Autumn Artichokes – An Ekphrastic* Poem (One Shot Story)

Dave Powell replied:

Comment posted: 25/07/2025

Many thanks Gary! It was a 720 nm. When I tried a 900 nm filter, the photos were completely monotonic. Not a problem per se... but I really love the Nikon's "native" IR colors through the 720!

Gary Smith replied:

Comment posted: 25/07/2025

Thanks!

Dave Powell replied:

Comment posted: 25/07/2025

Hey Tonn... don't sell yourself short! Your poetic response was beautiful. Thanks so much! -Dave

Tonn replied:

Comment posted: 25/07/2025

Thanks Dave, your photo launched a new poem last night, see what you think… In Time’s Passing For life is a stone in the river… High on the Downs, I watch time flow a farmer ploughs Earth, with agèd skills, A white horse, trots over ribs of wintered snow bleaching, like the bones of an ancient kill. And Time is the river on that stone… Footprints, persist long in the mud but are shimmered, in the rippled stream, The path, is a long, black, hard, trudge echoing with dead-men’s dreams. And Life is a stone in that river… In the burnt summer; here we made love your black hair, sudden, against the grass, Now, you’re far away, in bright London while I'm abandoned, to a fading past. And Time is the river on that stone… For you, are heavy with his child who will grow to know different skies, Mine, unborn, will not see my hills as only the unliving, ever truly die… Our Love was the stone in that river… And Time the bitter river upon our Stone…

Tonn replied:

Comment posted: 25/07/2025

Sorry looks like autocorrect got to it, I’ll try later

Tonn replied:

Comment posted: 25/07/2025

Thanks Dave, your photo launched a new poem last night, see what you think… In Time’s Passing For life is a stone in the river… High on the Downs, I watch time flow a farmer ploughs Earth, with agèd skills, A white horse, trots over ribs of wintered snow bleaching, like the bones of an ancient kill. And Time is the river on that stone… Footprints, persist long in the mud but are shimmered, in the rippled stream, The path, is a long, black, hard, trudge echoing with dead-men’s dreams. And Life is a stone in that river… In the burnt summer; here we made love your black hair, sudden, against the grass, Now, you’re far away, in bright London while I'm abandoned, to a fading past. And Time is the river on that stone… For you, are heavy with his child who will grow to know different skies, Mine, unborn, will not see my hills as only the unliving, ever truly die… Our Love was the stone in that river… And Time the bitter river upon our Stone… Hope that is better

Dave Powell replied:

Comment posted: 25/07/2025

Boy, the earlier autocorrect really did a number your poem! Oddly, on my PC, poem line breaks don't seem to be honored in 35mmc comments. But they display properly on my iPhone! So I'll read yours there when I return this afternoon. But its use of alternating lines about life, stones, time and the river is nicely done. And, in fact, your poem's sentiments remind me of the following passage from Thoreau's Walden: The Pond in Winter-- “At the advent of each individual into this life, may we not suppose that … a bar has risen to the surface somewhere?” I wrote a poem called "Lovely Sand" inspired by that line. (But it's too long to repeat here.) Thanks for your corrected poem... and I'll be back in touch soon! Cheers, -Dave

Dave Powell replied:

Comment posted: 25/07/2025

Thank you so much, Jukka! ;-)

Dave Powell replied:

Comment posted: 26/07/2025

Great observations, Geoff! I happened to get "there" myself only last year... when I used a hand mirror reflecting in a wall mirror to see what was irritating the back of my head. And my first reaction was "Where'd the hair go back there?"

Dave Powell replied:

Comment posted: 26/07/2025

Thank you so much John!

Dave Powell replied:

Comment posted: 26/07/2025

That's wonderful to hear, Keith... Thank you!