Metaphors in bath

We are nowadays happy with our new membrane bathroom door that now sheds a certain mauve hue on baths,while we are in song, with shower flowering on our cool backs. The shower streams as if from rock skirted by trees ,its vapors swirling like their winter breaths.

Our song is under breath, in some mutters. Our vapors are on glass that hides in smoke our rather banal faces, their jejune laughter. We are, in fact, making up metaphors, being upbeat about our recent turns of phrase.

Star count

She has now come to keep the night in a state of rumble and peace unkept ,a remember of a day that stretched like days in no hurry of denouement when nothing would happen.

An old lady went away of malignancy leaving a high and hiccuping husband with a dancing throat in the kitchen in male egotism and paternal rights. The lady has since embraced her fire leaving her man entirely unembraced.

She whose eyes have long gone wild in her son’s sleep, is looking for stars in the night at their last count by him. She has forgot the count in the melee of she who went away to embrace fire leaving husband highly unembraced.

Scribble lost

Between now and then is a mere scribble lost on the faces in pony-tails, in tiny brick-red flowers wedged in hair.

The hair that jostled with a white smoothness on evanescent blouses on girl backs.

The backs that smiled directly to celebrating trees shedding many a tear of joy in yellow leaves, on their own circles of shadows.

Milking the buffaloes

Back home, we love our buffaloes in their comical interludes between their chewing and shivering their leather of flies. Their tails are flying up and down their backs covered by egrets on private agenda.

We take no chances with their milk these days, our society’s morals being low. We cannot not trust our buffaloes with tap water. We therefore have them be milked right before us so that milk flows in our gleaming stainless steel vessels undiluted.

Paper Flowers

Emily made gorgeous things on the back of envelopes and what beauties ! Later the envelopes would make such fine origami !

In the high-end red chairs they receive your envelopes with money wishing them a long happy married life. There are lawyers everywhere under layers of dark gowns.First there are red chairs and white floral envelopes presented with good -wish- money over a handshake .Then come lawyers with their notices in envelopes. Their envelopes make no origami.

Emily therefore avoids both men and lawyers .Empty envelopes make such fine paper flowers !


They cut trees on Mondays to stop them hobnobbing with electric overhead wires.  The branches are lopped off  and we become powerless.

The inverter is old ass and has lost the fire in its batteries. I have to spend sixteen thousand bucks to replace them. I am powerless.


Ah, the first photograph with no humans ,characters that people my story. Never mind, a “No problem” boat has character. It is not a bluest of boats in river nor what structures blue space .

Just a blip someone notices blue- an empty boat in a shaking wind and water shaking so obligingly to the passing wind under a sky- a colorable exercise about blue.

But our humans are everywhere in blue boats with empty promise of an Eden that has no snakes in trees, lush on this side of fore-mother. At times they are mere puppets lying outside box before a show.

(A poem describing a photographic journey)