Sunday, 18 October 2009

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26 comments:

  1. Owen18 October 2009 at 02:33

    I think the blue turtle just took us from the bright Summer of the previous post into the deep fog of a dark Winter day... how this single bloom survived the transition is beyond me, perhaps paralyzed by cold it could not find the strength to let go and fall to the ground like all the others around it... or it was resisting with all its strength, holding on, holding on...

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  2. pensum18 October 2009 at 04:09

    having sketched
    a graphite night
    she put down her pencil
    picked up an eraser
    and summoned forth
    a star as delicate
    and white
    as her skin

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  3. S.18 October 2009 at 12:52

    I adore this photograph. When I close my eyes, the world about me is devoid of color. I see only shades of black and white, all hints of silver.

    Pensum's words are brilliant, and especially beautiful, they marry well here, my love.

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  4. Marion McCready18 October 2009 at 13:21

    nothing more to say except I love this

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  5. Anonymous18 October 2009 at 16:29

    Four petals remain
    Each representing a letter
    It can only be this
    It's talking about:
    _ _ _ _

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  6. jeff18 October 2009 at 22:20

    Les couleurs vives de cette tortue bleue demandaient un ton plus nuancé qui apaise cette "excitation" soudaine de la rétine...:-)

    Avec des fleurs... et quelques douces pensées !

    Bises

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  7. Ffflaneur19 October 2009 at 13:17

    well this photo did it, an "ah...." escaped from my lips.

    (which is the stage of slightly expressive speechlessnes)

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  8. Peter19 October 2009 at 20:28

    decapitated.. dried.. detached..
    still keep whispering though..

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  9. Vladimir C.19 October 2009 at 21:21

    Cât de mult se poate ascunde în spatele unei simple flori? Minunată compoziţie!

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  10. Roxana20 October 2009 at 20:17

    Owen, the blue turtle has come across many wondrous things in her journey, but indeed you are right, what could be more miraculous than the strength and frailty of a small white bloom?

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  11. Roxana20 October 2009 at 20:43

    Michael -

    not only the stars.
    the night itself
    only exists
    in the glow of her skin.

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  12. Roxana20 October 2009 at 20:52

    my dear S. -
    you came out of your silver tainted silence to embrace my frost flower...
    i miss you.
    when will you write again?

    meanwhile i am reading your salted poems and walking in the paper garden, again and again.

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  13. Roxana20 October 2009 at 20:53

    thank you Sorlil, i am so glad to hear that :-)

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  14. Roxana20 October 2009 at 21:05

    Robert, you whisper poems yet keep us away from the knowledge of secrets :-)

    four petals remain,
    each representing a moon.
    it's upon this battle-ground of our life
    that they shed their sadness.

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  15. Roxana20 October 2009 at 21:43

    merci Jeff, de tout coeur... oui, apaisement et douceur, parfois (souvent) c'est tout ce dont je reve... mais puis l'exuberance des couleurs et de la lumiere revient, pareille a celle qui eblouit dans tes photos.

    grosses bises :-)

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  16. Roxana20 October 2009 at 21:45

    ah ffflaneur, "the stage of slightly expressive speechlessnes" :-)
    how i enjoy that!

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  17. Roxana20 October 2009 at 21:46

    Peter, yes. still whispering through, how lovely you put it!
    thank you...

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  18. Roxana20 October 2009 at 21:46

    Vladimir, ce surpriza. multumesc din suflet!

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  19. Prospero20 October 2009 at 22:17

    i had the strange sensation that i took this one...
    is this rapture possible?
    or else, you've been tasting the forbidden fruits of my garden.

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  20. Roxana20 October 2009 at 23:15

    i knew you would have this sensation, Prospero. i had it myself.
    ah, that taste, melting on my tongue.

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  21. Anonymous21 October 2009 at 03:13

    Than let me take you to the moon, four times, to share happy bloom, throughout the night, in search of rhyme.

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  22. Adelino Marques23 October 2009 at 00:04

    Ah que beleza simples...e o pequeno grão cinzento a criar o mistério e a vontade de tocar...
    Belo, Roxana

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  23. Roxana25 October 2009 at 10:54

    Adelino, i don't know how to thank you for these kind words... a little poem, so beautiful:

    “Quando, Lídia, vier o nosso outono
    Com o inverno que há nele,
    Preservemos Um pensamento, não para a futura
    Primavera, que é de outrem,
    Nem para o estio, de quem somos mortos,
    Senão para o que fica do que passa —
    O amarelo atual que as folhas vivem
    E as torna diferentes"

    Ricardo Reis

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  24. swiss26 October 2009 at 11:53

    of the last three this is the one i keep coming back to but i haven't quite formulated in my head quite why. it reminds me fo something but i don;t know what and i ahven't had the time to get all those flower books out again!

    there's a something, maybe the kind of graphite quality in the image that's like the softness of a drawing...

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  25. Roxana26 October 2009 at 22:18

    swiss, i think i know what you mean, i can't understand either why i love this image so much, it must be related to that graphite softness you mention...

    those flower-books! :-)

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  26. Beth Niquette11 November 2009 at 01:50

    Hello there!

    Your work fills my eyes. which is the greatest compliment I can give.

    This picture expecially has a strangely remeniscent feeling of another photographer I greatly admire.

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