Life is your art. An open, aware heart is your camera. A oneness with your world is your film. Your bright eyes and easy smile is your museum.” — Ansel Adams If you would like to download any of our previous Quotes of the Day for free please visit: PI Photography and Fine Art Save
Compassion for Time The limitations of compassion, Let me keep my heart intact. I have touched your madness, The curiosity for moments I cared; But . . . Those words made of ink, Will always be dark. And words from whispers, Which come from the heart, Will always love. All the struggles to survive; In the distance between us - But that bright light hiding within; Never left your side - So if you ever think back, And for a split moment sigh; Do not think twice, For you did not offend me. It was our love which was sacrificed; Not us - Nothing I felt was ever your fault; The waves do tend to lure. Oh those experts full of words of wisdom; Twist and turn the truths of time. Respect the past, present, and what is to come. For every moment is precious; may it be love or pain. The past; compassion while we walk through thorns of time. The present; for respect of the story we have yet to find. The future; to keep hope alive for the moments we dare. Strength and weakness go hand in hand. Far from perfect; in the end. For every day we change; But some things, I wish stayed the same -
© All Rights Reserved – Photograph: Maria Fokas
Must We Part?
Sunset lingered behind the clouds;
Raindrops; warm like a touch of hope.
Chants of birds filled my heart with bliss.
Spellbound, by the green-scented wind.
In the quiet park of dreams;
Whispers of poets; inventing thoughts.
How many poems were written here –
Who walked these paths –
Surpassing their every need;
Passions bound to never part.
© Maria Fokas/Photography Dublin/All Rights Reserved
Photograph Credits: Leszek Paradowski
When You Are Old by William Butler Yeats
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
Beyond the Sea
Bear the whispers of a weeping hue,
To recall the moments of rapture.
Obliterate the cries of sorrow,
Words crippled by failure to thrive.
Misplaced memories of you;
Of all that you dream to be,
Plunge into the depths of your ocean,
Reclaim the path you pledged to engrave.
Do not forsake that endless need.
To be swallowed up by a timely dew,
Or tread the footsteps in that loose-leaf.
In the dawn of silence you always knew;
You turned the pages of that beautiful ride;
In the trembling of your voice,
The darkest story ever told.
“Stay with me tonight”
I wish it were true.
Pleasures of the heart can numb;
But, I plead with you tonight.
Do not disclaim your Ocean.
– Photograph Credits: ©Yucel Basoglu
No; it wasn’t a promise to return. It was a promise to love me till death took him away. I recall a time when all I wanted was to make him proud of me. I’d always jump at the chance to be with him; I’d listen to his stories of when I was just a little girl; of how he loved me more than he loved his own life. And no matter what happened, he would always be close.
It was a cold winter evening when he sat me down to talk. He said he had to change his life; that he had one last chance for happiness. I sat still listening to his every word. He didn’t look into my eyes; he sat across from me with his head down in torment for what he had to say. I told him not to be sad; that everything was going to be alright. But he did not smile; he merely shook his head. I swallowed that cold bitter pain in my throat, and held back my tears, and when I was ready to speak, I asked him one question. “Do you love her?” He said, “Yes,” and so I told him to do what made him happy. He smiled with pity, and there was nothing more to say; and that question screaming in my head, that one, I never asked.
In the dark of the night, he got his suitcase ready; only the essentials. Then he washed his face, took a last sip of his black coffee, kissed his wife on the cheek, and picked up his suitcase. She asked, “The girls?” He stopped, opened our bedroom door, and tool a peek inside. “No,” he said, “Let them sleep, I will call them in the evening when I’ve arrived.”
In the morning, when I woke up, my mum said he was gone.
So you see, we were doomed from the start with no one to blame. Every love story that has ever been written, has also been lived. And my God, they have all been beautiful; every single one of them. But I will not regret the choices that I have made. I will not witness such pain in the eyes of another little girl; not by my hand. So do not sorrow for the tears I shed, for my waves were never waves at all, and my words were from a love story of a thousand years ago; in a beautiful world; where nothing is ever lost.
But that call he had promised to make;
I remember waiting.
– Photography Credits: Ray Collins
[Flash Fiction Chapter Four]
Was it not yesterday?
Here, yesterday is the past; and the past is gone.
No . . . something that haunts you day and night, is never gone.
Her patience abandons her, and madness takes hold of her like a tempest. She will rage against everything she believes to be destroying their paradise. She forgets the truth. She shuts her eyes to her cowardice. In her fairytale she is free; only life filled with vivid colors of youth, and the scent of spring in every scene. And in this lonely place, she was not so alone. The sky knelt down to welcome her smile, as her eyes fixed upon the sun-rays of a new day. She felt a soft breeze, and then a faint melody; the melody of a mockingbird; familiar sounds, but nothing real. Then one by one, those forgotten bits and pieces resurface.
She recalls all those things along the way. The gestures of love; the song of hope. He was a compass of dreams, a philosopher of thought, and she, the goddess of his make-believe. And in the quiet of the night, he sang to her with his laughter as she danced to the chant of his sweet delight. She caressed his pain; sometimes with kindness, and sometimes with silence; and in his endless disbelief, she bore his storms. She had become a friend to a stranger from another world; a world cursed to never be.
Between you and me; The bridges . . . The walls . . . And when they said it was impossible, we showed them how it could be done –
A while, and then halfway before her end, that which she thought had destroyed her paradise, was the thing that saved her. And it was never his fault. It was she who willed him to leave; she feared to dream, so she pushed him away to protect him from her pain. She hoped that he’d betray her; she begged for it to happen, and when he’d refuse, she’d disappear to punish him. He had to be her villain, but he was not. He was a kind man searching for hope. He told her, it would be a struggle, but they would get through it in the end – Oh, and he did try to save her in every way, but some souls cannot be saved my love.
To go back to that day, when trust destroyed her; the day he left with a promise to return, but never did –
To be continued . . .
–Photograph Credits: Stuart Stevenson
[Flash Fiction Chapter Three]
The waves pursue your thoughts; they call you their master; their muse. They use words like, unique and genuine. They say, your beauty is rare, and your kindness is precious. Wild with fervor, they play with your mood in the dark of the night. They wet their lips with the thought of your aching needs; they tell you stories, claiming to have seen in the depths of your eyes. They captivate your essence in your every sigh; they wait for you to come in their dreams; they absorb your every gesture. They listen to the rhythm of your breathing; they tell you to let go of everything you knew to be true.
When your eyes turn away, they plead with you to not fear their erotic whispers; they tell you to close your eyes; to feel their energy as they caress your weaknesses. They promise to never harm you; they want only to protect you. They count your every smile; while you thought you only had one, they tell you otherwise. “Trust me, and succumb to your needs,” they whisper in the moonlit world they’ve created for you. You feel their pain, and promise to stay.
When you have proven your loyalty to the waves . . . to him . . . he begins the subtle questions; like, “Do you want me?” You say, “Yes.” Then he wants to know more;“but do you need me?” That question frightens you at first. You explain how important your freedom is to you; that expectations hinder love; that you don’t want to think about the future; only the now exists. This idea ignites a craze in him. He tells you that it will all turn into a need; and you must allow it to happen.
And as you lose bits and pieces of yourself each day, consumed and mesmerized by him, you become vulnerable to his every need. Soon enough, you’ve lost the power to protect yourself from all the things that make no sense. So you stop questioning the chaos and the weirdness, and succumb to his passions; Now you lose your moral values. You stop asking about the other woman he was playing with before he found you; the one he called “mad with fury”. You don’t question his games with women when you have to disappear; nor do you ask for explanations when you return. He tells you that all the others are merely a means to communicate with the outside world, and nothing more. Then he tells you stories about obsessive women he had to throw out of his sea.
To be Continued . . .
– Photograph Credits: Harry Fayt
Every time you attempt to bring yourself out of that deadly rest, the waves entice you to stay; and you fall back into the depths of their darkness. And with each fall, you lose more and more of who you are. Then you lose some more; first your time, then your friends. You begin to isolate yourself from everyone who loves you. They don’t understand how beautiful the waves are. You keep telling them how much the waves need you, and how you need them; and that if you ever left, the waves would be destroyed; words whispered to you in moments of passion, and times they feared you would disappear. But your friends are reluctant; they disapprove. They are unwilling to understand the beauty that you feel; the alluring-moonlit world you have fallen into; the taste of ecstasy. They cannot savor that soft melody of sadness of the waves’ soul, yearning to escape from madness. Your words are lost on them. You hope some day they too will know. But you will not let them take away this gift from you. You build the strongest walls to keep them away, and succumb to your waves as they move according to the moon and, the melody of the winds.
To be continued . . .
– Photograph Credits Harry Fayt
How long can you stay under water before it is the end of you?
Can you get used to the pain to the point where you don’t feel it anymore?
As long as there is hope that you will breathe again, you struggle to survive under the waves.
You know that if you stay too long you will suffocate, but you fall into a trance.
You numb your lucid voice which tells you that you will never survive the waves.
If you wait too long, you will never swim back up to the surface.
To be continued . . .
– Photographer Credits: Paco Peregrín