Swimming in Light
Early morning swimmer in my ghetto’s beach
My ghetto this morning
iPhone picture
Emergency landing
When I dance, I go like this…
Going Fishing
Another poem of Ray Max that goes well with my photo 
You can find Ray’s poems here http://raymmax.wordpress.com/ , give him a read, a like or a follow
”Going fishing
Going fishing with Daddy
in Browns Summit
was about as good as good got:
Saturday at sunset,
electrical jobs all done and
poetry memorized.
Time for some fun!
Long cane pole,
worms from the spring bed,
fish too small to eat –
but catching ‘em was fun anyway.
Daddy’s long gone,
and the pond all dried up –
irrigation for some organic tobacco fields –
what’s left is dust, and poison ivy,
and chiggars on wild blackberries
where the edge used to be.”
Raymond Maxwell
Wag your tail tiny bird!
White Wagtail bird
Goldeneye
Common Goldeneye duck…yup it is spring!
Sleeping beauty
If I Were A Sculptor ( Poem by Ray Max)
Again I could not find a better caption than this poem for my pic
If I were a sculptor ( By Raymond Maxwell, Give him a read ! http://raymmax.wordpress.com/)
If I were a sculptor
I’d carve in stone
the face of my beloved
I’d sand the surface
of the stone
to smooth perfection
because art should represent life
as it is, and as
it ought to be.
But I digress
at a moment when discipline
and precision are most required…
I’d chisel her perfectly
centered nose, on her perfectly
symmetrical face -
with care and concentration
I’d reproduce the mystic
contours of her forehead -
I’d round out her chin
and save her lips
for last -
then I’d compare
her sculptured features
to my own
a grotesque genetic mixture
of master and slave
of Native and Negro -
my weathered face
overexposed and
burned to a deep hue.
I’d ask her:
is black still beautiful
my African queen?
my Goddess of the Nile?
Or has that fashion changed,
that style gone out of style?
But I digress again -
for I am not a sculptor,
I am a poet -
and these words are
all I have to preserve
in time, for time,
the beauty of my beloved.
