Friday, October 9, 2009

Forget your troubles, forget everything.

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On almost the incendiary eve
Of several near deaths,
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When one at the great least of your best loved
And always known must leave 
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Lions and fires of his flying breath,
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Of your immortal friends
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Who'd raise the organs of the counted dust
To shoot and sing your praise,
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One who called deepest down shall hold his peace
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That cannot sink or cease
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Endlessly to his wound
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In many married London's estranging grief.
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On almost the incendiary eve
When at your lips and keys,
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Locking, unlocking, the murdered strangers weave,
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One who is most unknown,
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Your polestar neighbour, sun of another street,
Will dive up to his tears.
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He'll bathe his raining blood in the male sea
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Who strode for your own dead
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And wind his globe out of your water thread
And load the throats of shells
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with every cry since light
Flashed first across his thunderclapping eyes.
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On almost the incendiary eve
Of deaths and entrances,
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When near and strange wounded on London's waves
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Have sought your single grave,
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One enemy, of many, who knows well
Your heart is luminous
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In the watched dark, quivering through locks and caves,
Will pull the thunderbolts
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To shut the sun, plunge, mount your darkened keys
And sear just riders back,
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Until that one loved least
Looms the last Samson of your zodiac.

"Deaths and Entrances" by Dylan Thomas
All photographs taken from Sally Scott's Catalogues.

Blah, blah, blah. It's the weekend. 
Having brunch with the parents in the morning.
Need to express how sad I am over Irving Penn's death.
He was a master and a true inspiration in the fashion and photo world.

2 comments:

Heart in a cage said...

lovely photos! i hope you'll have a nice day!;)

erin meagan said...

all of the photos and words you posted were lovely.