Photo Title: Home on the Range © Don Brice Photography Visit his website to see additional photos. And, his blog HERE.
Don lives in Adelaide, South Australia, and specializes in
Black and White photography with 'low-fi' cameras.
Photo used with permission from Don Brice.
9 comments:
Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam
Where the deer and the antelope play
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day
Home, home on the range
Where the deer and the antelope play
Where seldom is heard
A discouraging word
It'll all be a suburb one day
Oh, give me the range where things aren't quite so strange
Where the houses don't look all the same
With the streets named for deer that you can't find 'round here
Yes, the suburbs will drive me insane!
ANTENNAS UP, YOU VARMINTS!
A cowboy's life should be exciting,
And really have some kick.
An Indian raid or shoot-em-up,
Like a John Wayne movie flick.
Someday I'll be a hero,
If I only get the chance
For now my daily challenge,
Is this task of shooting ants.
This one has a mixed reaction from me (I consider that a good thing). As a boy, I was Mr. cowboy. I had chaps and holsters, six guns, Stetson hats, you name it and I feel all of it was innocent enough but in today’s violent world the innocence has been drained form the old west. Guns become a problem for society. Perhaps that is the artist’s intention and if so, this piece works very well. Small clues tell me this is not about childhood memories: the gun is an automatic pistol not a replica of a colt or some other old six gun. The boy’s contrapposto stance is atypical for a child; aggressive, cocky, more like a man with an attitude. I cannot guess the artist’s mind but my impression tells me this is a foreboding image, threatening; a warning to us all. Great photo!!!
Billy was just a small boy when he got his first pistol.
Have a great weekend Nancy.
Love Renee xoxo
On the nose, Stephen. My first thoughts when I first saw this, were disturbing. I, too, noticed it was an automatic and nothing in the photo represented a cowboy image.
SORROW
My Ma's out visiting somewhere'
My Pa's a stupid fool.
They always stay so busy,
They think that I'm at school.
Pa left the drawer unlocked,
And here I've got his gun.
I've got power now and wonder,
What it's like to shoot someone.
(poem by Therese L. Broderick of Albany, NY, USA)
MY FORTIES
So small, really, were those targets
I shot at, putting on costumes
two sizes too large, like a little boy
named Tim who wants to be
known as Garrett instead, who wears
his father's weathered cowboy hat
and his older brother's boots, and who
aims a half-filled pistol at an old mole's
hole in the sage brush. When bells
ring to call him home to dinner,
he has the late excuse he needs
not to pull the trigger. Neither did I.
My Daddy's name is Al Capone,
He's rich and tough and strong.
The sheriff says he won't come home
I sure hope that he's wrong.
One day I'll grow to be like him
Standing so tall and brave.
Mama says to stop talkin that way
Or I might end up in a grave.
The apple don't fall far from the tree.
I wonder what that means.
The preacher scowled and yelled at me.
Nothing's ever as it seems.
Standing. Young spine
curved and unstable
a hat to hide the evil
from his eyes
as he squints, looking
back toward all
that made him a child
not yet ready
to face all
that will make him a man.
A smoking gun
grasped in his left hand,
(nun's leather lashings
never hindering
this 'disgrace'),
hazy eyes turn in terror,
the shots still ringing;
their Frankenstein
patched together
like something that
could be fixed...
Billy Bob "The Kid" Thornton
Listen to me show hosts, 'cause there's something you must know
'Bout a man who plays in the Boxmasters you might have on your show.
Don't ever talk about his past
Or he'll get mad at you
And you'll end up with an awkward
sweat-inducing interview.
What Billy won't admit is that you can't escape your past
It's better to acknowledge it and let the moment pass
'Cause when you try to bury it
You'll look like a galloot
And give yourself a new name
As a child of ill repute.
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