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A short essay about poetry in a photo:
The true nature of a flowers’ photo?

Some photos are like hidden poems, contours made of petals, colours tailored for insects whose visits we also dream about.
Stomata, we can’t see them in this image, but they are like windows to the plants’ internal secrets. They expel humidity and oxygen and feed us with their inner dreams; essences of odours we breed in. Enchantment is the first word for the first feeling they produce in some of us.
A flower’s shadow is always penetrated by the sun’s light, never pitch dark; a grey % of our imagination mixed with reality. But what’s truly that?
A poem is an opportunity to dig in not in the profoundness of an image but in the transformation that “object” produces in us.
Sometimes, as in the very first time, to see a flower is to understand that there is another language in that apparent stillness. An alphabet of pigments and shapes directed to those who are the readers. We aren’t them. A pointless message and language are something only partially grasped. A flower sculps in us a new art of life that only she can understand or foresee. A poem shows us distinct feelings as its colours, painted in sheets of paper made of mysterious transformed leaves.

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Today a poem for the earthquake victims in Turkey and Syria. 
May this poem bring forth a renewed flower in us.


 The Moment - Kathleen Raine

To write down all I contain at this moment

I would pour the desert through an hour-glass,

The sea through a water-clock,

Grain by grain and drop by drop

Let in the trackless, measureless, mutable seas and sands.

For earth's days and nights are breaking over me,

The tides and sands are running through me,

And I have only two hands and a heart to hold the desert and the sea.

What can I contain of it? It escapes and eludes me,

The tides wash me away,

The desert shifts under my feet.

Source: http://www.katelyden.com/home/2015/1/5/the-moment.html

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Today we visit mother Earth.

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