without eyes i said

Robert Burns, Scotland's most famous poet and a sample of his work.

O, My Luve is Like a Red Red Rose.

O, my luve is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June.
O, my luve is like a melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I,
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi the sun!
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel, a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho it were ten thousand mile!


Surreptitiously hidden within a glass cage the object of desire makes an impression with a subtle emergence from the depths of the reflection.


Fallen like trees harvested for their expediency each aspect of the wood serves a purpose.


Delineated into squares as sections for access to mannequin dreams of happy homes and river streams that gurgle with sounds even plastic ears can hear.


Set aside as if change will never occur the arrogance of taking possession of designated sections becomes clear when after many years there is only empty space left to define.


Like a magician who performs sleight of hand and conjures objects from thin air the mind of a child wonders in awe at the ability of the balloon to fly.


Too close to make sense of the strange vision when the eyes relax and let the objects fall where they may it would appear as hands trying to pray.


I know I have used these same flowers before but what can I say. They remain the only flowers I can find right now and don't you miss them, the flowers, the spring is but a few months away, yeah the colour will return!


Everything in this image is unreal. The reflection of mountains in the window, the fake plastic flower under a bright fluorescent sun, only the frame remains focused in the real.