Category: Photo/Poem

Looking Back to Africa Where Time Has a Different Density*

I came,
I saw,
I was conquered.

The world
incomparably richer
than anything I had been taught.

Africa does not exist —
only poverty,
only dignity,
only abandonment,
only endurance.

The malaria mosquito
decided history.
The desert
teaches humility.

Independence brought
responsibility.


Colonialism left behind
borders,
habits of thought,
fear
that travels faster
than wind.

A crowd
is a separate being.

The traveler
discovers himself
only when he loses his way.

Time
has a different density.

The problem is not only poverty,
but the absence of choice.

The reporter
must be quiet enough
to hear
what is not being said.

The world
is not a rational place.

The greater the poverty,
the greater the need
for dignity.

Patience
is a form of intelligence.

I came.
I saw.
I was conquered.

These words and phrases were gathered from the Polish writer and journalist Kapuściński’s The Shadow of the Sun, a collection of journalistic accounts and essays during his travels in Africa.

Hohoe, VR, Ghana

Weather inside the Weather

I’ve never trusted the loud surface of things,
the noise beyond the headlines
hijacking my attention.

I turn instead toward the weather inside the weather,
light breaking out of its own shadow,
a chord held longer than it should be,
almost refusing to resolve.

I wait for the hush after the ferry horn
when the harbor keeps breathing anyway.
Kapuśińki walking through Accra dust —
not filing copy, listening.

Noir light slipping through blinds,
everybody marked, nobody simple.
Deep thinking feels like this palm at night —
fronds flaring out of blackness,

structure rising from dark without announcement.
At this age I resist the easy answer.

I grow outward into depth.

Ambition has fallen away.
What remains is home.

St. Simons Island, Georgia

And A Man Comes On And Tells Me…

Think different.
Just do it.
Open happiness.

Begin before the narrative.
Immersion first.
Explanation later.

Priceless,
but somehow always available.
Technology as magic.
Presence, no proof required.

Belong anywhere.
Stand still.
Buy less.
Feel more.

Real beauty,
threaded through generations,
stitched quietly
behind the noise
and the pitch.

Timeless.
Legacy-approved.
Edited, then rescued
by what feels authentic.

Silence as value.
Sound as identity.
Your year, your taste,
your data,
remembering you.

Motion equals meaning.
Energy you can trust.
Flow over mastery.
The body knows first.

Life as fuel.
Life as current.
Life as something
you almost control
until it moves you.

Show, don’t tell.
Stream, don’t stop.
Touch the object.
Feel the surface.
Call it real.

Expand the horizon.
Ignite the instrument.
Turn emotion into action.

Belong.
Resonate.
Find your voice.

And underneath it all—
a soft insistence:

You are enough
but not quite
until this moment
arrives
and lets you feel
already here.

Reykjavik, Iceland

…This is a found poem, constructed from advertisement taglines.

Jellyfish Donuts

The door pushes back with a soft groan,
and the air is sugared brine,
half bakery, half tidepool.

Glass lamps shaped like jellyfish hang above,

their glow steady, not quite natural.

The menu glints in chalk dust,

part joke, part warning,

a dare scrawled in sugar.

House Specialties — Today Only:

Seaweed & Salted Caramel Ripple -

kelp flakes tangled into sticky sweetness.

Beetroot & Black Garlic Glazed -

a purple-red bite with a shadow of earth.

Turmeric Pineapple Fire Ring -

golden heat meeting citrus sting.

Lavender Pickle Surprise -

floral calm ambushed by brine.

Sardine & Lemon Zest Cruller -

ocean breeze with a citrus slap.

Charcoal & Hibiscus Swirl -

ash-black dough bleeding crimson bloom.

Avocado & Wasabi Glazed Twist -

creamy green mellow, then the nose-burn.

Rosemary Grapefruit Crunch -

bitter pith under sharp pine needles.

Miso Maple Bar -

savory umami wrapped in tree sugar.

Dandelion Honey Puff -

a meadow fried into golden fluff.

Pumpkin Kimchi Knot -

spicy funk bound in autumn orange.

Cactus Pear & Chili Powder Jelly-Fill -

sweet desert sting at the heart.

And at the end of the counter,

a glass case with a handwritten sign:

Plain donuts — sold out.

Juneau, Alaska

Blue Hand

Ghost glove of the cosmos
stuck on the window of eternity
like a lost kite tangled in its knotted tail,
lonely semaphore of the star-drunk night.

What are you doing here?

Signaling a mail truck from Mars?

Chasing rubber checks through Northern Lights?

Playing patty-cake with the void?

Maybe you’re a glove
lost in the subway of eternity,
or the handprint of a thief
caught passing counterfeit stars.

I want to wear you—

shake the galaxies awake,

slap Saturn across its rings,

tickle the black holes

until they spit out light.

But you just hang there,

blue and stubborn,

grinning like eternity’s fool,

saying nothing 
but still mouthing off:

Here I am. Where are you?

Peaks Island, Maine