what would you pay for this bit of blue?
i will throw in flour dust
and a turmeric-stained apron.
you might find bent hinges,
snippets of moon song,
silver strands curling at the edges.
moth light and steady sandstone.
cloudy mirrors, well-worn paths,
watercolor stained jars,
books under beds, and
hollows shaped by holding.
what would you pay me
for this bit of blue?
*14/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
I’ve borrowed a few cameras that I’m playing with on vacation. I’m experimenting with lenses and systems much different than my own. My biggest take away—I can use any camera. I think that was good for me to learn. While the colors of the Sony Alpha 7 IV where beautiful, I was really blown away by the feel of the Leica Q2. Dude, that camera feels GOOD in your hand.
I’ve mixed up the images in this post, some taken with the two borrowed cameras, and some with my Olympus. Honestly, editing them all, it wasn’t as big a difference as I’d thought. It really seems it’s the lens that matters more than anything. I ordered a new/used one that’s 50mm with a much lower f1.8. I’ll be testing it out next week at the State Fair and report back.
For those not following my slight nerd rant, can I interest you in deer triplets?? (see below) They were seriously so cute!
Let me know if you have a favorite shot and have a fantastic day!
*There were shot on a variety of cameras and lenses, but all edited on Lightroom Classic.
it’s always double yellow lines
and a lone cow on a hill.
elephant rock and a tunnel of trees.
mustard and pink dancing
among prickly brown.
a leaning silo and
clusters of sheep.
it’s always new music
and torn bags of chips.
the wooly highlands
and the old chapel bell.
towering piles of pillows.
dominoes shifting in a tin.
tomato soup with black pepper.
it’s always watching flames dance
and half-finished puzzles.
a wooden bowl of taffy and
stuffies in the dumbwaiter.
mountains of sandy shoes.
chairs pushed together
and seashell coffee cups.
it’s always…?
*13/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
a glittery speck of sun
winked through lacy trees,
condensing clouds in the backseat.
another world layered on ours—
where cars hover,
and asphalt floats.
as a child, i pressed against the glass
framed in heavy, dark oak.
hours dissolved into the silver coating
whispering to the girl inside.
she wore her hair cropped short,
kept her candy in the open,
and spoke in thunder.
years blurred the glass,
until this afternoon—
loading grocery bags into the van,
the rear window swallowed the sky.
trapped in the glass,
the clouds drifted,
and a familiar shadow smiled.
12/100
For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
i stack the sky vertically, holding
space for falling words, but summer
heat traps crooked letters, twisting
type for tiny starlings to feast—pecking
pesky verbs, spitting harsh consonants
onto parched summer grass. he
said ‘imagine that’ and ‘birds like
nests,’ so i scurry and scrawl every tree,
gathering orphaned lettered pieces of you,
to anchor my pillow as ink-black night
bleeds with barely a moon. quiet, listen
to the nothing of my whispering breath
as soft feathers fold the dark—
with a tiny click.
11/100
For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
I’ve been doing a lot of portrait photography lately, and neglecting my nature shots. I tried to remedy that by capturing the moon a few weeks ago, but I couldn’t find it before it got super dark outside. Here’s my best attempt, including two shots I took while doing an adorable family shoot at the river.
Also, thank you to those reading my daily poems. It’s a project I’ve been wanting to do for a while, but it’s honestly feeling like a lot. I appreciate everyone rooting me on and supporting me.
Have a wonderful rest of your weekend.
whisper soft again, friend
describe cold smoke, warm mother
blue-glazed bowl of soup
another cat in the window
dusty fan-blown strands
ten whole days widen slits
where tiny words swallowed
or tap danced
or overly devoured
around wispy sunlight fingers
peeled painted eyelids open
spiraled dragon breath
rocks stacked with books
green moss lingered
two arms flung upward
toward you
10/100
For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day. I hope you’ll follow along.
expose my roots in warm sunlight
soften all stems
let pearls fall
lean in closer
geosmin scented breath
see how twisted old thoughts grow
don’t go yet
shine through the particles
show me yours
9/100
For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day. I hope you’ll follow along.
my shadow threw flowers
into the sea for you. floated
words on petals, threads
for you to pull. calling
through bright sun, casting
into murky waters. see
how closed curtains float
when blown. fresh lemon
wind leaning against bark
until the wood vibrates
you—again and again.
8/100
For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day. I hope you’ll follow along.
When Spider-Man comes to your house,
you unlock the deadbolt and brace yourself.
He has to clear the entryway at a full sprint,
and you don’t want to be collateral damage.
When Spider-Man comes to your house,
you better have sourdough toast, pickles,
and sparkling water on the counter.
Apparently, saving the neighborhood
requires a very specific diet.
When Spider-Man comes to your house,
he will absolutely chase your rabbit around the backyard.
He’ll get burrs stuck to his polyester muscles,
sit in the hammock to pick them off,
and roast your gardening skills.
When Spider-Man comes to your house,
he might peel back his mask just far enough to breathe,
expose his secret identity,
and clobber you at dominoes
until he literally rolls off his chair laughing.
When Spider-Man comes to your house,
you will notice the exact moment
his shins match the length of yours.
You’ll look at his massive feet,
look at the trail of stuffed animals leading into the hallway,
and accept reality:
A superhero is in your living room right now.
So you forget the gardening. You ignore the toys.
And you get on the floor.
7/100
For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day. I hope you’ll follow along.
Bridgette Tales 