The Flickr Picturesandpoems Image Generatr

What Good Are Trees

What good are trees,
If I miss the heart that spun the seed,
That dreamed the dream,
That danced nuclear in first fiery moments,
Before colors collided on patterns woven in atomic autumns
And stardust stellar stadiums of wintry dawns-

When moons rose only on waters that stilled the night,
Reflecting the light that ended eras,
That moved the mountains,
Before the oceans swept canyons clean of crust
And prepared tables for grasses to grow?

What good are wings,
If wonder does not take flight,
In wild woods bearing the breath of winds,
That hang cloud soft in southern summers,
Where soaring birds draft
Towering tides of unseen waves
Riding currents, swirling in springs of hope,
Hidden in hills, that no one knows?

What good is hope
That shares nothing in conception,
And wonders without warm witness in cold stolen hours,
Longing in lonely moments, that come only once,
Heave hot and holy breath for seconds,
Then pass without planting or gathering
From the soil of life and the strength of tears
That know the awe of this moment’s birth.

J.H. Watkins 01-09

The Brightness of Our Childhood (James Watkins)

The brightness of our childhood
is not completely spent-
but stirs again in drifting dreams-
restless and intense.

Rushing upward, out beyond
the envelope of time-
fueled by futures unfulfilled-
destined and divine.

Gloried, glazing glances-
of eternity-
identified by inward guide
sanctified and free.

Einstein has passed beyond
with pieces of the plan.
He bent the chart,
but missed the heart-
to greener grass he ran.

Organized and energized,
he answered aimlessly-
Beyond pure thought,
the artist wrought-
to answer flawlessly.

Explain the beauty of a lake,
or calling of the sea-
the lonely lover, or the lost-
explain these things to me.

Explain the hurting for a friend-
or mother's mournful cry-
the blazing host of stars that sing-
or the moment that we die.

Explain forever, or forgiveness-
explain both wrong and right-
or nature's curse,
the cause rehease-
an answer would be nice.

Or loose the light of childhood-
a flame still burning bright-
consuming fire of destiny-
devouring darkened night.

Return to heights heroic-
be partial in your place-
uniquely primed,
by grace designed,
to answer
with your faith.

James Watkins 03-05

The Brightness of Our Childhood (James Watkins)

The brightness of our childhood
is not completely spent-
but stirs again in drifting dreams-
restless and intense.

Rushing upward, out beyond
the envelope of time-
fueled by futures unfulfilled-
destined and divine.

Gloried, glazing glances-
of eternity-
identified by inward guide
sanctified and free.

Einstein has passed beyond
with pieces of the plan.
He bent the chart,
but missed the heart-
to greener grass he ran.

Organized and energized,
he answered aimlessly-
Beyond pure thought,
the artist wrought-
to answer flawlessly.

Explain the beauty of a lake,
or calling of the sea-
the lonely lover, or the lost-
explain these things to me.

Explain the hurting for a friend-
or mother's mournful cry-
the blazing host of stars that sing-
or the moment that we die.

Explain forever, or forgiveness-
explain both wrong and right-
or nature's curse,
the cause rehease-
an answer would be nice.

Or loose the light of childhood-
a flame still burning bright-
consuming fire of destiny-
devouring darkened night.

Return to heights heroic-
be partial in your place-
uniquely primed,
by grace designed,
to answer
with your faith.

James Watkins 03-05

Better Large-Niagara Falls is an American spectacle and historical treasure seen well at night under revolving colored lights. Its detail and contrast at night make it a prime candidate for monotone. The spray is hypnotical and mystical. This is the American Falls...you can see the Canadian Falls in the upper right corner...just as beautiful! 0018

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

A poem of myself (So far) (James watkins)

I was shot from a gun,
chased by time
past pig, pain portals-
beyond blood battered walls,
whetted, washed, and wondering.

My stars burning,
growing in love’s lucid light,
nursed and nutured in stone-
flooded and flowering
in bare…
bright dreams.

Childhood
floated down driveways,
fell sweet from scented,
hidden lookout trees-
bicycles for breakfast-
mothers, brothers,
and families for free.

Secured by father,
knee deep in friends,
i ran -hair on fire-
blazed in brightness-
weekend wild-
bludgeoned by desires-
and tendered by traps
and crimes.

In storms i slew myself-
jumped solid ship into timeless sea,
filled the ancient heart longing,
healed the word wounded warrior
of the soul.

Made peace with time,
sucked fullness of day and night,
walked in smoldering suns,
swam clear deep streams-
and sang the song of songs!

Torched by bridges,
burning face first
into new dawn,
came full round the sun circle-
armed with nuclear wings-
violently flighted,
fast falling forward-
to fathom beginning and ending
of all things.

And ride the flood waters
of opening plains-
with multiplied words
of tortured kings-
resting, completed, tempered, and full-
in fallen disguise of my destiny.

James watkins 4-2007

Better Large-A re-cut of a previous picture that needed to be brought up to date. Driving through the US, I could stop and take pictures everyday, summer, winter, spring, and fall. Personally, I try to take pictures that represent a particular area. The northern Midwestern states bloom in the summer with the wheat fields! 0030

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Every Season Has Its Own Glory (JHWatkins)

Every season has its own glory,
Every purpose has its own time,
Every moment has its own story,
Every story has its own line.

I have walked deep into cities,
Shining brightly never to fail,
Listened to heart cries,
Lost in the morning,
Standing on corners
Stagnant and stale.

Where is the hope
That brought forth the laughter?
Where is the song?
The music unveiled?
Why are the choices so
Wasted and bitter?
Gathered in hatred,
Broken and pale.

I have seen (new) stars on the mountains,
Fed on the movement of heaven and earth-
Free on the framework
Of perfect perspective,
Fueled by the turning of terrible truth.

Come now and sing of mists in the forest,
Sensual sonnets of songs in the dirt-
Come and behold the delicate balance
Of seasons and reasons and rhythms
And birth.

There are the voices lost in confusion,
Crushed in the thriving, deepening swale-
Calloused and cold the circling conveyance,
Crippled emotion commotion prevails.

Beacons in quiet of last true performance,
Heralded nature in singular cause-
Perfect and pure
Though wasted and slandered.
Washed by confession
In smoldering awe.

Severed connections, squandered projections-
Revered reflections of stammering tongues-
Coined by controlling contriving convections,
In different directions now written in stone.

Now is the time to look to the heavens,
Now is the moment to take up the cause,
Now is the voice of blazing amazement,
Borne on the winds of the gathering storm.

Listen to stream, listen to forest,
Listen to flower, and staggering fawn-
Listen to voices rolling like thunder,
Come drink of the waters
And dance with the dawn.

Wrapped in the garments of natural beauty,
Facing the force of the burgeoning call-
Strong in the seasons of life and creation,
Firm on foundations that never will fall.

James Watkins 09-01-08

Better Large-A large and wonderful (to look at) summer thunderstorm moves over a golden wheat field. In the spring or summer this could be the beginning of a tornado, but here just brings heavy wind and rain. The midwest plain states are famous for their thunderheads, torrential rain, and high winds. Traveling through here we really loved the contrast in colors and the soft sunset sky behind the clouds. 0130!

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

THE CURSE DID NOT COME UPON SATURN
(JHWatkins)

The Curse did not come upon Saturn,
Nor cover the planets and stars-
But came to the earth like the lightning
That signals the start of a storm.

It blanketed beautiful valleys
Built in creation’s fire-
Then moved ‘cross the hills
In a torrent-
Which in rapid, recession-retired.

Hating the heart of the future-
Despising all hope and desire-
Erasing eons of dreaming,
With planning and patience conspired.

To bring captivity captive-
To worship a fallen king-
To drain the last drop,
Of life and light-
To crush creativity.

Such serpentine monstrosity,
Will never be wrought again.
Plans will unfold,
But missing their mark,
Will cease to be brought
To their end.

The ignorant souls
Of the dancers-
That danced with the
Sword and the wheel-
And plowed in the fields
Of the broken-
Will never be heard from
Again.

Deceivers will flourish
And be no more.
Liars will all pass away.
Death and destruction
Will struggle and strain-
Then fail at the force
Of the flame.

The heavens are still
Rejoicing.
The stars in their glory
Still sing.
Repeating the strain,
Of original song-
Etched in aged memory.

Clothed in magnificent color-
Reveling in royal plans.
Revealing from the beginning-
The art of the Master’s hands.

As servants new, now recreate-
Envision inhabited lands.
By suffering tried, have spoken
The word-
And left their trail in the sand.

And passing beyond the physical door-
Now come to a heavenly land.
Where monuments new of faith reside-
And sacred spirits stand.

A city of golden glory-
Where day and night descend-
In the light of the great Creator-
Whose promise will never end.

Time itself will flicker and fade,
The fire of the universe wane-
Providence then will have the last word.-
And truth once more
Fall like rain.

James Watkins 11-04

Better Large. This is looking West over Lake Cushman toward the Olympic National Park mountains. Although the lake is low until summertime, it has beautiful color and shape-surrounded by mountains and looking through to a snow-capped mountain through the gap. The rain, sunlight, and clouds are an added bonus here to help feather the light a little. Shot through consistent raindrops! In this area you better shoot fast...it rains constantly. As mentioned before, this is in one of the few (if not only) northern latitude rain forests in the world. A special place...in a huge area...with endless photo ops!

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

Reflections On A Question Not Asked (JHWatkins)

I would not worship nature,
but
watch the firestorms
of evening Eden’s
colliding with collars of stars,
bordering the spreading blankets...
flowing......floating on mist.

Here deep spells
speak to rising hearts
of early years... tears...
and beginnings,
failed then
flourishing
in fading light.

Many the meetings in mirrors,
Reflection souls,
Broken and healed,
Sing out, having heard the cry
Wishing, then wondering-
Then washed by
colors of the night.

I would not worship nature
but cry quietly at
whispers of deep dreamy forests
drumming with wooden warmth
lost in caverns,
ascending in autumns,
forsaken in fragments
and
flames of the glowing day.

Come now,
softer than nature,
with wounded revelations,
Waves of somber subtle summers,
winters, and springs-
Come straighter and stronger,
on strict lines of deft decisions
resting by quietest waters
of heart streams
that have come home
to the
fountain of the universe.

James Watkins 12-31-08

Better Large-As I stood on the 8th hole/East Course at Bull Creek in Columbus, Ga, I just happened to turn around and look back at the tee box and saw this beautiful rainbow right over the area where I hit my tee shot. Of course, I took it as a sign that I was at the right place at the right time and doing exactly what I was suppose to be doing! This was very late in the evening, about 7PM I think and shortly before this it was misting rain after about a week of 95F and high humidity. The mist was just hovering lightly in the air and barely falling to the ground. I have really never seen anything quite like it. You can see it just to the left of the rainbow if you look closely. This mist and rainbow preceded a much welcomed cool down the next day as highs plummeted to 88F :} ! A lot of strange but wonderful things have happened to me on the golf course! Taken with a DroidX2...nice camera!

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

Keeping The Colors Of Light I Saw (JHWatkins)

Keeping the colors of light I saw,
Hidden deep in my heart-
Here, chambered in silence they grow-
Where, watered by time they flow,
To places concealed at the start.

Each shade, a life of its own,
Gathering force like the wind,
Bursting with promise
And purpose renewed,
In heavenly dreams they ascend.

Returning to sources of similar schemes,
Gliding down currents of circular themes,
Reveried ideas of wondrous things,
Calling me now to attend.

Revelation perpetually rose,
From comical cracks and poetry prose,
Fractured infighting,
Formidable foes,
Deceived by games they portend.

Up through atmospheres,
Right through the stars,
Backed-down multitudes,
Battered and scarred-
Groaning, condoning,
Conditions bizarre,
Where correctional forces contend.

Keeping the colors of light I saw-
Hidden deep in my heart-
Here, chambered in silence they grow-
Shaping the future with wisdom I know,
In places concealed from the start.

J.H.Watkins 01/10/10

Better Large. This is taken in one of the most beautiful and unique places I have been, the Olympic National Forest and Park is in the NW corner of Washington state. It is part of a rain forest that exist in upper latitudes in only a few places in the world. Here we are just on the edge of the secondary growth. Lake Cushman is beautiful any time, but with the water low, it provides a foreground for lakes, mountain vistas, and sunsets. Hopefully we will get to the coastal area next time with the primary rain forest and coastal vistas that make the area a prime spot for photography.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

What Good Are Trees (J.H. Watkins)

What good are trees,
If I miss the heart that spun the seed,
That dreamed the dream,
That danced nuclear in first fiery moments,
Before colors collided on patterns woven in atomic autumns
And stardust stellar stadiums of wintry dawns-

When moons rose only on waters that stilled the night,
That reflected the light that ended eras,
That moved the mountains,
Before the oceans swept canyons clean of crust
And prepared tables for grasses to grow?

What good are wings,
If wonder does not take flight,
While wild woods bear the broken breath of winds,
That hang soft in southern summers,
Where soaring birds draft
Towering tides of unseen waves
Riding currents, swirling in springs of hope,
Hidden in hills, that no one knows?

What good is hope
That shares nothing in conception,
And wonders without warm witness in cold stolen hours,
Longing in lonely moments, that come only once,
Heave hot and holy breath for seconds,
Then pass without planting or gathering
From the soil of life and the strength of tears
That know the awe of this moment’s birth.

J.H. Watkins 01-09

Update of sunset spires on Colorado River. This has been denoised and simplified, plus haze removed.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

STANDING ON THE PRECIPICE

Standing on the precipice,
Balanced at junctions,
Space and time-
There are no excuses here,
No explanations or rhymes.

Locked in lavish rhythm,
Far beyond the brink,
Hid from help or rescue,
On jagged edge distinct.

Weighty voices,
Tomorrows bearing,
Form forces by the day…
Wound tight
In folds of failure,
By faltering historic foray.

Naked standing truth,
Whirl winded and filleted,
Open now,
Body bleeding,
Clean by choice,
Ruthless rights parlayed.

Ring round the
Restless righteous,
Tormented tongues
Twisted and advanced-
Weapons trained,
Fitting filled,
Hopelessness entranced.

New toys
For large little boys,
Clicking clocks
In finest fashion.
Positioned perspective plus
Poisoned possessive power,
From places unimagined.

Whining women,
Worn-out white wheezers,
Talking days on end,
Tortured trials
Of wasted words,
Useless air
Precious spent.

Children torn
Apart at seams,
Families drugged
And drenched…
Callous toned nightmares
Running wild,
Seeds scattered in the wind.

Lost by generation’s
Darkened doubt,
Aflame the fearless world,
Tossed aside in hellish schemes,
Now rampant,
Flags unfurled.

Gone the green
And yearning years,
Foundations fairly laid,
Of priceless pearl
In wisdom grown,
Crown jewelry
On parade.

But new
The turning earth begins,
Choice
Once again delayed.
Come cold and calm
Courageous men-
Run boldly to
Your fate.

And stand in
Earnest errand bare,
An era
At the end,
To bind yourselves
Betrothed and braced,
To finish
Without fear.

James Watkins (3-10-2007)

With No Shuttle, No Rocket Trail, and No HDR home here..........The Moon, Orion, Sirius rising...Canopus (which is as bright as Sirius) just out of picture to the right..there were a lot of very bright stars out last night...on a clear cold (for Florida) evening. I had this same shot 2 nights ago with the shuttle launch.it went right up through the moon from the lower right. Took wonderful pictures...went home to unload...and saw that I had left the Memory out of the Camera. Soooooooooo...just imagine there is a rocket trail with golden blue light going from the bottom right, through the moon to the top left corner..blazing away...isn't it beautiful.......this shot is a reminder of that historical blunder. Filled in moon (it 85% full and highlighted EXISTING STARS.)

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

Words (James Watkins)

There are words above all others-
that fix themselves like stars-
bright beacons in the darkness-
heights hidden in the heart.

They alone take awesome stand--
against the tides of life-
in armed array of power-
an army clothed in might.

Like seeds that fall on watered ground-
form fertile flowing fields-
grown gentle- guides in patience pruned
with perfect plural yields.

Established on foundations strong-
bold buildings built to last-
against the rule of raging time-
eternally recast.

Triumphant- time-transcendent-
translucent, touched and twirled-
the truth unbound and glorious-
runs rampant through the world.

To conquer mountain standing tall
across the pilgrimed path.
And bring to birth the vision small-
the unseen to our grasp.

And leaving doubt behind us-
chaff driven by the wind-
each enemy of hope and faith-
unchallenged to an end.

Now standing hard behind us-
there thronged by secret thralls-
authority and mercy meet-
beyond the cloistered walls.

To loose the power petrified,
by fear’s unyielding grip.
Torn from years of solitude-
this single silent trip.

Bought before on battleground-
beyond the mortal veil-
pursued by death- prevailing -
through ancient rights assailed.

Passed from grave to live again-
new formed the narrow path.
Within the reach of every man-
a gateway firm and fast.

Now brought to bear the tidings glad-
entrenched in solid ground-
in waking realms of glory-
a kingdom newly found.

Where promises now harvested,
join late and early rain-
appearing at the altar bold-
the circumstances plain.

To stand behind each spoken word-
against the darkened lie-
that proudly boasts against us-
before an open sky.

And crushing all resistance-
bring victories large and small-
to every realm of being-
delivered from the fall.

Extending out beyond ourselves
we yield to greater need-
To find that loss, in giving,
Makes every word-a seed.

JHWatkins 7-04

Better Large-beautiful movement and lights at a local carnival/amusement park on a chilly early spring night...this is probably what it looks like from the inside out as a rider on this THING! Centrifugal force and moving lights...a cunningly disguised torture chamber!

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

I’VE FALLEN UPWARDS (James Watkins)

I’ve fallen upward,
Into the lights,
Slipping away from
Darkness and night.

Up through the evening,
Into the clouds,
Faster and faster,
Spinning around…

Celestial highways,
Smoother than sound,
Daylight and darkness,
Turned upside down!

I’ve fallen upward,
Flung from the earth
Leaving the ground
Of original birth…

Kaleidoscope colors,
Circling clowns,
Blended with backgrounds,
Faces and crowds.

Just one step forward,
A turn to the right,
A slight separation,
And I will take flight!

James Watkins 03-09

A tobacco colored sunset over the Intracoastal Waterway at The Matanzas Inlet below Saint Augustine, Florida.

DOORWAYS (JHWatkins)

Our lives are spent near doorways,
Corridors between heaven and earth-
Mechanisms of the spirit-
Power grids with junctions-
On the borders of decisions-
And destiny generations.

Many have sensed them,
Watched and known
Channels of change,
Releasing forces,
That seasons have sown
Since the beginning-
Leaving footsteps to follow.

Some found them
Under redwood cathedrals,
Soft canopy mists,
Where winter rains washed
The soul survivors,
That could not have grown
Until they had gone
To sing in arenas of angels.

Others surprised the morning,
Resisting by rolling waters,
Speaking to dawn stars,
Bidding the night adieu-
Where the quiet
Was louder than the roaring future,
And, left with one clean choice,
Lit the fuse
That started the fire-
And changed their world.

James Watkins

Better Viewed Large-A touch of sunset on the Eastern Rim just inside the Park gates. A much quieter experience than the main entrance with unique views of the canyon walls at sun up and sunset, along with a dramatic perspective on the Colorado River way down at the bottom. You really lose perspective of distance when observing because of how large and high the canyon walls are, plus how far away the bottom is from the rim.

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Mountains (James Watkins)

mountains grand and gazing-
pillars standing tall-
piercing passioned histories-
hidden in their walls.

delving downward distances-
caverns large and small-
mutant molten metal streams-
fused before the fall.

decant demon-ed destinies-
cooling chasmed halls-
dinosaurs and diamond doors
in massive mirrored malls.

heavy, heaving voices
in paradisian sprawl-
fiery fumes of purity-
creation’s curtain call.

subatomic saturation,
soiled, synthetic signs.
righteous restoration
of prehistoric crimes.

tumultuous-
tempestuous-
waning, wasted pearl-
forethought, full and fragile-
foundation of the world.

hidden in the language
of nature’s cresting yore-
cracked beneath
the stress and strain-
crumbling at the core.

tiny tidbits torn and tumbling-
wiggling in the storm-
recipes and remedies-
chemically reborn.

thickened soups and swirling haze-
brooding-steaming-scorn-
clashing reams of violent schemes-
valleys ripped and torn.

balance within balances,
scrambled eggs at last-
gushing geysered marbled mud
borne before the blast.

consciences of scientists,
syncopated scuds-
bothered by the missing mass-
baffled by the blood.

leaping lemon lizards-
the barn is nearly full-
the hay is neatly in a stack-
this baby’s come full term!

common commonalities,
full circle’s come at last.
see the story in the hills-
yield before your past.

something’s broken,
something’s missing,
something’s come and gone-
something’s at the doorway-
someone’s on the phone.

someone’s at the table-
someone’s on the floor-
someone’s grass
is full of gas-
classical-and more!

rhyming with the timing,
balancing the board-
signals of a sequenced strike,
calm before the storm.

mysteries are meaningful,
when looking at the past.
the scene is somewhat circular,
when stage is come to last.

weakened, muzzled monkeys,
dance before your lord.
the gift of grace is growing cold
squirming on the sword.

commentaried cavemen,
come into the fold.
your ears can hear-
your eyes can see-
so come in from the cold.

and listen with some latitude-
to knowledge held in store.
fashioned in the faceless stone
of ancient ocean floor.

squeezed in myriad molecule,
the battle rages on-
raving reverence in reverse
its relevance reformed.

and bow before the evidence-
the courtroom is restored,
through judgment passed,
the script is cast,
in elementary score.

rain fire, you veined volcanoes-
your statement’s on the floor-
and advertise what you surmise-
from secret silent store.

you’ve waltzed in dazzled wonderment-
and touched your maker’s hand,
in timeless thought-
before the fault-
and listened to the plan.

to bring all things to unity-
from eons vile and vast-
to bless-ed end
the future bends,
with glory
unsurpassed.

James Watkins May 2005

Better Viewed Large-Bright Angel Trail from the Southern Rim is one of the more magnificent features of the main entrance. This trail seen from literally miles above. Donkeys and people can barely be seen as small dots from this distance. The point of the trail in the distance is an overlook to the canyon floor where the Colorado River is running. From THAT point it is still miles down to the bottom. I took that trip on foot in my younger days in the middle of the summer. It is no small feat.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

STANDING ON THE PRECIPICE

Standing on the precipice,
Balanced at junctions,
Space and time-
There are no excuses here,
No explanations or rhymes.

Locked in lavish rhythm,
Far beyond the brink,
Hid from help or rescue,
On jagged edge distinct.

Weighty voices,
Tomorrows bearing,
Form forces by the day…
Wound tight
In folds of failure,
By faltering historic foray.

Naked standing truth,
Whirl winded and filleted,
Open now,
Body bleeding,
Clean by choice,
Ruthless rights parlayed.

Ring round the
Restless righteous,
Tormented tongues
Twisted and advanced-
Weapons trained,
Fitting filled,
Hopelessness entranced.

New toys
For large little boys,
Clicking clocks
In finest fashion.
Positioned perspective,
Poisoned possessive power,
From places unimagined.

Whining women,
Worn-out white wheezers,
Talking days on end,
Tortured trials
Of wasted words,
Useless air
Precious spent.

Children torn
Apart at seams,
Families drugged
And drenched…
Callous toned nightmares
Running wild,
Seeds scattered in the wind.

Lost by generation’s
Darkened doubt,
Aflame the fearless world,
Tossed aside in hellish schemes,
Now rampant,
Flags unfurled.

Gone the green
And yearning years,
Foundations fairly laid,
Of priceless pearl
In wisdom grown,
Crown jewelry
On parade.

But new
The turning earth begins,
Choice
Once again delayed.
Come cold and calm
Courageous men-
Run boldly to
Your fate.

And stand in
Earnest errand bare,
An era
At the end,
To bind yourselves
Betrothed and braced,
And finish
Without fear.

James Watkins (3-10-2007)

Better Viewed Large. Moultrie Creek just south of St Augustine, Fl about a block from my home. This is the municipal dock there at sunset. I love the warm colors of the winter sunset skies in Florida along with the soft light of early evening. The is a creek leading into the Inter Coastal Waterway that goes north and south all the way up the eastern coast of the US.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

Creation Spoke to Me at Sunset
(James Watkins)

Creation spoke to me at sunset,
under canopy of fading sight,
in groves of winded whispers,
ancient oaks waiting for the night.

Sun-bathed clouds through
dazzling leaves,
dazed and dancing free-
brilliant evening glories,
rhymed in poignant harmony.

Sequined, fragranced beauties-
set in ocean dreams-
softly magnified by waters,
running slow to salty streams.

Lingering beside them,
to breathe the evening sea,
i listened to the placid voice
that feathered on the breeze.

“Remember what you see here-
do not forget this place-
write it on your memory-
do not let time erase”-

a victory won in silence-
as patience conquered haste-
foundation-ed now
in sacred soil,
solidified and safe.

Still delving deep through solid sod,
continuing to bend,
beneath the ground
it rooted down,
to build its strength again.

Did not begin to prosper,
until its hold was right-
then slowly grew in majesty,
upward to the light.

To flourish for
a thousand years,
before the sons of men-
and quietly tell its story,
to all that pass within.
.
James Watkins 05-07

Better Viewed Large. This is an update of an older shot of Arches that I wanted to update with a new post processing technique. I felt that it enhanced the original. This is a shot I took while racing out of the park at closing. We stopped just long enough to take a longer exposure and was able to draw the picture out of the RAW.
The La Sal Mountains.


FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762... .


Mountains (James Watkins)

mountains grand and gazing-
pillars standing tall-
piercing passioned histories-
hidden in their walls.

delving downward distances-
caverns large and small-
mutant molten metal streams-
fused before the fall.

decant demon-ed destinies-
cooling chasmed halls-
dinosaurs and diamond doors
in massive mirrored malls.

heavy, heaving voices
in paradisian sprawl-
fiery fumes of purity-
creation’s curtain call.

subatomic saturation,
soiled, synthetic signs.
righteous restoration
of prehistoric crimes.

tumultuous-
tempestuous-
waning, wasted pearl-
forethought, full and fragile-
foundation of the world.

hidden in the language
of nature’s cresting yore-
cracked beneath
the stress and strain-
crumbling at the core.

tiny tidbits torn and tumbling-
wiggling in the storm-
recipes and remedies-
chemically reborn.

thickened soups and swirling haze-
brooding-steaming-scorn-
clashing reams of violent schemes-
valleys ripped and torn.

balance within balances,
scrambled eggs at last-
gushing geysered marbled mud
borne before the blast.

consciences of scientists,
syncopated scuds-
bothered by the missing mass-
baffled by the blood.

leaping lemon lizards-
the barn is nearly full-
the hay is neatly in a stack-
this baby’s come full term!

common commonalities,
full circle’s come at last.
see the story in the hills-
yield before your past.

something’s broken,
something’s missing,
something’s come and gone-
something’s at the doorway-
someone’s on the phone.

someone’s at the table-
someone’s on the floor-
someone’s grass
is full of gas-
classical-and more!

rhyming with the timing,
balancing the board-
signals of a sequenced strike,
calm before the storm.

mysteries are meaningful,
when looking at the past.
the scene is somewhat circular,
when stage is come to last.

weakened, muzzled monkeys,
dance before your lord.
the gift of grace is growing cold
squirming on sword.

commentaried cavemen,
come into the fold.
your ears can hear-
your eyes can see-
so come in from the cold.

and listen with some latitude-
to knowledge held in store.
fashioned in the faceless stone
of ancient ocean floor.

squeezed in myriad molecule,
the battle rages on-
raving reverence in reverse
its relevance reformed.

and bow before the evidence-
the courtroom is restored,
through judgment passed,
the script is cast,
in elementary score.

rain fire, you veined volcanoes-
your statement’s on the floor-
and advertise what you surmise-
from secret silent store.

you’ve waltzed in dazzled wonderment-
and touched your maker’s hand,
in timeless thought-
before the fault-
and listened to the plan.

to bring all things to unity-
from eons vile and vast-
to bless-ed end
the future bends,
with glory
unsurpassed.

James Watkins May 2005

Better Large-non-hdr...Drayton Harbor, Washington is a great place to shoot the moon! The Shadow visited and appeared in the bottom right...I haven't seen him in about a year. He is very mysterious.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

oceans are dreams (jhwatkins)

Oceans are dreams, that rise and fall
beyond the conscious mind.
Vast volumed vaults transitioning-
rolling ridges ranging high.

Joined with all creation dance,
like liquid living beings-
quiet, dark depths of passion fire-
eternally careening.

Held in viscous vision,
caught between the separate worlds-
all heaven and earthy creature-
floating figured forms unfurled.

Ghosts-aglow and gaping-
gathered gremlins, timeless trails-
beyond all thought or reason-
hidden highways, watery veils.

Desperate, driven, hungry hunters-
casual commerce-bloody blades.
Liquid-larcened fathoms fallen,
fevered fits in cavalcade.

Contrasts, calm and constant-
consumation, cold desire-
carefully crushed by eons,
in vile volcanic fire.

Down some corridor they creep-
until in rest revealed-
unto the doubting dreamers-
caustic children, filled with fear.

Decisioned paths of plans performed,
adrift in thoughtless themes.
Gathered golden wisdom,
wrapped in scientific schemes.

Predetermined, parliamentary,
railing posted parts prevail-
racked with frail-formed falsities
in fictional detail.

Loving lost the guide unseen
that rules the changeless world-
and brings us back to view the sea
in vision's vacuumed swirl.

Childlike faith-vast beauty breathed,
an author, bold and bare-
for silence sake, stark stepping stones-
it's wealth unfolding fair.

Troll the tame and turning tide,
that flows in measured ebb.
Rolled rhythmic rows of constancy
in concentrated web.

Held hot the hidden history,
revealing holy fare-
formed fellowships and mysteries-
plain patterns painted there.

To see the unseen signature-
to touch the untouched realm-
to gaze at guardian glory...
graced...
by Starred..
Ascending..
Stair.

James watkins (April 2004)

Better Large-Between Jasper, Alberta and Mount Robson (the highest peak in the Canadian Rockies) we were driving by this beautiful, crystal clear lake and had to stop and shoot. The water is green because of the minerals (especially sulfur-it stinks) that runs off of the adjoining mountain when it rains and snows. This rendition is really close to what we actually saw as evidenced by the color of the evergreen (spruce?cedar?) trees. They are the correct color, as is the sky...so that gives you a good reference point.

Also note that the rocks in the foreground...the whole foreground for that matter...is UNDERWATER...about 4 feet under, thus a little fuzzy. The water was so clear when still that you could see right through it! Nearby Mt Robson was beautiful as we approached it with a summer snow covered peak, but by the time the camera was mounted/set up the whole peak was under a canopy of clouds...so no good shots there.

The Canadian Rockies are very unique...not at all like like the Rockies down in Colorado, which are more massive. These mountains remind me of pictures of the European mountains like the Alps or Pyrenees. There are some similar peaks in the Rockies/Cascades/Coastal Range transitions approaching Seattle and around Coeur D'Alene, Idaho. They smell like a cedar closet, but remind me of being in a Spearmint Land from childhood somewhere. Anyway, they are unique and just as beautiful as the US Rockies. The drive down from Jasper, Alberta through British Columbia to Seattle is amazing! I will get back here...hopefully soon!
FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762... .



Mountains (James Watkins)

mountains grand and gazing-
pillars standing tall-
piercing passioned histories-
hidden in their walls.

delving downward distances-
caverns large and small-
mutant molten metal steams-
fused before the fall.

decant demon-ed destinies-
cooling chasmed halls-
dinosaurs and diamond doors
in massive mirrored malls.

heavy, heaving voices
in paradisian sprawl-
fiery fumes of purity-
creation’s curtain call.

subatomic saturation,
soiled, synthetic signs.
righteous restoration
of prehistoric crimes.

tumultuous-
tempestuous-
waning, wasted pearl-
forethought, full and fragile-
foundation of the world.

hidden in the language
of nature’s cresting yore-
cracked beneath
the stress and strain-
crumbling at the core.

tiny tidbits torn and tumbling-
wiggling in the storm-
recipes and remedies-
chemically reborn.

thickened soups and swirling haze-
brooding-steaming-scorn-
clashing reams of violent schemes-
valleys ripped and torn.

balance within balances,
scrambled eggs at last-
gushing geysered marbled mud
borne before the blast.

consciences of scientists,
syncopated scuds-
bothered by the missing mass-
baffled by the blood.

leaping lemon lizards-
the barn is nearly full-
the hay is neatly in a stack-
this baby’s come full term!

common commonalities,
full circle’s come at last.
see the story in the hills-
yield before your past.

something’s broken,
something’s missing,
something’s come and gone-
something’s at the doorway-
someone’s on the phone.

someone’s at the table-
someone’s on the floor-
someone’s grass
is full of gas-
classical-and more!

rhyming with the timing,
balancing the board-
signals of a sequenced strike,
calm before the storm.

mysteries are meaningful,
when looking at the past.
the scene is somewhat circular,
when stage is come to last.

weakened, muzzled monkeys,
dance before your lord.
the gift of grace is growing cold
squirming on sword.

commentaried cavemen,
come into the fold.
your ears can hear-
your eyes can see-
so come in from the cold.

and listen with some latitude-
to knowledge held in store.
fashioned in the faceless stone
of ancient ocean floor.

squeezed in myriad molecule,
the battle rages on-
raving reverence in reverse
its relevance reformed.

and bow before the evidence-
the courtroom is restored,
through judgment passed,
the script is cast,
in elementary score.

rain fire, you veined volcanoes-
your statement’s on the floor-
and advertise what you surmise-
from secret silent store.

you’ve waltzed in dazzled wonderment-
and touched your maker’s hand,
in timeless thought-
before the fault-
and listened to the plan.

to bring all things to unity-
from eons vile and vast-
to bless-ed end
the future bends,
with glory
unsurpassed.

James Watkins May 2005

The Evening News (James Watkins) not hdr

Catalytic confrontations
Calculated crawl,
Embryonic isolations,
Future free-for-all.

Energetic exhortation,
Apoplexied brawl,
Catatonic saturation,
Isometric ball.

Egocentric salutation,
Fatalistic fall,
Megalithic mumbo jumbo,
Paganistic pall.

Pugilistic palpitation,
Excavated sprawl,
Perspiration aggravation,
Aspirated wall.

Ammunition malnutrition,
Superstition stall,
California concentrated,
Captivated thrall.

Bound and ground,
Then taken down,
By the very best-
With one more show
Worth watching,
And then we’re headed west.

Recreation generation,
By the book denomination,
Families filled with hesitation,
RVs racked for roaming.

Picking up the pieces,
Layed down on the land,
With wasted wealth and watersheds,
And regions raped by man.

Calibration castigations,
Asymmetric aberrations,
Guided tours with revelations,
Ratted out and ruined.

Catastrophic congregations,
Commutated castings,
Calvinistic computations,
Debonair and prancing.

Altruistic aspirations,
Stoned, bemoaned abbreviations,
Terrified with trepidations,
Gnomes long gone and gassed!

Honed and cloned then overthrown,
Granted one last wish-
Celebrated, then negated-
Dangling near the dish!

Partisan unprinciples,
In petrifying packs-
With news and views
And loop-de-loos,
And stab-‘em-in-the-backs.

Ready for the ruckus,
Sitting at the shrine,
Thought they really
Had the goods,
Now listen to the whine.

Thought they had it marketed,
Cornered and refined,
Around the town
The teaching wound,
Until they lost their mind.

Settling to the bottom,
They slid to lower ground,
Between the lines and valentines,
Some lost their Royal Crowns.

Terroristic tinkering,
Tumbling and tinkling,
Fundamental farkles,
Helpful and home grown.

Patriotic particles,
Hidden in the articles,
Compact and post partial,
Buried to the bone.

Vacuumed packed
And gunny-sacked,
Pre-segmented squalls,
Appalachian apparitions,
Headed to the malls.

Fevered and fantastic men,
Marching to the moon,
With masticating matriarchs,
In subcutaneous swoon.

Breasts blown up beautiful,
Complicated castings,
Fallen faces on the floor,
Mesmerized for masking.

Sacrificial sublimations,
Surrogates sublime,
Tetrahedral, analgesic,
Sentimental crimes.

Pawing, pungent prisoners,
Soothing, sexy swine-
Sows and cows and sinning sons,
Tasting tempting wines.

Navigation nuances,
Nuptials by Nair,
Feudalistic fragrances,
Held up with heavy hair.

Practical imbalances,
Factory unrepairs,
New wave cold and chemical friends,
Facts blown up with air.

Salivating swindlers,
Solo Simon says,
High-falutin prostitution,
Fixed up with the Feds.

Sports and courts and teasing torts,
Women going wild-
Dow Jones Average hemorrhage,
Help the homeless child.

Down the daunting highway,
Less than overnight,
Covering ground without a sound,
Filtered by first light.

Lazy lit up lethargy,
Loosed by lying lips,
Bought the farm in triplicate,
Then sailed a sinking ship.

Galvanizing garrisons,
Gathering at the line,
Pushed ahead though nearly dead,
They won it one more time.

Tested in the tumult,
On solid ground they stand,
Groping with the changer,
Positioned close at hand.

Nightly, brightly flickering,
Turn the clicker off-
Before you go,
Don’t miss the show,
An evening totally lost!

James Watkins (03-06)