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Barbara Taylor |
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Flashing Silver Within framed filigreed trees and sky bewitched and mesmerised eyes focus on that silver line, a single streak of dazzling fractals flicker and sheen; A jet? a comet? a meteorite? a rocket? or just a connective strand, slicing through clouds and greenery?
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The Goddess of Small Things At the end of a beam spotlighted through rusted iron and siliconed roof now an embedded glow on ochred mounds shines delivers humility in this light.
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The Terns at Belongil have again returned, falling like sky-borne debris in the aftermath of a storm, or swarming locust plagues in a great sandy desert — like heavy falls of pristine snowflakes yet flowing rhythmically, silently, kaleidoscopic — holographic, optically whimsical — bizarre — frenetically flashing and dashing — colourfully floating, swerve after curve — flying up to azure heavens landing onto silver sands — creating artistic masterpieces in the third dimension — and it is free flowing and always changing
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The Rise and Fall of Citriodora
Bruised scented leaves lie curled and dead, and broken dappled branches grope, embracing our sodden earth, this lucky land of hope? How I miss your ghostly presence now, my aching heart is all despair; those seeds and twigs, that twisted bough, I alone know you once were there — I weep, you weep — on some days less, smelling your whimpers in the breeze, and humbly beg forgiveness, please; for in decay your message still exudes Nature’s perfect glory, and kooka’s angry calls, so shrill, make this a sad yet happy story ... torn limbs sprawl atop the lawn, with saw teeth-marks gashed in sides; and now, when stroking years of endless dawn o’er your silk body, my hands do softly glide, making tears of serendipity flow: I am agog at grainy fractals in your skin, where emerging vivid beauty glows, — a simple formula therein — becoming smaller, and smallerwithin every shaved single layer, this sea of chaos into order thus creates "God’s Thumbprint" with care.
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