blue puzzle
trimmed in crystalline shards
frozen razors and broken spies
wasted construction time
scattered masterpiece undisguised
patterns older than time
familiar chimeras cloaked in perplexity
fools' games that jesters play
while kings and knaves misbehave
oblivion claims dominion
tomorrow has once again gone astray
cats cradle and spiderwebs
collecting dew from unspent clouds
painted obscurities
buried in the sapphire haze
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Someday
What if . . .
What if it was me . . .
What if . . .
What if it was me he wanted . . .
Wanted to hold close. . .
In those empty arms. . .
Near a pounding heart . . .
Wrapped up so tight . . . ?
What if . . .
What if it was me he was afraid of . . .
Afraid of losing . . .
Sight of . . .
Touch with . . .
Before gaining . . . ?
What if . . .
What if it was me he couldn’t find. . .
Couldn’t find the words to express . . .
What he wanted . . .
Why he cared . . .
Where his fears came from . . . ?
What if . . .
What if it was me he couldn’t have . . .
Couldn’t have enough of . . .
Without hurting . . .
Before breaking . . .
And still breathe . . . ?
What if . . .
What if it was me he heard . . .
Heard whispering in his ear . . .
Of hopes and dreams . . .
Remote possibilities . . .
You are beauty to me . . . ?
What if . . .
What if it was me he thought about . . .
Thought about talking to . . .
And laughing with . . .
About living . . .
Forever . . . ?
What if . . .
What if I mattered too much . . .
Too much to try. . .
To find life with. . .
To chase adventure with . . .
To get tangled up with . . . ?
What if . . .
What if it was me he didn’t know . . .
Didn’t know how to love . . .
With vulnerability . . .
Despite all misgivings . . .
Above all else . . . ?
What if . . .
What if it was me . . .
What if he wanted me . . .
What if it was me . . .
What if . . .
What if it was me he wanted . . .
Wanted to hold close. . .
In those empty arms. . .
Near a pounding heart . . .
Wrapped up so tight . . . ?
What if . . .
What if it was me he was afraid of . . .
Afraid of losing . . .
Sight of . . .
Touch with . . .
Before gaining . . . ?
What if . . .
What if it was me he couldn’t find. . .
Couldn’t find the words to express . . .
What he wanted . . .
Why he cared . . .
Where his fears came from . . . ?
What if . . .
What if it was me he couldn’t have . . .
Couldn’t have enough of . . .
Without hurting . . .
Before breaking . . .
And still breathe . . . ?
What if . . .
What if it was me he heard . . .
Heard whispering in his ear . . .
Of hopes and dreams . . .
Remote possibilities . . .
You are beauty to me . . . ?
What if . . .
What if it was me he thought about . . .
Thought about talking to . . .
And laughing with . . .
About living . . .
Forever . . . ?
What if . . .
What if I mattered too much . . .
Too much to try. . .
To find life with. . .
To chase adventure with . . .
To get tangled up with . . . ?
What if . . .
What if it was me he didn’t know . . .
Didn’t know how to love . . .
With vulnerability . . .
Despite all misgivings . . .
Above all else . . . ?
What if . . .
What if it was me . . .
What if he wanted me . . .
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Beauty and the Beast
Beauty: the quality present in a thing or person that gives intense pleasure or deep satisfaction to the mind, whether arising from sensory manifestations (as shape, color, sound, etc.), a meaningful design or pattern, or something else (as a personality in which high spiritual qualities are manifest).
Ugly: very unattractive or unpleasant to look at; offensive to the sense of beauty; displeasing in appearance.
“The first question I ask myself when something doesn’t seem to be beautiful is why do I think it’s not beautiful. And very shortly you discover that there is no reason,” John Cage.
As most of you know, I’m prone to sending out emails or texts with questions. Cat’s Question of the Day. You might be one of the lucky few to receive one of these correspondences and know what I am talking about. Haha! Whenever I pose these questions to you, it is because some idea has struck me in a new way or I’ve maybe come to some realization and I want to discuss it with someone. I’m not just asking the questions for the pure curiosity of asking questions. Though, I do love to ask questions and invite people to think about themselves or their world a little more deeply. I truly want to know myself and to know you on a more authentic level.
I remember asking people once what they thought of the idea of beauty and ugliness. I don’t recall the incident that brought this question to my mind. Usually something that has just happened has stopped me in my tracks. Now, you can imagine the clichéd responses I received; things like “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” and “Beauty comes from inside,” and other such overused clichéd responses. Sadly, there were only a couple people who responded with more original thoughts, like “Beauty is only a light switch away,” and my personal favorite that makes me laugh every time I think about it, “Beauty and honey are the same thing. A direct correlation,” one man said. And since that confused me, I asked him to elaborate. He responded, “Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder! A bee-holder is a hive and the eye is obviously the entrance way so beauty lies inside a bee hive. So it has to be honey.” Is that not great? I love it!! Maybe that’s why people call ones they love, “Honey.” Or maybe not… just a thought.
I was disappointed to hear all the unoriginal responses, as well intended as they were. It seemed that everyone missed the point of my question. I wasn’t asking what beauty was. I wanted to know what people thought about the idea of ugliness and beauty. And, frankly, I was more interested in the ugliness part of it. What is it that makes something ugly? Yes, each person sees beauty and ugliness a little differently than someone else. The clichés are often true.
But what is it in each of us that can look at someone or something and make a judgment about whether it is beautiful or ugly? We all do this. We see someone, perhaps a homeless person who smells badly, is covered in filthy clothes, hasn’t showered or done their hair and make-up in who knows how long, and all we see is ‘ugly.’ Or we see someone well-dressed, smelling good, stylish hair and/or make-up done to perfection, just all-around taken care of and we think, “Pretty or handsome.”
Or maybe it’s a place or an object we see that we designate to either the “beautiful” or “ugly” file in our minds and then dismiss it or embrace it, depending on which box we put it in. Obviously if something is ‘ugly’ we usually want nothing to do with it, will avoid it, ignore it, dismiss it, run from it as quickly as possible. Perhaps it threatens us in some way. Maybe the ugliness we see in it will somehow affect us or rub off on us if we go near it, like it might be contagious. Now, I can’t say that I’ve ever noticed that ugly places attract ugly people and ugly cars and ugly things… maybe I’ve just never seen that but I think it’s safe to say it doesn’t work that way.
When we put someone/something in the ‘beautiful’ box in our brain, we want to chase after it, embrace it, absorb it, touch it, possess it somehow, lavish attention on it and to the greatest extent possible. Right?
My question really boils down to this: what is it about me that can look at something and call it ugly? How is it that I can look at another human being and think, ‘ugly?’ Who am I to be in any position to make such a judgment?! I am nothing and no one who is qualified to be a judge! What all have I missed out on in this life because I dismissed something or someone as being ugly and therefore unworthy? What a heart-breaking realization for me on so many levels! Who all have I unwittingly or deliberately brought pain to by my dismissal of them based on my opinion of their unworthiness and ugliness?? Ouch!! What ideas have I dismissed outright because I found them to be beneath me based solely on who was sharing the idea? Such ignorance! What places have I not visited because I thought there was nothing there worthy of my all-important time and energy? What hypocrisy!! Who am I to think that I am any more worthy of another’s time or energy than anyone else? Do I think that I am more beautiful and therefore more valuable? Certainly not! Yuck! What an ugly thought! And yet .. . there is truth in it. An ugly truth and one I am hoping to change.
Ugliness is an idea, a perception. It is not something concrete that you can point at and say, “That! That right there, that is what ugly is!” Sure, we’ve all done that at one point in our lives, I’m sad to say. But that, to me, said nothing of whatever I may have been pointing at. Rather, it said a great deal about me and my own ugliness. Is there anything more offensive or hideous or dangerous than an ugly attitude or personality that is full of hate, ignorance and evil towards oneself or towards another? I find these ‘qualities’ to be the ugliest things in this world. It seems to me that the ability to find ugliness in another comes from our own inner ugliness, our arrogance, our pride, our skewed sense of self importance, our insecurities.
It humbles me greatly to know this about myself. I don’t like the fact that I can look at or listen to something and label it ‘ugly.’ If only we would take a second look, what beauty we might see where we first saw only ugliness!! How much fuller would our lives be if we looked for the beauty in everything rather than for the flaws that we deem to be ugly and final? I wish people would take another look at someone or something that we once so easily dismissed as ugly and therefore unworthy of our time, our energy, our attention, our anything, and perhaps find the beauty that was there all along. If only we would work to transform our own ugliness, our ugly thoughts and actions, into beauty, how we might change this world!!
Beauty: the quality present in a thing or person that gives intense pleasure or deep satisfaction to the mind, whether arising from sensory manifestations (as shape, color, sound, etc.), a meaningful design or pattern, or something else (as a personality in which high spiritual qualities are manifest).
Ugly: very unattractive or unpleasant to look at; offensive to the sense of beauty; displeasing in appearance.
“The first question I ask myself when something doesn’t seem to be beautiful is why do I think it’s not beautiful. And very shortly you discover that there is no reason,” John Cage.
As most of you know, I’m prone to sending out emails or texts with questions. Cat’s Question of the Day. You might be one of the lucky few to receive one of these correspondences and know what I am talking about. Haha! Whenever I pose these questions to you, it is because some idea has struck me in a new way or I’ve maybe come to some realization and I want to discuss it with someone. I’m not just asking the questions for the pure curiosity of asking questions. Though, I do love to ask questions and invite people to think about themselves or their world a little more deeply. I truly want to know myself and to know you on a more authentic level.
I remember asking people once what they thought of the idea of beauty and ugliness. I don’t recall the incident that brought this question to my mind. Usually something that has just happened has stopped me in my tracks. Now, you can imagine the clichéd responses I received; things like “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” and “Beauty comes from inside,” and other such overused clichéd responses. Sadly, there were only a couple people who responded with more original thoughts, like “Beauty is only a light switch away,” and my personal favorite that makes me laugh every time I think about it, “Beauty and honey are the same thing. A direct correlation,” one man said. And since that confused me, I asked him to elaborate. He responded, “Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder! A bee-holder is a hive and the eye is obviously the entrance way so beauty lies inside a bee hive. So it has to be honey.” Is that not great? I love it!! Maybe that’s why people call ones they love, “Honey.” Or maybe not… just a thought.
I was disappointed to hear all the unoriginal responses, as well intended as they were. It seemed that everyone missed the point of my question. I wasn’t asking what beauty was. I wanted to know what people thought about the idea of ugliness and beauty. And, frankly, I was more interested in the ugliness part of it. What is it that makes something ugly? Yes, each person sees beauty and ugliness a little differently than someone else. The clichés are often true.
But what is it in each of us that can look at someone or something and make a judgment about whether it is beautiful or ugly? We all do this. We see someone, perhaps a homeless person who smells badly, is covered in filthy clothes, hasn’t showered or done their hair and make-up in who knows how long, and all we see is ‘ugly.’ Or we see someone well-dressed, smelling good, stylish hair and/or make-up done to perfection, just all-around taken care of and we think, “Pretty or handsome.”
Or maybe it’s a place or an object we see that we designate to either the “beautiful” or “ugly” file in our minds and then dismiss it or embrace it, depending on which box we put it in. Obviously if something is ‘ugly’ we usually want nothing to do with it, will avoid it, ignore it, dismiss it, run from it as quickly as possible. Perhaps it threatens us in some way. Maybe the ugliness we see in it will somehow affect us or rub off on us if we go near it, like it might be contagious. Now, I can’t say that I’ve ever noticed that ugly places attract ugly people and ugly cars and ugly things… maybe I’ve just never seen that but I think it’s safe to say it doesn’t work that way.
When we put someone/something in the ‘beautiful’ box in our brain, we want to chase after it, embrace it, absorb it, touch it, possess it somehow, lavish attention on it and to the greatest extent possible. Right?
My question really boils down to this: what is it about me that can look at something and call it ugly? How is it that I can look at another human being and think, ‘ugly?’ Who am I to be in any position to make such a judgment?! I am nothing and no one who is qualified to be a judge! What all have I missed out on in this life because I dismissed something or someone as being ugly and therefore unworthy? What a heart-breaking realization for me on so many levels! Who all have I unwittingly or deliberately brought pain to by my dismissal of them based on my opinion of their unworthiness and ugliness?? Ouch!! What ideas have I dismissed outright because I found them to be beneath me based solely on who was sharing the idea? Such ignorance! What places have I not visited because I thought there was nothing there worthy of my all-important time and energy? What hypocrisy!! Who am I to think that I am any more worthy of another’s time or energy than anyone else? Do I think that I am more beautiful and therefore more valuable? Certainly not! Yuck! What an ugly thought! And yet .. . there is truth in it. An ugly truth and one I am hoping to change.
Ugliness is an idea, a perception. It is not something concrete that you can point at and say, “That! That right there, that is what ugly is!” Sure, we’ve all done that at one point in our lives, I’m sad to say. But that, to me, said nothing of whatever I may have been pointing at. Rather, it said a great deal about me and my own ugliness. Is there anything more offensive or hideous or dangerous than an ugly attitude or personality that is full of hate, ignorance and evil towards oneself or towards another? I find these ‘qualities’ to be the ugliest things in this world. It seems to me that the ability to find ugliness in another comes from our own inner ugliness, our arrogance, our pride, our skewed sense of self importance, our insecurities.
It humbles me greatly to know this about myself. I don’t like the fact that I can look at or listen to something and label it ‘ugly.’ If only we would take a second look, what beauty we might see where we first saw only ugliness!! How much fuller would our lives be if we looked for the beauty in everything rather than for the flaws that we deem to be ugly and final? I wish people would take another look at someone or something that we once so easily dismissed as ugly and therefore unworthy of our time, our energy, our attention, our anything, and perhaps find the beauty that was there all along. If only we would work to transform our own ugliness, our ugly thoughts and actions, into beauty, how we might change this world!!
There is a great deal more I could say about this topic and I'm sure there is plenty you could add. These are just some thoughts on one of those 'questions of the day. ' If you care to share your thoughts, I'd enjoy hearing them.
Monday, July 21, 2008
envious of innocence and belief
in truth that isn't and life that isn't
in time that lied and sight that failed
and hearts that used to beat
and breathing that comes so easy for everyone but me
disillusionment used to be routine
cuz only tears flow
and air is in short supply
i can't find my watch to stop the time
that taunts and teases and promises to wait
but all along has been cheating me
searching for black and white in a prismatic universe
something to cast some shade from relentless light
shut it off! smash the bulb that only illuminates
labyrinths and ruins from a forgotten time
instead of stars and magic and possibility
quicksand seduction
coolness desired
but I can't breathe let alone sink!!
and I can't see and I don't know how to be!!
cuz all there is
is seductive chaos and exhausted rage
naked truth that is and never ends,
life that might be
and if I've been mistaken for this long
how can I begin to perceive
merely another blind person on the street
in my house and in my head
smashing into once-familiar walls
now ethereal and indistinct
fingers and ears and eyes that refuse decrees
predictability on every corner
not part of this identity
uncertainty, supposed to
outsider that can’t afford the fee
this madness
that is me
in truth that isn't and life that isn't
in time that lied and sight that failed
and hearts that used to beat
and breathing that comes so easy for everyone but me
disillusionment used to be routine
cuz only tears flow
and air is in short supply
i can't find my watch to stop the time
that taunts and teases and promises to wait
but all along has been cheating me
searching for black and white in a prismatic universe
something to cast some shade from relentless light
shut it off! smash the bulb that only illuminates
labyrinths and ruins from a forgotten time
instead of stars and magic and possibility
quicksand seduction
coolness desired
but I can't breathe let alone sink!!
and I can't see and I don't know how to be!!
cuz all there is
is seductive chaos and exhausted rage
naked truth that is and never ends,
life that might be
and if I've been mistaken for this long
how can I begin to perceive
merely another blind person on the street
in my house and in my head
smashing into once-familiar walls
now ethereal and indistinct
fingers and ears and eyes that refuse decrees
predictability on every corner
not part of this identity
uncertainty, supposed to
outsider that can’t afford the fee
this madness
that is me
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Gravity
(An excerpt from Donald Miller's, "Blue Like Jazz," that has moved me a great deal and that I wanted to share with you.)
What gravity is this that drew my soul toward yours? What great force, that though I went falsely, went kicking, went disguising myself to earn your love, also disguised, to earn your keeping, your resting, your staying, your will fleshed into mine, rasped by a slowly revealed truth, the barter of my soul, the soul that I fear, the soul that I loathe, the soul that; if you will love, I will love. I will redeem you, if you will redeem me? Is this our purpose, you and I together to pacify each other, to lead each other toward the lie that we are good, that we are noble, that we need not redemption, save the one that you and I invented of our own clay?
I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.
I went looking, I wrote out a list, I drew an image, I bled a poem of you. You were pretty, and my friends believed I was worthy of you. You were clever, but I was smarter, perhaps the only smarter one, the only one able to lead you. You see, love, I did not love you, I loved me. And you were only a tool that I used to fix myself, to fool myself, to redeem myself. And though I have taught you to lay your lily hand in mine, I walk alone, for I cannot talk to you, lest you talk it back to me, lest I believe that I am not worthy, not deserving, not redeemed.
I want desperately for you to be my friend. But you are not my friend; you have slid up warmly to the man I wanted to be, the man I pretended to be, and I was your Jesus and, you were mine. Should I show you who I am, we may crumble. I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.
I want to be known and loved anyway. Can you do this? I trust by your easy breathing that you are human like me, that you are fallen like me, that you are lonely, like me. My love, do I know you? What is this great gravity that pulls us so painfully toward each other? Why do we not connect? Will we be forever in fleshing this out? And how will we with words, narrow words, come into the knowing of each other? Is this God’s way of meriting grace, of teaching us of the labyrinth of His love for us, teaching us, in degrees, that which He is sacrificing to join ourselves to Him? Or better yet, has He formed our being fractional so that we might conclude one great hope, plodding and sighing and breathing into one another in such a great push that we might break through into the known and being loved, only to cave into a greater perdition and fall down at His throne still begging for our acceptance? Begging for our completion?
We were fools to believe that we would redeem each other.
Were I some sleeping Adam, to wake and find you resting at my rib, to share these things that God has done, to walk you through the garden, to counsel your timid steps, your bewildered eye, your heart so slow to love, so careful to love, so sheepish that I stepped up my aim and became a man. Is this what God intended? That though He made you from my rib, it is you who is making me, humbling me, destroying me, and in so doing revealing Him.
Will we be in ashes before we are one?
What great gravity is this that drew my heart toward yours? What great force collapsed my orbit, my lonesome state? What is this that wants in me the want in you? Don’t we go at each other with yielded eyes, with cumbered hands and feet, with clunky tongues? This deed is unattainable! We cannot know each other!
I am quitting this thing, but not what you think. I am not going away.
I will give you this, my love, and I will not bargain or barter any longer. I will love you, as sure as He has loved me. I will discover what I can discover and though you remain a mystery, save God’s own knowledge, what I disclose of you I will keep in the warmest chamber of my heart, the very chamber where God has stowed Himself in me. And I will do this to my death, and to death it may bring me.
I will love you like God, because of God, mighted by the power of God. I will stop expecting your love, demanding your love, trading for your love, gaming for your love. I will simply love. I am giving myself to you, and tomorrow I will do it again. I suppose the clock itself will wear thin its time before I am ended at this altar of dying and dying again.
God risked Himself on me. I will risk myself on you. And together, we will learn to love, and perhaps then, and only then, understand this gravity that drew Him, unto us.
What gravity is this that drew my soul toward yours? What great force, that though I went falsely, went kicking, went disguising myself to earn your love, also disguised, to earn your keeping, your resting, your staying, your will fleshed into mine, rasped by a slowly revealed truth, the barter of my soul, the soul that I fear, the soul that I loathe, the soul that; if you will love, I will love. I will redeem you, if you will redeem me? Is this our purpose, you and I together to pacify each other, to lead each other toward the lie that we are good, that we are noble, that we need not redemption, save the one that you and I invented of our own clay?
I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.
I went looking, I wrote out a list, I drew an image, I bled a poem of you. You were pretty, and my friends believed I was worthy of you. You were clever, but I was smarter, perhaps the only smarter one, the only one able to lead you. You see, love, I did not love you, I loved me. And you were only a tool that I used to fix myself, to fool myself, to redeem myself. And though I have taught you to lay your lily hand in mine, I walk alone, for I cannot talk to you, lest you talk it back to me, lest I believe that I am not worthy, not deserving, not redeemed.
I want desperately for you to be my friend. But you are not my friend; you have slid up warmly to the man I wanted to be, the man I pretended to be, and I was your Jesus and, you were mine. Should I show you who I am, we may crumble. I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.
I want to be known and loved anyway. Can you do this? I trust by your easy breathing that you are human like me, that you are fallen like me, that you are lonely, like me. My love, do I know you? What is this great gravity that pulls us so painfully toward each other? Why do we not connect? Will we be forever in fleshing this out? And how will we with words, narrow words, come into the knowing of each other? Is this God’s way of meriting grace, of teaching us of the labyrinth of His love for us, teaching us, in degrees, that which He is sacrificing to join ourselves to Him? Or better yet, has He formed our being fractional so that we might conclude one great hope, plodding and sighing and breathing into one another in such a great push that we might break through into the known and being loved, only to cave into a greater perdition and fall down at His throne still begging for our acceptance? Begging for our completion?
We were fools to believe that we would redeem each other.
Were I some sleeping Adam, to wake and find you resting at my rib, to share these things that God has done, to walk you through the garden, to counsel your timid steps, your bewildered eye, your heart so slow to love, so careful to love, so sheepish that I stepped up my aim and became a man. Is this what God intended? That though He made you from my rib, it is you who is making me, humbling me, destroying me, and in so doing revealing Him.
Will we be in ashes before we are one?
What great gravity is this that drew my heart toward yours? What great force collapsed my orbit, my lonesome state? What is this that wants in me the want in you? Don’t we go at each other with yielded eyes, with cumbered hands and feet, with clunky tongues? This deed is unattainable! We cannot know each other!
I am quitting this thing, but not what you think. I am not going away.
I will give you this, my love, and I will not bargain or barter any longer. I will love you, as sure as He has loved me. I will discover what I can discover and though you remain a mystery, save God’s own knowledge, what I disclose of you I will keep in the warmest chamber of my heart, the very chamber where God has stowed Himself in me. And I will do this to my death, and to death it may bring me.
I will love you like God, because of God, mighted by the power of God. I will stop expecting your love, demanding your love, trading for your love, gaming for your love. I will simply love. I am giving myself to you, and tomorrow I will do it again. I suppose the clock itself will wear thin its time before I am ended at this altar of dying and dying again.
God risked Himself on me. I will risk myself on you. And together, we will learn to love, and perhaps then, and only then, understand this gravity that drew Him, unto us.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Cat's Eye Photography photo pricing
For anyone interested in prices for my photography, I'm posting them on here until I get my webpage updated with current photos and information. That website is www.catseyephotography.us if you ever want to check it out. There are more sizes available so just ask if you don't see the size you want.
Print Price list:
Size Price
Wallets: $10.00
4x6: $3.00
5x5: $3.00
5x7: $6.00
6x6: $5.00
8x8: $9.00
8x10: $10.00
8x12: $15.00
10x10: $10.00
11x14: $25.00
16x20: $55.00
20x24: $90.00
Print Price list:
Size Price
Wallets: $10.00
4x6: $3.00
5x5: $3.00
5x7: $6.00
6x6: $5.00
8x8: $9.00
8x10: $10.00
8x12: $15.00
10x10: $10.00
11x14: $25.00
16x20: $55.00
20x24: $90.00
Portrait Packages
Package One
Approximately 50 proofs
1 8x10
4 5x7
16 wallets
$150.00
_____________
Package Two
Approximately 75 proofs
2 8x10
6 5x7
16 wallets
$220.00
_____________
Package Three
Approximately 75 proofs
4 8x10
8 5x7
32 wallets
$275.00
_____________
Package Four
Approximately 75 proofs
6 8x10
10 5x7
32 wallets
$315.00
_____________
Package Five
Approximately 100 proofs
5 8x10 or
3 8x10 & 1 11x14
16 5x7
32 wallets
$530.00
_____________
Package Six
Approximately 130 proofs
1 16x20
2 11x14
6 8x10
12 5x7
32 wallets
$650.00
_____________
All photographs are shot digitally. Any additional photographs can be purchased separately. Any wallets can be exchanged for larger sizes, should you choose to change them. (8 wallets = 4 4x6’s or 2 5x7’s or 1 8x10). If you prefer digital proofs, you can purchase a high resolution cd that will include all the edited images from the shoot for an additional $150.00.
A minimum of half of the price of the package is due before the portrait session and the second half on delivery of photos. If you are interested in my photography, please contact me at catseyephoto@hotmail.com.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Tag, you're it
been
chasing shadows of the wind
through drunken trees
into singing sunlight
forever circles without end
around sleeping clouds
beneath charlatan throngs
amidst stone sentinels
whistling and wandering
down deserted alleyways
haunted perfume
merely
forgotten remnants of abandoned wraiths
peek-a-boo stars
whisper secrets of the game
in a foreign dialect
with blinding light and effervescent depths
of night disguised
that tickles or tortures or enlightens or
destroys bygone perceptions
knee-high wonder & castles at the beach
a history misplaced
riven by an ancient blade
sand scattered into utter blackness
lyrics and words evolved
oxygen for survival
innate essence of all
ALL
and everything in between
angel of mercy or a jester in a lousy disguise?
ideas and notions
sustenence of a naked soul
vague distractions that echo in the marrow
never fully realized
under microscopes or umbrellas or over coffee
ever-elusive clues for an undetermined riddle
that I can't possess
enigma and the key
inhabitatants of Neverland
the ferry runs exclusively at night
sold out till the next full moon
no rides today
Monday, June 9, 2008
Open Me
tie a string around your finger
so you never forget
always remember to be
waiting in vain
for a mystery in my own mind
to have a clear and sunny day
set your timepiece
align it with mine before the battery dies
or something else does
I hate the ticking
but can't give up the time
I crave
like caramel sauce on ice cream or chocolate or
simply a chance to finally breathe
it's all the same it seems
pieces of fragments
wasted, stolen, borrowed and killed
its all been done
be original, unique
a first time for most things
take a look and see
so you never forget
always remember to be
waiting in vain
for a mystery in my own mind
to have a clear and sunny day
set your timepiece
align it with mine before the battery dies
or something else does
I hate the ticking
but can't give up the time
I crave
like caramel sauce on ice cream or chocolate or
simply a chance to finally breathe
it's all the same it seems
pieces of fragments
wasted, stolen, borrowed and killed
its all been done
be original, unique
a first time for most things
take a look and see
I’m present, right here, because
I don’t want to be wasting me
somewhere else
on unworthy recipients
of a priceless masterpiece
wrapped in intrigue
just a reminder
time isn't really ever free
a brief privilage, not an eternal right
to be abused and forgotten
tossed casually out to sea
for someone else to retrieve
give the string a tug
pull ever so gently
that string wrapped around your finger . . .
a gift to you from me
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Sahara found
I don't know how or why or even when or if . . .
or. . . or . . .
hollow rooms in expansive mansions that cover acres
sand dunes run east to west
and chase the sun across the blue that fades to white and black
rebirth again
stand on my shoulders for another view
or give me a piggy-back ride for a change
disguise me with an abayah and hejab or maybe a shemagh (look it up or forget it by the time you've read this line)
but never with pride or fury or shame or pain
don't look at what you'll never really see
time wasted goes unredeemed
not for me
do I know you? or is it only rumors
maybe I've seen you around
in memories and fantasies and faint inklings
that tickle my neck and race down my spine
laughter inside that dances in the wind
mysteries and curiosities
truth?
only boredom and solitude
mistaken intrigue
unclaimed baggage on a turnstyle in Morocco or was it that place in Spain?
sickness a nauseating pleasure that I seek
in the furthest reaches of eternity in me
I don't know how . . . or why . . .
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Peddler
the door won't close, it fits no more
before it was snug, just right
blocked out the sun, shut out the night
a traveling salesman stopped awhile
promised remedies and cures and potions
for kangaroo days or sunburns
& sleep deprivation or thirst
with sweet words and a charming style
deception complete
the price was paid
satisfaction? not part of this guarantee
the fine print lies, "only for a time"
she'd slam the door if it'd only close
too much inside, not to be contained
it overflows and repeats again and again
Monday, May 26, 2008
Tidal Wave
turn the tides
flip them over
& hold them in your hand
don't let go
roll them around
falsify a plan
make-believe or maybe just suppose
but take your time, or borrow from that guy over there
have a seat, or maybe you'd prefer to stand
don't forget, time waits for no one
sooner or later
the hourglass empties itself of sand
so don't take too long
decision made, let the race begin
flip them over
& hold them in your hand
don't let go
roll them around
falsify a plan
make-believe or maybe just suppose
but take your time, or borrow from that guy over there
have a seat, or maybe you'd prefer to stand
don't forget, time waits for no one
sooner or later
the hourglass empties itself of sand
so don't take too long
decision made, let the race begin
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Murano
Murano, another of the many islands in Venice, is world-famous for it's glass-making. The glass is everywhere!! It is really beautiful and even after seeing so much of it, I felt compelled to look in all the windows each time I came across it. It is all pretty similar, the styles, but the details are all different. They make all kinds of vases, jewelry, clocks, sculptures, bottle-openers, dishes and things like that, and so much more! It really is beautiful! The blue sculpture is one of many you can see on the island. I saw one other one, it looked like an over-sized abacus with the large beads made from the Murano glass, in one of the squares but I didn't photograph it. Sorry. I think there are a couple more but I didn't see them while I was there. I saw them online after I got home. Wish I'd have known so I could have looked for them. Another thing to add to the to-do list for next time.
I loved to see all the ironwork all over Venice. It was everywhere I went, really, but not nearly as prominent as the glass, lace and masks. It is very detailed and its on the gates, on the windows, fences, lamps, lots of places. I like to see the shadows it makes on the stone and cobbled streets.
I loved to see all the ironwork all over Venice. It was everywhere I went, really, but not nearly as prominent as the glass, lace and masks. It is very detailed and its on the gates, on the windows, fences, lamps, lots of places. I like to see the shadows it makes on the stone and cobbled streets.
Burano
These are some shots from the Island of Burano. They are famous for their lacework and for these brightly-painted buildings. It's a pretty small island and I didn't get to see all of it cuz the wind kicked up and the shops started closing. It got really cold and I was tired so I went back to Lido after a short while.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Stowaway
one-way ticket just for me, 
female nomad alone in the crowd,
stowaway up my sleeve;
a million words will never describe,
every thesaurus so inadequate
the clearest photograph can't ever capture,
no film or memory card is capable
and yet....
for every step over every bridge,
laughter at my, 'Blast It's!'
through every shadowed alley and sunlit square or rainy rooftop and puddled lane,
my umbrella partner and confidante with shades;
on the boats in the biting wind and aboard the gently rocking train,
a shoulder for my sleepy head;
at the cheap hotel and sitting down to eat,
in every song on the IPOD and in the music of the foreign crowd,
whispered laughter and shared imaginings;
in all the moments of sitting or standing and just being still,
presence closer than Pan's taylored shadow;
on the bench in the garden, lying in the sun,
secrets on the breeze;
look again . . .
that's where you were
that's where you are
with me
nomads & dreams
female nomad alone in the crowd,
stowaway up my sleeve;
a million words will never describe,
every thesaurus so inadequate
the clearest photograph can't ever capture,
no film or memory card is capable
and yet....
for every step over every bridge,
laughter at my, 'Blast It's!'
through every shadowed alley and sunlit square or rainy rooftop and puddled lane,
my umbrella partner and confidante with shades;
on the boats in the biting wind and aboard the gently rocking train,
a shoulder for my sleepy head;
at the cheap hotel and sitting down to eat,
conversation just for me;
in every song on the IPOD and in the music of the foreign crowd,
whispered laughter and shared imaginings;
in all the moments of sitting or standing and just being still,
presence closer than Pan's taylored shadow;
on the bench in the garden, lying in the sun,
secrets on the breeze;
look again . . .
that's where you were
that's where you are
with me
nomads & dreams
Saturday, May 10, 2008
...The Very Next Day.... (as in "The Cat Came Back")
. . . The Very Next Day . . .
as in "The Cat Came Back". . .
on a whim
just for fun, curiosity too
& because she could
guardian on strike or vacation or high
why not?
seemingly harmless, almost innocent really
100 times before
practice, she had
on a different level, this one
clandestine rendezvous
inspired by an elegant dispatch
delivered via King’s messenger
imperceptive in her naivete
she went
gone
away
out
for a walk
for a while
oblivious and blinded
should have brought a cane
to stop the fall
to find the way
armor forgotten behind the door
down the steps
into a daunting labyrinth
broken clocks
hands salute & wave goodbye
as they smile
one-way ticket purchased by a stranger-turned . . . other
retired street lamps from a time gone by
stand guard on the deserted path
silent watchmen
no light for her
illumination of her own making
a match alone in the Milky Way
blackest nights, impenetrable obscurity
masquerade balls with costumes ornate
solitary attendee, by invitation only
no place to hide or be
immense & vast vulnerability
discarded charade of a story no more
no longer hers
to tell or breathe or seek
fraudulent memories
deception incomplete
so close
almost
nearly
such a masterpiece!
refund denied, exchanges refused
keep on, go
get lost
she is
gone
away
out
no bread crumbs behind her
devoured by once upon a time
that has dissipated
her shadow an impossibility
yet true just the same
drink up, swallow it down
walk on
evolution defines the morning light
stars whispering in her hair
caterpillars into butterflies
she’s lost her legs & gained her wings
hesitant and infantile then
marble and granite carved
soon forgotten sand & dirt
stems for fools unchanged
smiles stolen from a broken timepiece
criminal in mind, thief of time
only on
fairy tales unfulfilled & poured down the drain
attempted truths found the lies
to no avail
fantasy overflows, overwhelming stain
all-consuming ache
never the same, not this round
if only for the cane
all the way back to Timbuktu
Magellan as a captain couldn’t change courses
riddles & rhymes & childhood dreams
erasers instead of cures
verbal placebos on the black market in Mexico
mule or an ass, puddy or a tat
which one are you?
rehab under the big top when no one is spying
gymnast & clown & magician & queen
before sightless eyes
transformation unperceived
has been
will be
secret blueprints
Cheshire grins & conspiratorial eyes
Audrey’s sunglasses can’t hide
an architect in her mind
the world’s largest ball of yarn
wants only for the world’s largest cat
cryptic visions dangle precariously from her perfect
lips
unintentional on purpose, torture by design
starter guns began the race
disguised in ink & lines & black lace
that started for the 101st time
without the cane
mirrors lie & so do ’they’
but her middle name is Abe
so trust or don’t or stay away
ask the guards
but her and Jack are mountaineers
without a guide
revolution sparked by a passing notion
a child’s imaginings & endless blue skies
for the lady in waiting, silver refined
no more!
madness & sanity for the 1st time
put the straw down, look again
open wide, inhale, breathe
library closed, to borrow no more
from strangers’ tales or history’s lies
reflection in a crystal pond
sings life to her
lyrics now recognized
the forgotten cane, no greater gift
discarded time, her tale exists
tick tock tick tick
clarity inside, covered by silk, held in with lace
mystery, intrigue
guess again, truth or dare, just try & see
a hint of a whisper, desire lingers
in her eyes . . . look closer
before. . .
she is
gone
away
out
for a walk
for a while
for a time
or more . . .
as in "The Cat Came Back". . .
on a whim
just for fun, curiosity too
& because she could
guardian on strike or vacation or high
why not?
seemingly harmless, almost innocent really
100 times before
practice, she had
on a different level, this one
clandestine rendezvous
inspired by an elegant dispatch
delivered via King’s messenger
imperceptive in her naivete
she went
gone
away
out
for a walk
for a while
oblivious and blinded
should have brought a cane
to stop the fall
to find the way
armor forgotten behind the door
down the steps
into a daunting labyrinth
broken clocks
hands salute & wave goodbye
as they smile
one-way ticket purchased by a stranger-turned . . . other
retired street lamps from a time gone by
stand guard on the deserted path
silent watchmen
no light for her
illumination of her own making
a match alone in the Milky Way
blackest nights, impenetrable obscurity
masquerade balls with costumes ornate
solitary attendee, by invitation only
no place to hide or be
immense & vast vulnerability
discarded charade of a story no more
no longer hers
to tell or breathe or seek
fraudulent memories
deception incomplete
so close
almost
nearly
such a masterpiece!
refund denied, exchanges refused
keep on, go
get lost
she is
gone
away
out
no bread crumbs behind her
devoured by once upon a time
that has dissipated
her shadow an impossibility
yet true just the same
drink up, swallow it down
walk on
evolution defines the morning light
stars whispering in her hair
caterpillars into butterflies
she’s lost her legs & gained her wings
hesitant and infantile then
marble and granite carved
soon forgotten sand & dirt
stems for fools unchanged
smiles stolen from a broken timepiece
criminal in mind, thief of time
only on
fairy tales unfulfilled & poured down the drain
attempted truths found the lies
to no avail
fantasy overflows, overwhelming stain
all-consuming ache
never the same, not this round
if only for the cane
all the way back to Timbuktu
Magellan as a captain couldn’t change courses
riddles & rhymes & childhood dreams
erasers instead of cures
verbal placebos on the black market in Mexico
mule or an ass, puddy or a tat
which one are you?
rehab under the big top when no one is spying
gymnast & clown & magician & queen
before sightless eyes
transformation unperceived
has been
will be
secret blueprints
Cheshire grins & conspiratorial eyes
Audrey’s sunglasses can’t hide
an architect in her mind
the world’s largest ball of yarn
wants only for the world’s largest cat
cryptic visions dangle precariously from her perfect
lips
unintentional on purpose, torture by design
starter guns began the race
disguised in ink & lines & black lace
that started for the 101st time
without the cane
mirrors lie & so do ’they’
but her middle name is Abe
so trust or don’t or stay away
ask the guards
but her and Jack are mountaineers
without a guide
revolution sparked by a passing notion
a child’s imaginings & endless blue skies
for the lady in waiting, silver refined
no more!
madness & sanity for the 1st time
put the straw down, look again
open wide, inhale, breathe
library closed, to borrow no more
from strangers’ tales or history’s lies
reflection in a crystal pond
sings life to her
lyrics now recognized
the forgotten cane, no greater gift
discarded time, her tale exists
tick tock tick tick
clarity inside, covered by silk, held in with lace
mystery, intrigue
guess again, truth or dare, just try & see
a hint of a whisper, desire lingers
in her eyes . . . look closer
before. . .
she is
gone
away
out
for a walk
for a while
for a time
or more . . .
Say NO to drugs
four lane highway all directions
rush hour before night
a long days events, a lane apiece
pain at the base of the neck
stop light, red, PLEASE!!!!
kangaroos on speed, it seems
the silence of a thunderstorm calls to me
exit 53, outside the city
take a right and follow the hill
lightning strikes and calls again
speed dial 2, that's me
madness of the mad threatens to engulf
70 or 80 at least, then maybe, just maybe, peace
a chance worth taking, a coin worth flipping
life at half-speed only a gypsy dream
to a hazy mind full of balloons
slowly madness fades, haze recedes
trade the viper for a falcon
I slip away, unseen
rush hour before night
a long days events, a lane apiece
pain at the base of the neck
stop light, red, PLEASE!!!!
kangaroos on speed, it seems
the silence of a thunderstorm calls to me
exit 53, outside the city
take a right and follow the hill
lightning strikes and calls again
speed dial 2, that's me
madness of the mad threatens to engulf
70 or 80 at least, then maybe, just maybe, peace
a chance worth taking, a coin worth flipping
life at half-speed only a gypsy dream
to a hazy mind full of balloons
slowly madness fades, haze recedes
trade the viper for a falcon
I slip away, unseen
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