Metal bird
Fly with me
Above the clouds
Take me home
To where the eagles nest
Take me there
With feathers made of steel
Take me back in time
So that this cage
Can sleep again
In mountains, hills
And rivers
Scattered like my heart
A thousand pieces
In a land that I call home
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Canon AE-1 Film Camera / Frankfurt, Germany (May 2015)
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bohemiaspeaks.com
An African New World invention combining the best of both European and African elements, early banjos made their way across the ocean to an unwelcoming land. In their new home these musical machines unleashed an exotic power that soon became commonplace (ever heard Cotton-eye Joe?). In their transformation from crude tribal lutes to engines of a new folk culture, Banjos laid testament to the magical influence of music. Captors’ hearts were unwittingly captivated and legions of haters were defeated with song. Today the Banjo is relegated to halls of fame as this painful past is dusted under the rug of time and as new Banjo’s leave their mark in history.
Detailed information about the history of the Banjo here:
http://www.musicfolk.com/docs/Features/Feature_Banjo.htm
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bohemiaspeaks.com
Capturing moments on film restores a long-lost sense of belonging to our screens. It defies the fleeting imagery of our digital world. With unplugged precision space and time are distorted. Yet they scream with the same authenticity of nature.
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bohemiaspeaks.com
There she is
All I can see
Across this bus
A crooked nose
Pointing out a masterpiece
Her eyes so blue
And lashes honey blonde
Fingers crafted
Like the twigs
Of Avalon
Dicing through her curly hair
Shaping galaxies far away
Bumpy roads ahead
Simple smiles
Are all I need
On my way
To trust in life
To trust in purpose
To trust in goodness
On this very day
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Character: 92/100
Flickering wings, a carpet flying far away
With strings of creatures woven in between
I see it drifting towards me
And hear the roaring of a million tiny pendulums
Cracking at each other’s sides forevermore
I take a shot.
Soon enough the sun is covered with a hive
And all the colors seem to fade away
The things we used to do to feel alive
Have lost their taste as these vile creatures
Feast on what remains from yesterday
I shoot again.
With forward looking sentiments
We forget the now
And live in worlds constructed from our fears
The world we’re forced to dwell in soon becomes
The very world of fears we sought to clear
Another click.
The locusts rally, the trumpets sound
And battle drums are pounded
The colors of the sun have gone away
And with it all the warmth has been disguised
Alone afraid in this dark room
I hold on to what little light I have left
A few pictures from yesterday
Over exposed and blurry
Bits and pieces of my mind
Crumble as I hide
The locusts eat away
And as our memories are devoured
I light a fire naked and alone
Throwing in the final batch of pictures
Fearing what will happen
When the light goes out
I take one final shot.
bohemiaspeaks 