One of my photos with poetry, almost every day.

uh huh, yeah I know. it’s a bunny, and it’s Easter. wow. talk about creativity :D 

Happy Easter People!

uh huh, yeah I know. it’s a bunny, and it’s Easter. wow. talk about creativity :D

Happy Easter People!

"A Light-Filled Path"
Just thought I would share these little poppy lanterns that I came across lighting a path toward pure happiness…

"A Light-Filled Path"

Just thought I would share these little poppy lanterns that I came across lighting a path toward pure happiness…

"Spring Green"
There’s a certain kind of green that happens only as spring begins to take hold—I call it “Spring Green.” It’s that kind of thing where the grass is so “full” from drinking rain that it turns almost yellow. It’s positively bursting with energy and life.  The photo I took this morning that I include here isn’t remarkable except that I think for the first time I was able to “capture” this special moment when Spring Green has transformed an otherwise unremarkable landscape into something marvelous—indeed, something magical. One of my favorite poets, e.e. cummings, would say it’s a time when the world is “mud-luscious” and “puddle-wonderful.”
I hope you have a wonderful Saturday and happy weekend :)

"Spring Green"

There’s a certain kind of green that happens only as spring begins to take hold—I call it “Spring Green.” It’s that kind of thing where the grass is so “full” from drinking rain that it turns almost yellow. It’s positively bursting with energy and life.  The photo I took this morning that I include here isn’t remarkable except that I think for the first time I was able to “capture” this special moment when Spring Green has transformed an otherwise unremarkable landscape into something marvelous—indeed, something magical. One of my favorite poets, e.e. cummings, would say it’s a time when the world is “mud-luscious” and “puddle-wonderful.”

I hope you have a wonderful Saturday and happy weekend :)

"thawing"

[Dedicated to the poet Silvia Plath]
You didn’t know muchjust that it was the coldest winterin one hundred years
when a womanlost among white forests
of iceput towels underher children’s doorminutes before she placedher head in an oven.
you didn’t know muchabout children in the winter,except how poets liveand how they die
and that the first real portraityou ever saw of a childwas from a motherwho decided it was betterto slowly thawthan say goodbye
—Photo and poem by Lynn Langmade © 2013 All Rights Reserved

"thawing"

[Dedicated to the poet Silvia Plath]


You didn’t know much
just that it was the coldest winter
in one hundred years

when a woman
lost among white forests

of ice
put towels under
her children’s door
minutes before she placed
her head in an oven.

you didn’t know much
about children in the winter,
except how poets live
and how they die

and that the first real portrait
you ever saw of a child
was from a mother
who decided it was better
to slowly thaw
than say goodbye

—Photo and poem by Lynn Langmade © 2013 All Rights Reserved

"Lookout"
To be a surrealist means barring from your mind all remembrance of what you have seen, and being always on the lookout for what has never been.
            —Rene Magritte

"Lookout"

To be a surrealist means barring from your mind all remembrance of what you have seen, and being always on the lookout for what has never been.

            —Rene Magritte


“Exhibit”
Lately I can’t take my eyes off the trees in this window at work. Usually, I’m rushing to work, coffee is splashing and dripping down my cup, and I’m thinking about the meeting I’m late for. And then my eyes drift and linger over these soft pink and orange blossoms—Just being flowers—just dangling and dancing and soaking up the sun. Just being…on the right side of the glass.
It struck me a few days ago that our days are often filled with this kind of living art unintentionally gathered, composed, and window-framed. That we each pass by our own private museums and collections every day, framing the beauty of a wild, unrehearsed world.
And so we continue to look and linger and for a few moments, we are free.

“Exhibit”

Lately I can’t take my eyes off the trees in this window at work. Usually, I’m rushing to work, coffee is splashing and dripping down my cup, and I’m thinking about the meeting I’m late for. And then my eyes drift and linger over these soft pink and orange blossoms—Just being flowers—just dangling and dancing and soaking up the sun. Just being…on the right side of the glass.

It struck me a few days ago that our days are often filled with this kind of living art unintentionally gathered, composed, and window-framed. That we each pass by our own private museums and collections every day, framing the beauty of a wild, unrehearsed world.

And so we continue to look and linger and for a few moments, we are free.

ms-excuse-me:

lynnlangmade:

My personal favorites from each month this year …
APRIL (FOOLS):
Loss is tricky. Just when you think you have it mastered, it comes back with a vengeance. It was saying to me “Oh you thought you had this all wrapped up, didn’t you?” “No, your Jedi mind trick isn’t working. See, I’m still here and I don’t forget.” April was actually harder for me than January. Since I only posted two photos in April and neither of them were one of my favorites, I opted to post one from March that I really love. Again, another Black and White photo I posted that went nowhere. I couldn’t reblog this photo because not a single person reblogged it ; ) It had only 26 notes. Gotta luv tumblr hehehe
——————————-
"Rupture"
looking at you,it’s tempting to thinkyou’re bleeding.
but we know
part of you is onfire,burning from inconsolableloss.
and as you climb airto the cloudsyour wound becomes an eyeto view the world.
—photo and poem by Lynn Langmade, copyright 2013

Nothing to add, it truly deserves more than 29 notes, it’s one of my favourites images.
Upsetting purists who hate selective colour is also good reason.
Nuria

oh this made my day! Thank You to Matthew Schiavello and Nur Nielfa for reblogging this photo on Excuse Me :)))

ms-excuse-me:

lynnlangmade:

My personal favorites from each month this year …

APRIL (FOOLS):

Loss is tricky. Just when you think you have it mastered, it comes back with a vengeance. It was saying to me “Oh you thought you had this all wrapped up, didn’t you?” “No, your Jedi mind trick isn’t working. See, I’m still here and I don’t forget.” April was actually harder for me than January. Since I only posted two photos in April and neither of them were one of my favorites, I opted to post one from March that I really love. Again, another Black and White photo I posted that went nowhere. I couldn’t reblog this photo because not a single person reblogged it ; ) It had only 26 notes. Gotta luv tumblr hehehe

——————————-

"Rupture"

looking at you,
it’s tempting to think
you’re bleeding.

but we know


part of you is on
fire,
burning from inconsolable
loss.

and as you climb air
to the clouds
your wound becomes an eye
to view the world.

—photo and poem by Lynn Langmade, copyright 2013

Nothing to add, it truly deserves more than 29 notes, it’s one of my favourites images.

Upsetting purists who hate selective colour is also good reason.

Nuria

oh this made my day! Thank You to Matthew Schiavello and Nur Nielfa for reblogging this photo on Excuse Me :)))

My mom loved music. Lots of people say they love music, but for some people music is essential. It’s something they need every day. Something they can’t live without. Something that defines who they really are as people.

When my mom died almost 14 years ago, instead of doing traditional eulogies at her memorial service, we put together a musical tribute to her. It was an hour’s worth of signature songs. Songs that really just summed up who my mom was—the kind of passionate intensity that really defined her.  No words, just music.

Pink Floyd’s “Us and Them,” Neil Young’s “Heart of Gold,” Fleetwood Mac’s “Gold Dust Woman,” The Eagles “The Last Resort,” Neil Diamond’s “I am I Said,”   Roberta Flack’s “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” were some of the songs on the “memorial mix.”

When “Nights in White Satin” came on by The Moody Blues during our musical tribute to her, people who had been trying to remain stoic broke down. I’m not sure why exactly —maybe it was because The Moody Blues were saying all that really needed to be said at a funeral—that we loved her. Loved her in ways that made us want to scream and drop to our knees and beat our heads on the ground.

Unfortunately, my sisters and I weren’t there when my mom died, so we missed the final crucial opportunity to talk to her. To ease her suffering—to hold her face in our hands as she took her last breaths and tell her how much we loved her.

When I think of the power of music and why my mom loved it so much, I think of this song blaring and people rocking and wailing to Justin Hayward’s agonized cries. Even though she was gone, this song gave us back the last moment with her that was stolen from us—the chance to tell her one last time that we loved her.

"The Waves"
The waves broke and spread their waters swiftly over the shore. One after another they massed themselves and fell; the spray tossed itself back with the energy of their fall….The waves fell; withdrew and fell again, like the thud of a great beast stamping.
    —Virginia Woolf, The Waves

"The Waves"

The waves broke and spread their waters swiftly over the shore. One after another they massed themselves and fell; the spray tossed itself back with the energy of their fall….The waves fell; withdrew and fell again, like the thud of a great beast stamping.

    —Virginia Woolf, The Waves

"The Visitor"
The path we walk is often filled with strange and marvelous things. This deer suddenly appeared in front of me. We were both moving through the softness of dawn, looking at each other—interested to see who had interrupted our sacred dialogue with the world. We looked at each other and blinked—wondering if we were actually in a dream.

"The Visitor"

The path we walk is often filled with strange and marvelous things. This deer suddenly appeared in front of me. We were both moving through the softness of dawn, looking at each other—interested to see who had interrupted our sacred dialogue with the world. We looked at each other and blinked—wondering if we were actually in a dream.

*tears for Lee*
I just learned that a good friend, Lee Daniels, a social luminary on G+ and photographer, passed away from a long battle with cancer.
Sometimes something is so powerful you just can’t talk about it. There are no words that could fully encapsulate what a loss this is not just for her friends and family but for all those whom her photography touched. No words to describe her amazing spirit, especially in the face of such great adversity.
I can only let my body and my photography express my grief today.
[Lee loved to photograph flowers. This one is for her]

*tears for Lee*

I just learned that a good friend, Lee Daniels, a social luminary on G+ and photographer, passed away from a long battle with cancer.

Sometimes something is so powerful you just can’t talk about it. There are no words that could fully encapsulate what a loss this is not just for her friends and family but for all those whom her photography touched. No words to describe her amazing spirit, especially in the face of such great adversity.

I can only let my body and my photography express my grief today.

[Lee loved to photograph flowers. This one is for her]

"Here Comes the Sun"
Imagine my surprise when I looked down and saw the sun smiling back at me :)

"Here Comes the Sun"

Imagine my surprise when I looked down and saw the sun smiling back at me :)

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