talking about girls

May 8th 2010

2010-05-07T16:37:00.000-07:00

May 8th 2010

once again I walk
on your old block
just down the way
they still hold the flower mart
I show up here every May
nothing is the same
an old iron fence
around the steps
yes the fence is old
but it was not here
when you lived
upstairs over the drugstore
someone brought it here
to upgrade the neighborhood
so we would think
how well the place
has held up
but me through old eyes
I search for red-haired girls
who have long since
lost their sweet smiles

JRS
5/8/2010

another picture

2009-09-21T09:51:00.000-07:00

another picture

this one is one of Lacy
perfectly shaped lips
strong jaw line
high colorful cheeks
such a wonderful face
but there was no fire in her eyes

three times she come to me
to open herself for the machine
she moved in front of the camera
and showed her natural beauty

as we worked
she became more than just an object
what might have been a secret
came to the surface
there was much longing in her heart

while she did not sleep alone
there was still a loneliness about her
she talked a little
as I wheeled the machine
saving images of her beauty
I questioned who would save her soul

JRS
9/21/2009

Nora's ghost

2009-09-05T22:56:00.000-07:00

Nora’s ghost

no question the room is empty
even fantasy has turned to dust
still one can hear a faint call
when passing the door
that once opened to paradise
she made it a bright place
with just the sparkle in her eyes
and warmed it with her musical voice
same as when summer colors vanish
one fall day she was no longer there

JRS
9/6/2009
b

a dash of reality

2009-09-05T03:07:00.000-07:00

a dash of reality

there seems to be no answer
and still the question gnaws at me
in the heat of the day
and all through the night
what part of me does she find loveable
is it the body that falls after abuse
could it be my name she says it so sweetly
with arms open wide she calls to my soul
but like when a ship is dashed upon the rocks
she leaves me in tatters

JRS
9/5/2009

bird calls

2009-09-02T15:00:00.000-07:00

bird calls

in low branches
outside the window
night birds weave a nest
beautiful melodies
shapely bodies and lovely faces
flash across the wall
no moon tonight still shadows
are seen to move to and fro
how I do enjoy the plumage
somehow it seems
a dance made to call me
come up from the canyon
are the words in her song
then the day breaks

JRS
9/2/2009

daydream

2009-08-28T18:13:00.000-07:00

daydream

simple
sensitive
delicious
select

on the days
when you were visible
I started a list of words
names for experiences
you have brought me to
varieties of new taste
a feel of skin unknown
until you

touch soft and swift
nourished sweet visions
for this journey
in the canyon of time

you brushed by me
when my eyes were sharp
and my nose able
to enjoy your fragrance

that I must take my side of the fork
and leave you to travel your way
is no loss to me
I have this list

JRS
8/28/2009

Sylvia's dress

2009-08-24T20:07:00.000-07:00

Sylvia’s dress

in the daylight she can be seen on the street
and at night you feel her under the bed
styling fabric for a session of dreams
the ones that come in april
to show you the path
back to that time in the park
when you were sent away
there are periods when the muse is at rest
she even lets you sleep for a while
most often she is in the closet
hiding place of shady things
where she prepares images
pictures of herself in youth
to guide your fingers across the keyboard

JRS
8/24/2009

tried to quit you

2009-08-19T09:28:00.000-07:00

tried to quit you

i wanted it to be easy
just leave you in your car
turn my face and let you drive away
but you wanted to come inside

not an easy place for me
to tell you goodbye
in that darkened room
where you brought magic

it was my domain
but with tears and kisses
you took control
drew me down to paradise

and plied me with your juices gave me to understand
the parting would not be for me to decide

JRS
8/18/2009

mid-summer slide show

2009-07-06T11:17:00.000-07:00

I have always dreamed about making photographs of lovely girls and for many years I have tried to make that dream come true. now and then it seems to happen. I go with my camera and seek them out sometimes they allow me to see them in all their beauty. this slide show is a look at the past few years.

red

2009-06-26T22:08:00.000-07:00

red

hot flash in the corner of my eye
but no
she was more brown than red
yes
able to hold my gaze for a moment
but she would not move my heart
as did the red one

the red hair girl
never took my gift
year after year
she would come upon the blossom
and look away

tonight this fairbrown sole
as lovely as can be
is here to give in to my every longing
and still I dream of red

JRS
6/26/2009

through the door

2009-06-26T21:59:00.000-07:00

through the door

in a dream
I was looking down on her
where she knelt in the garden

singing a mournful song
as if she would never again
see my face

short pause to pour a libation
then came a chant
over and over it was my name

then I awoke to the sound of her voice
and the meaning of the dream

JRS
6/26/2009

I know it is a lot to ask

2009-06-11T11:59:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I have a lot of time on my hands. What to do with all of this free time? Well making photographs of women is a thing that I would like to use some of this time for. That is how this social networking could be useful. Sitting face to screen can be disappointing, you chat and email but it is not the same as finding that face in the crowd. The brick and mortar face to face experience is what you need to capture those beautiful faces that a photographer dreams of. The online visits can be fun, but never come close to a walk downtown with my camera. I tell you that this online thing is not real, yet I send you links to content that I have placed on over 10 sites around the web. I cry when I see that in over a year less than 100 hits have been recorded on profiles, portfolio and videos of the women that I have photographed. I guess I should understand that it takes a lot to sit in front of the screen and look at all those little dots. It was not long ago when I said it was a waste of time, now I send you a link
you can look at some of this stuff and see what is in my head.

random thought

2009-06-09T12:16:00.001-07:00

Random thought

This question has been bumping around in my head for some time. Why is it that a meeting as short as a minute or even smaller will have an impact over a lifetime? I ask this because I find myself thinking about a number of people who came into my life for a few hours and left me with memories that at time push out all of the things that should be seen as important. There was the girl that I knew for a few Saturday afternoons and now she is my muse. This one is like a ghost sometimes seen other times imagined. Then they’re the ones who names have faded away, only to return when a forgotten picture is uncovered. At times some were seen as overnight lovers and find memories were made. The most powerful images have come from those encounters that fell short in touching but went far in conversation. When I think of some of those fleeting moments and imagine how we may have touched each other’s lives. I don’t know what happened to most of them over the years and I think it is unlikely that I will know. Some are at rest I have be told and others are just moving in new orbits.

once again

2009-06-09T12:10:00.000-07:00

once again

I trace this course
first marked in my youth
envision the hold on my very being
realize my inability
to capture this dream
though out of reach I know
the ghost of that summer is still abroad

I saw her just this spring and
relived the few short hours
when we moved
in city canyons and byways
bodies interlocked soul to soul
one would think we had a lifetime

reality it was a few Saturday afternoons
that made my paradise
I don’t want to think about the day she sent me away
but to recall the joy I must remember the pain

JRS
6/7/2009

2009-06-03T17:45:00.000-07:00

a season of dreams

just beyond the wood
where the river turns
there is a place in the valley
for the doing of unspeakable things

fire is kept by the virgins
a priest is holding the blade
in private ceremonies
the alabaster altar is stained

with innocent blood
spells are written
to please magic
things are thrown into the fire

soft blue smoke goes up
in search of blessings
falls back as sharp missiles
to draw more blood

virgins and priest tell us of love
mystery and horror is what I find

JRS
9/8/2006