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Saturday, 13 June 2009

The Vacant Estate


The estate stands vacant: the silent stone dogs,
The lawns well grassed, the checkered polyanthus,
The polished porphyry, and –- thus
The fool’s delusion of an opening –-
All the machines are running. It appears
They have simply turned them on and gone.
The coral root oozes syrup sharp as quince,
Jasmine clings to the perspiring palms,
By the rock silverlings glide belly up.
In your dream all the machines are running
(Can they be turned off?) out of the empty house
Across the emerald turf toward you,
Tridents waving like wild stalks of corn,
Antennae scraping the clouds… and then they’re gone.
You turn around and it’s tomorrow,
Nature has shut her doors.

Photo credits: danila85 (top), Julie Shiel: via Dark Roasted Blend, 2008


Dale said...

"Nature has shut her doors." These poems are great. Thanks for sharing them.

Mariana Soffer said...

I haven't seen so many good pictures in a single page in such a long time ago, do you know "juan travnik", from argentina, or maybe "esteban pastorino", check them out. And the poem I liked it, but need to check it slower. Time is against me.

TC/BTP said...


Thanks. I found these. Nice.

Esteban Pastorino Diaz

Juan Travnik

Mariana Soffer said...

Yes, juan page is not that good, take a look at this work he did from the soldiers of the folklands:

The interesting thing Esteban has is that he does his own cameras, that is why the pictures are so weird.

They used to work at my place a couple of years ago.