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Another cry in the wilderness . . . journeying out into endless space . . .
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As reflections go this weekend, it's not much of a reflection in this crystal ball, a bit of sky with horizon, a double reflection actually, from the front outer surface, and from the back inner surface, the photographer doubled in the middle, the same elbow pointing up and down.
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A crystal ball on a gravestone, an overturned candle holder.
Who can say what the future holds ?
What wavering flame will light the ever after ?
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Where do the fake flowers come from that people put on graves ?
How on earth are they made ?
No machine could do this painstaking work so perfectly
I can't help but wonder if there are kids in sweat shops
Somewhere sewing these bits of synthetic fabric together,
Forming the brittle blooms, glued on plastic stalks,
And finally placed on tombstones ?
Looking surprisingly like real flowers
Not wilting quite so fast as the natural
Yet fading nevertheless
Over the passing years
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What kind of a world do we live in
Where massive amounts of industrial and human energy
Are expended churning out fake plastic flowers ?
I find myself asking the question more and more often these days :
What if we were wrong ?
What if we were wrong about nearly everything ?
What if there was another way to live ?
A way to live with no plastics strangling our oceans,
No petroleum causing wars, no guns, no money,
No cars, no television, no movies,
No computers to send thoughts like this around the world,
No nuclear anything, no jets screaming across the skies,
No greed, no hate, no tribes bashing each others brains out,
No religions causing only divisions,
While the human race knows only endless multiplication
Subtracting intelligence from the idiocy of infinite addition
A way to live with none of this madness we wallow in today
What if there were another way ?
What if we were wrong ?
What if we were just going through the motions
Because someone told us when we were little
That this was how it had to be ?
What if we were wrong ?
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(Perhaps a subconscious tribute, it occurred to me later, to "Imagine" from Mr Lennon ? Nothing new under the sun . . .)
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Posts
16 comments:
"D'ailleurs, n'y-avait-il pas un avion qui s'appellait un mystère ?"
Il y en a aussi un qui s'appelle Mirage... Mirage de notre société, mirage de notre perfection, infatuation de nos âmes satisfaites...
Il arrive, et il ne servair à rien de nous planquer, car nous seront tous punis par où nous avons péché (et par péché, j'entends les fautes que nous commettant journellement en mettant notre pauvre terre sous pression de façon si immonde.)
Oui, en effet, et ce seront des rafales de vent qui vont balayer pas mal de choses je pense, oui, les phantoms de nos illusions vont hanter les nuages, (the sky will spitfire and hurricanes will fly...)
Only you, Owen, only you would write about these crystal balls and fake flowers found on tombstones... When I visited the local cemetery with my grandmother as a child, I remember disliking these flowers. They seemed so... well, fake, I guess. The crystal balls were definitely more interesting, especially if they included mementos and small objects. I like your poem. Valid questions, all. If there is another way, I am afraid we may never hear of it, and keep "going through the motions..." -- Ok. Well done. Am feeling now officially feeling blue on this overcast Monday morning. :-) Time to hit the Nutella jar (with a spoon, of course!) PS: Surely, if there was another way, then Nutella would still be around?! :-) Veronique (French Girl in Seattle)
Nutella is forever.
And an odd thing, our 18 year old daughter was home for the weekend, and went back to her school on Sunday evening. Today, Monday afternoon, our 15 year old daughter got the Nutella jar out of the cupboard when she got home from school to prepare a snack, and lo and behold, the jar was empty ! Now that is something to feel blue about ! And who would have cleaned it out and then put the empty jar back in the cupboard ??? 18 year old is the prime suspect in this dramatic criminal case... Under investigation. We are dusting the jar for fingerprints. The cats claim they had nothing to do with it.
Bonjour,
Je suis heureuse de vous retrouver après mes longues semaines d'absence...
Des photos superbes et de très belles réflexions remplies d'intérêt...
Gros bisous à vous
My first reaction is to dislike the fake flowers on principal... but then, when you think about it, you can't help but wonder at the singularly human story that lies behind every one...
Made me wonder whether real flowers would be able to bare that much craving, that is felt.
Chère Martine Alison... bon retour et vite aux pinceaux pour que nous puissions mieux voir les endroits et les moments délicieux passés en voyage... et merci bcp...
Hi Steve... if only they could tell us the stories they know... maybe someday I'll have to go looking for their birthplace... they must come from somewhere, and I can't imagine there are too many fake flower factories on the face of the earth...
Tag Robert, you have a good point there... craving indeed...
Like Steve, my first reaction is to profoundly dislike the notion of fake flowers, but someone went to such incredible trouble to make these, anonymously, and without knowing where in the world they would end up, left out of doors to fend for themselves through the long winter nights, under snow and rain and frost... auf wieder sehen...
Owen,
I send to you today...
A poem I wrote when I was a ten year old slug, still wet behind the mantle...
________________________________
"My Paper Bag."
I can't throw it away.
Something inside of it, inside of me
Yet, as I stare at the small specks of wood and glue, I am somehow able to understand how it feels.....
_________________________
It has been almost a year since my last slug post, Mr. Slug and I have been sliding alot and miss the time spent out here in bloggyland. We have been working very hard to keep slugs rest in good repair. We promise to return victoriously, there are many napkins yet to post. The scanner has been broken for some time but another has been ordered so that you will once again enjoy a slime trail or two of a fall evening. We both hope you are doing well and are excited to see you have released 2 new photo books! Bravo! Sending you the very best of luck and many green leaves to nibble. Those fake flowers are lovely to look at but do not offer much in the way of a slug lunch. :)
Very Truly Yours, we remain, your most obedient servants,
Mrs. Slug and Mrs. Slug, Messrs. Mr. Lunchbox, Canopener and Fork.
I really like the "wall" of pinkish and peach cloth (?)tulips in sunlight.
Yes it's mostly the result of choosing one way rather than another, like the choice for using synthetic plastic patented in 1909!
Wow, that turned into one HEAVY poem having begun so gently! At least the French evidently have a better class of artificial flowers in their graveyards. Ours tend to look mightily tacky and plasticy. Perhaps we are the ones who buy them from three year old workers in east asian sweat shops.
My favorite shots are the flowers that fill the frame. The lighting is exceptional and the droplets on the last like old tears. Personally, I think the answer to What if we are wrong, sadly, is pretty overwhelmingly, yes, we've been wrong. Lately, I've been giving attention to my own "conditioned thoughts." Many things I've taken for granted are falling away...
C'est beau... ;-)
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