid in that voracious wave,
Enticing Serenity to be my eternal grave,
Upon that very fatal spot –
Where the two children rot.

For no soul shall ever make,
A Heaven out of Serenity Lake.


A Dream sunset, Cardigan bay, Wales. A Poem : Ode  By Arthur O’Shaughnessy

A Dream sunset Cardigan bay
Wales
August 2017 Nigel Borrington

We are like the Dreamer …….

Ode 
By Arthur O’Shaughnessy

We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers
And sitting by desolate streams;
World losers and world forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.

Happy new year 2018 - new year full moon Nigel Borrington

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world’s great cities.
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire’s glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song’s measure
Can trample an empire down.


We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o’erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world’s worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.


welcome to the World of Visual Inspiration!

.

As someone with a love of visual imagery I am alway looking for inspiration, something we all need. There are some wonderful and creative movies being produced these days, yet! if you just watch ordinary TV you will never get to see any of them. The world of main stream TV is only interested in endless and mindless soap operas and reality shows, useless and the death of creativity!

I spend a lot of time these days watching movies shared on Vimeo.com , this is a world of pure creativity, modern and open minded.

So this post id just to share one of the places you can find new ideas and get you creativity flowing again 🙂

welcome to the world of NOWNESS …..

Check out https://vimeo.com/mikeolbinski channel for a great example 🙂