Category Archives: Photographic Poetry

Photographic Poetry – “A Short Story of The Green”

Posted on February 20, 2010 by Andrew J. Nicewander| 493 Comments
The Green is approaching, advancing, converging, its tendrils are growing, its fingers enclosing, surrounding my frame

The Green is encroaching, impinging, infringing, its lusts never slaking, desires ever growing, Begon Devil Weed!

My fate I’m addressing, accepting, submitting, to where I am going?, for what I am living?, my life is depressing, The Green’s swimming nigh!

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Photographic Poetry – “A Short Story of the Witness of the Rocks”

Posted on February 13, 2010 by Andrew J. Nicewander| 506 Comments

For eons long I’ve seen the stewards of the world live cruel, rebellious lives

The irony’s not lost on my as still I stand while all of they with good, divine responsibility have felt the weight of their rebellion claim the life that they were granted by their kind, Creator King

For me and all my brethren tall are groaning quite majestically as we experience effects of sins of little men although we try with all our given strength to sing the praise of He who fashioned us when life was young, before the birth of all humanity

But in the death of He who my Creator sent, the little men, my stewards small, have found the only hope to live for all eternity, when sky and ground are made anew, when wickedness has disappeared and they are free from sin’s effects, in sweet communion with my Good, Creator King

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Photographic Poetry – “A Short Story on the Ravages of Time”

Posted on February 9, 2010 by Andrew J. Nicewander| 468 Comments

The gnarled ravages of time have worked their foul and terrifying magic, most insidiously thorough in their deconstructing work

Where once were Keeps and Bastions tall and fiercely bright now meekly stand defiant stones in dying rest, poor serfs of time, that cruel exacting lord

I long have lain upon this Rock, though once I lived upon the peak of warm, inviting halls, where members of humanity brought worship to their God above, where Kings and Monarchs once ruled o’er all the green, pastoral lands near round about, where now a recollection floats in time and space, remembering the golden days of mirthful joy gone softly, slowly by

And still that cold, unfeeling lord is marching on with I myself a slave unto its cruel and hateful work

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Photographic Poetry – “A Short Story of Warming Light”

Posted on January 16, 2010 by Andrew J. Nicewander| 513 Comments

I feel a steady warmth alighting on my supple back

Its peaceful tendrils coaxing me to life as deep I drink its offered salve, my fast I’m breaking with the dawning of the morn

I turn around to live the day, my brothers ‘bout me focused as they face as one into the gift of sweet and warming light

 

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Photographic Poetry – “A Short Story of Natural Contentment”

Posted on January 11, 2010 by Andrew J. Nicewander| 621 Comments

I stand here perched by lough and sliabh

A puny soul both ably blessed and slyly cursed

I’ll never be as grand as all the stony mountains great nor peaceful as the lovely lake that sits below in noble calm tranquility

But still I glory in my place, to view the beauty round about my growing wooden frame: the balded hills, the woolly trees and waters cool and sweet

And so I’m thankful to my Maker for the life I calmly, slowly live

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Photographic Poetry – “A Short Story of Fun”

Posted on December 22, 2009 by Andrew J. Nicewander| 522 Comments

 

 

Weeeee!

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Photographic Poetry – A Short Story of Floating Precipitation

Posted on December 11, 2009 by Andrew J. Nicewander| 532 Comments
My members float in flaccid, relaxing placidity

I skim my brother’s surface in patient calm existence

The light in sudden, terrifying fury blows through the bows of they we feed to guard my melancholy frame

The pain is fierce, excruciating hell; my senses are aflame, my mind is growing numb as death approaches nigh…

I’m melting softly in the cruel, awaking day

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Photographic Poetry – A Short Story of a Hill

Posted on December 5, 2009 by Andrew J. Nicewander| 581 Comments
My memory runs long and deep…

Past times when men were made as kings, who ruled upon my sweeping mound and then they died and passed me by…

Past times when fires came ablaze in worship to the little gods of little men who bled and died and passed me by…

Past times when forests blanketed my shallow slopes, when herds of deer ran in their primal glee, their rompus I rejoiced to see…

Though men forget, I still remember He who fashioned me with artistry both beautiful and power-filled…

My memory, you see, runs long and deep.

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Photographic Poetry – A Short Story of Battle

Posted on December 1, 2009 by Andrew J. Nicewander| 525 Comments
My glass heart beats a chaotic rhythm of anxious excitement

My mind’s aflutter with images of death and glory soon to be

My brothers in arm stand to my right and to my left, as confidently frightened as am I

The enemy opposed prepare themselves to battle on the crystal field that stretches forth between advancing hordes

The Battle soon will be deployed

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Photographic Poetry – A Short Story of a Basketball Rim

Posted on November 27, 2009 by Andrew J. Nicewander| 576 Comments

With harsh and stern ferocity, the hot West Texas sun beats down upon my strong and ironed rim with mean consistent constancy

The specters of the boys who played their pickup games are floating in my memories, their names I cannot see, their faces now a passing blur

The sounds of bouncing basketballs are echoing their mournful notes across the vast expanse of barren yard, where children played when times were young and family came to live alive

My glory days have passed me by and all I have are memories of boys and games that once were played across the yard and underneath the hot West Texas sun

 

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Photographic Poetry – A Short Story of a Rock

Posted on November 24, 2009 by Andrew J. Nicewander| 548 Comments

The swirling mists rise slowly up from fields of ancient age sublime

The water ‘round a constant flow across the rolling land, a gentle source of life and sound

The mountains stand as stoic witnesses of life in all its fair and bittersweet expressions as the silence whispers memories of those who’ve come before

I watch the scenes that play throughout the eons long of trees that live and die, of waters fresh that come and flow and go, of men who live and build and worship He who made the glen in which I am and tell…

It is this God that now I softly praise.

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Photographic Poetry – A Short Story of a Young Abe Lincoln

Posted on November 23, 2009 by Andrew J. Nicewander| 462 Comments
Young Abe LincolnI sit here on my whitened plywood throne, surveying the passing throngs
I’ve lived on this world four score and seven, minus years four score and zero

My beard is fake, my hat has left, my blackened coat has turned itself to white

I move along, the people cheer a small and sitting boy

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Photographic Poetry – “A Short Story of Lettuce”

Posted on October 26, 2009 by Andrew J. Nicewander| 26 Comments
Death of Some Lettuce
I can’t feel my veins
My skin is ripped and tattered
The green is slowly rushing from my cold and dying frame
Goodbye, ye harsh and feral world …

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Photographic Poetry – “A Short Story of Interstellar Travel”

Posted on October 22, 2009 by Andrew J. Nicewander| 1 Comment

Colorado Sunset

I ride my roller-coaster train from orb to orb across the vast expanse of cold, inviting space as I am hurtled forth to soon engage a painting bright and full of warming light and colors e’er intense and many hued to be received by matching eyes in many heads creating art or being used to paint a multi-facet piece of mastery of He who made the notion of creation and of beauty fair to see and feel and touch and smell, for Art of God is pleasure great and honor full, lo, here it comes, you’re soon to see my grand appearance, stay your hand, affix your eyes to be amazed and wonder at the beauty of explosions bright and filled with soaring majesty and wonderment to feel and know…

 

… now wait with quiet solitude and listen to the sight

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Photographic Poetry – “A Short Story of Dramatic Verbosity in Death”

Posted on October 17, 2009 by Andrew J. Nicewander| 568 Comments
Fort Worth Nature Center
In damp and ragged sheets my quaking lungs do thoroughly exhale
My skin is covered in raging torrents of terse and icy frigidity
With photographic precision my life runs long before me, engulfing my seeing sense and overwhelming my thinking eyes
A bright reality tears asunder the encroaching blackness and baths me in a glorious essence. I float before it.
Why, oh why, did I eat that dead and rotting fish?

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