postaweek 2011 – Chronicles of Illusions

Weekly Photo Challenge: Winter

New Year’s Eve 2011 is here…

So while you stroll through the photos how about a little ABBA !!!

It’s also summer here in New Zealand.

Not that you’d know it today.

This was issued by the Met Service for the area I live in – Bay of Plenty – plenty of rain – which usually happens here on Christmas Day:

Bay of Plenty – FORECAST

Rain, with heavy falls, is forecast to continue through to Sunday morning. In the 24 hours from 9am Saturday to 9am Sunday, expect another 90 to 120mm inland, especially in the eastern ranges, with 50 to 70mm possible about lower lying coastal areas. Heaviest falls this morning and afternoon may reach 25mm/hr in the ranges. Note, further rain or showers possible during the remainder of Sunday.

In 1984 I spent my first Christmas in Holland and it snowed on the day as requested.

I loved winter in that magical land.

These are some photos from my first white winter…

8-31-2011_007 — Dad came over for Christmas...

Colin Arthur Bryant

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Kinderdijk

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Joshi Daniel Photography

UNGEMALTES

Lucid Gypsy

Cee’s Life Photography Blog

And if you still want to see more: Weekly Photo Challenge: Winter

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And on this note I would like to wish everyone a wonderful 2012 !!

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Remember no man is a failure who has friends.

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For some insight into Auld Lang Syne and its history visit ‘New Year’s song has a convoluted history’.

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Earlier Photo Challenges

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X is for Xanthippe

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the rooms are empty

except for the memories

of times squandered,

a father she hungered for affection from

a mother absent in all but the physical

laid the foundation

upon which her future was built,

no touch was allowed past the barriers,

a steely glare

and sharp words

formed high walls

and sculpted loved ones

in to acceptable moulds

until they poured free

and flowed in other directions,

stuck on a verge

she remained,

protecting herself

with violent tongue

amidst fiery eyed silences,

tis there that she reigns supreme

in the sepia tones of the sollitary

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xanthippe = ill-tempered woman

Xanthippe (pronounced /zænˈθɪpi/; Greek: Ξανθίππη) was the wife of Socrates.

Frank Wedekind (1864-1918) wrote Xanthippe – I was unable to find a video of it, but for those of you musically inclined…

William Shakespeare mentioned Xanthippe in his play The Taming of the Shrew, Act 1 Scene 2:

Signior Hortensio, ‘twixt such friends as we

Few words suffice; and therefore, if thou know

One rich enough to be Petruchio’s wife,

As wealth is burden of my wooing dance,

Be she as foul as was Florentius’ love,

As old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrewd

As Socrates’ Xanthippe or a worse,

She moves me not, or not removes, at least,

Affection’s edge in me, were she as rough

As are the swelling Adriatic seas:

I come to wive it wealthily in Padua;

If wealthily, then happily in Padua.

My favourite The Taming of the Shrew is the BBC One version starring Shirley Henderson and Rufus Sewell.

This post is part of ABC Wednesday.

For more interpretations of the letter X visit here.

W is for Wasserman

wind beat against his chest,

sandy bullets scouring flesh from his body

salt crusting a white outline of his features,

long lashes framing dulled eyes,

that heard her tears as they’d fallen on the shoreline

felt her cries rush in over the waves,

saw straining wood drum out its creaking rhythm,

as it rung out in synchrony with his beating heart

heavy canvas unfurled to carry her away

he entered the grey alabaster tipped water at a run,

diving under the turbulence both inside and out

deeper he pushed

as the water caressed away all hint of humanity

skin forming almost forgotten pathways faster than his laboured breath,

pain fused him once again into his true self,

a reconnection…

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further and faster he traveled

shadowing the dark silhouette above

making for open sea

time was immeasurable

in the cold, wet universe he reclaimed,

night took hold,

the moon shimmered silver

its light reflecting between the water’s surface and the becalmed vessel,

halting, hair flung about his face,

it surprised him –

this minute space for pleasure –

to see it again match the colour of the weed

that beckoned relentlessly from the rocks

on the sea bed below,

a reconnection…

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creatures indiscernible told him of her sorrow,

so heavy it had stilled the sea,

driven the warmth of the sun in to hiding

body taut,

icicles of rage raced from heart to fingertips,

flexing his lower length

a natural precision, control returning,

a reconnection…

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she tasted him within the salt spray,

singing him to her,

a tune no human ear could determine,

rumbled over her lips

dropped overboard,

a ribbon carrying her longing

for him,

for the water denied her,

she sang on,

a reconnection…

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spinning,

he whirl-pooled his way up

turning under the hull,

slamming,

down again,

spinning,

slamming,

down,

spin,

slam,

debris,

panic,

bodies,

broken,

her hand warmed his blood,

cooled his rage,

and the weed beckoned them relentlessly

from the sea bed below,

a reconnection…

Wasserman – a male sea-monster; a sort of merman/a mythical sea-monster being part man and thought to destroy ships

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Part of ABC Wednesday Round 9

U is for Unbosom

adultery

a family tree

of knotted ebony

broken branches

in the elements

addiction

parallel existences

touching ?

never

criminal

but when ferocious storms strike

unspeakables

buried in dense foliage

violence

‘shush’ the wind

whispers and rushes

to cover the sound

envy

one small sound

growing

searching for light

clean air

hate

a place to cleanse

the past

cry it in to the world

lies

ungag the silence

remove the mask

break the shackles

secrets

speak freedom in to being

life in to truth

being in to life

let fly the truth

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unbosom = to pour out; to tell freely

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This week’s contribution for ABC Wednesday

Q is for Quiddity

I came up in a time

men were men

didn’t wear no earrings

ain’t hard to figure out

I came up in

Martin Luther King’s time

rough

you take away the ass whuppin’s

you get people wearin’ pants below their belly buttons

nobody knows

where the nose goes

when the door’s closed

called me

ugly

ignorant

too small

a gorilla

the truth

I love to see the Butterfly

I wasn’t a big guy

People thought big guys would eat me up

but

it was the other way around

my Olympic gold medal

gave all eleven of my kids a piece

it’ll come together again

when they put me down

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quiddity = unique essence; eccentricity

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This is a found poem taken from an article of quotes from the mouth of a legend.

I saw him fight when boxing was more than a brightly lit circus.

R.I.P Joe Frazier

We know your essence.

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Posted with many others over at ABC Wednesday: The letter Q

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The definition of a found poem is: Found poetry is a type of poetry created by taking words, phrases, and sometimes whole passages from other sources and reframing them as poetry by making changes in spacing and/or lines (and consequently meaning), or by altering the text by additions and/or deletions. The resulting poem can be defined as either treated: changed in a profound and systematic manner; or untreated: virtually unchanged from the order, syntax and meaning of the original. Sourced from Wikipedia.

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Another found poem of mine: Cheap Crazy Love Affair

Weekly Photo Challenge: Opportunity

After having spent a week camping in Ngorongoro Crater, Tanzania, with only enough water for drinking, plus one cup per day to clean teeth and wash with, the opportunity to wash my hair at this petrol station was too tempting – within minutes the rest of the women on the truck were happily following my example.

The locals had been crossing the street when we came near, to avoid the smelly white folk – and this provided them with a good dose of laughter.

These guys decided to make their own opportunity. We came upon a stretch of road where a tree had fallen across. It was too heavy to move, and as we stood pondering a solution out they jumped from the jungle, offering to chop away with their machetes to rid the road of the tree – for a price of course. The tree cleared, we paid them and drove away only to look back to see them already busy felling another tree for the next group of unwary travellers.