Time doesn’t run out when creating…..

End of my very long day, one foot sticking out from under the computer to rest with ice pack making new joint feel relief, thoughts of two men creating to feed body, to feed camera life, apples, pine, fur, aspen infinitely more to grow and photograph. skin breathing, no cover for last seven weeks, happiness. like Johnny Appleseed, man who brought song, living Trees, with breath into living beings, consciousness to earth, for John, soil sacred like no other star mass coalesced like loam, deep brown from ice-age, day to Lord God Almighty, just thousands of years in His time. God, we thank You, from our breasts, beating cosmic heart, I now feel pulse of time, beating rhythm, made clear,

Pulse of time bestowed on my brother-in-law Robert, man with lens, nearly one million images, life with camera intro hand, tripod where needed, simple combination F stop, relating to shutter speed, aperture considerations, depth of field like John, Johnny planting bountiful fruit, my friend Robert, as there were a saint, I give his likeness to Robert, as I partake of juicy apples, thinking of the wild tree in our yard, surely this is used only for good, digging, shovel deep for trees, and lens beholds earth, and trees. Robert like Johnny, the two creative men for good, yes for that tree long in Jerusalem, there hung to die God made flesh, then the third day, well Johnny just as Robert, creative men, earth and camera, image of trees, fruit of tree. Men of stature, creating for the beauty of the earth, for feeding many as did that Nazarene, Gods Own. Amen.

Charles Taylor C 2018

Published by elgwyn

I was a University and community college instructor before retiring. I also worked in fast food restaurants, and retail stores. I am an ordinary man writing for because I want to write and because my education prepared me to write; BA English lit, MA English, EdS higher education, and MFA creative writing, free verse poetry and essays. Blogs are an answer to high-priced self-publishing. Walt Whitman had to self-publish his first 1000 copies of the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass because in 1855 poetry did not sell. Most poets make a living in other ways than writing. Wallace Stevens was an insurance executive, and TS Eliot was a banker. Many writers teach, and always there have been writers who have written because they needed to express their thoughts and feelings. They wrote not necessarily to make money but to express "the old universal truths of the human heart" according to Faulkner. Here I reach a wider audience I missed than by self-publishing, and I stand a better chance to reach a wider audience for less expense than self-publishing. I self-published my first books, Winter from Spring, and Meditations on Gratitude; poetry and photo books which were easier to self-publish than to seek a not to seek a publisher company. This blog allows me to write for an interested audience because I write poetry and personal essays. I write for a friendly audience and present to you a slice of my writing. Perhaps you will enjoy what you read.

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