Photo © Carl Weese
Visit his website to see additional photos.
The photographer lives in Connecticut, and specializes in
documentary photography.
Photo used with permission from Carl Weese.
I've discovered in my writing that a picture is an amazing tool to spur creativity. Have a look around and let your creative juices flow.
4 comments:
How forlorn. This is in the same mood.
http://rinklyrimes.blogspot.com/2009/06/for-sale.html
I remember those Sunday afternoons sitting on your leather couch in your study. Your shelves filled with books whose mysterious titles I still have trouble understanding.
"Daddy," I would say softly, "What are you writing?" Then my voice would get louder and sharper, but you never looked up from that white sheet of paper. Paper I wanted to desperately toss in the fire. Every now and then you would glance my way, and give me that stern look. Then look down at your pen again.
But, I wasn't fooled. I knew you were soft inside that hard shell of yours. In silence you expressed your love, and that was enough for me. How could I stop loving you? Even though you were never there for me, my love for you was enough.
Your books are on another shelf now, and this was the last piece of you that I owned. But, though I am forced to throw it away, you will always be a part of me. And, that will always be enough.
i can say right now NOBODY in my home sits in my chair!!...:)
COUCH GRIEVING
I laid upon this couch,
For a thousand football games,
And partied with my friends,
I've forgotten half their names.
A brewery full of beer,
Upon its cushions has been spilt,
And just stretched out and snoozin,
Lazy hours I have kilt.
But all good things must end.
And now, the dump for you,
"Goodbye, Old Couch", I say,
While I shed a tear or two.
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