Day 5: Freight Train

Freight Train

by Hilma (Volcano) Volk

Freight Train was a coal black hoss, Big and smart and bold.

On this ranch he was the boss. Had every trick down cold.

Weren't no fence could keep him in, Could open any gate.

With Houdini he was kin. 'Bout that was no debate.

He had a sense of humor though,

Least so it seemed to me.

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He'd sneak out at night

And enjoy himself a spree.

He might steal a jacket from the shed And leave it in a tree,

Or scare the jeebers out of Fred When he went outside to pee.

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There'd be strange noises out the door

Too dark to tell what's there.

What to do, we weren't sure.

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Was it Freight Train or a bear?

Freight Train liked to sneak around

In Midnight camouflage'

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Leave our laundry on the ground

And hoof prints on the Dodge.

Sometimes I'd go out in the morn

To fetch and put him back.

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Been out all night (I'd have sworn)

That Freight Train steed of black.

But he'd be grazing with the rest, As sweetly as can be.

'Cept we both knew he'd got the best Of my old Fred and me.

Until next time,
Picture Perfect Memory

Day 4: Horse Racing

Horse Racing

by Shaun William Hayes

The Sun rose slowly over the Downs

Deceiving the early risers with its promise of warmth

The half-light gave a spectral air

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As the first blue-blooded aristocrats

Moved out of the mist – slowly gaining flesh

Then the Snort Snort of the bellow like lungs

And the Thump Thump of hooves on the dewy ground

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Much later the milling crowds

As all throng together with thoughts of winning

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See, there walks your pick of the day – how fine

Yet is he right – does he look a winner

The tension mounts

The starting gate opens

-

And then it is over

Silence settles with the sun

With only the fluttering of torn up dreams

To give a clue to the spectacle

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I know I am a day behind, therefore I will do another entry

~Picture Perfect Memory

Day 3: A Little Budding Rose

A Little Budding Rose

by Emily Jane Brontë

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It was a little budding rose,

Round like a fairy globe,

And shyly did its leaves unclose

Hid in their mossy robe,

But sweet was the slight and spicy smell

It breathed from its heart invisible.

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The rose is blasted, withered, blighted,

Its root has felt a worm,

And like a heart beloved and slighted,

Failed, faded, shrunk its form.

Bud of beauty, bonnie flower,

I stole thee from thy natal bower.

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I was the worm that withered thee,

Thy tears of dew all fell for me;

Leaf and stalk and rose are gone,

Exile earth they died upon.

Yes, that last breath of balmy scent

With alien breezes sadly blent!

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Photo by me

Until next time,

Picture-Perfect-Memory

Day 2: Wild Flower's Song, The

Wild Flower's Song, The

by William Blake

As I wandered the forest,

The green leaves among,

I heard a Wild Flower

Singing a song.

"I slept in the earth

In the silent night,

I murmured my fears

And I felt delight.

"In the morning I went

As rosy as morn,

To seek for new joy;

But oh! met with scorn."

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Photo by me, it is a part of a 365 day photographer's project.

Until next time,
Picture Perfect Memory

Day 1: Waiting for a Message

Day 1

Waiting for a Message
by Rochelle Mass

Trees help you see slices of sky between branches,

point to things you could never reach.

Trees help you watch the growing happen,

watch blossoms burst then dry,

see shade twist to the pace of a sun,

birds tear at unwilling seeds.

Trees take the eye to where it is,

where it was,

then over to distant hills,

faraway to other places and times,

long ago.

A tree is a lens,

a viewfinder,

a window.

I wait below

for a message

of what is yet to come.

This is a project that a few of my friends have put together.

Our project will focus on taking a picture every day and uploading it.

Until next time,

Cate Hunter