Cactus Blossom-Manipulated Polaroid

May 26, 2008 at 8:50 pm | Posted in Manupulated Polaroid, Photography | 9 Comments

Cactus Blossom - Manipulated Polaroid-1

This was taken with a Polaroid 690 SLR with 600 type film. The original print stands on its own in that the colour was perfect. There were a couple of minor distractions which I cloned out before actually manipulating the print in Photoshop Elements. This is the reason I’m unhappy about Polaroid’s decision to no longer manufacture their film as I find it a perfect base for manipulation, but I’m buying up what I can afford and will store it for as long as it’s date allows.



The Back Seat

May 26, 2008 at 4:01 pm | Posted in Poetry | 8 Comments

The Back Seat

She was the child
who played in the woods,
who thought the world
was hers for the taking,
the child whose dreams as big as the sky,
whose playmates were wild,
fleet of foot, winged, and finned.

She was the child that had needs,
that had visions
of what she wanted to be,
but the child who was told
over and over
that she would amount to nothing at all,
that she was nothing but useless,
a dreamer,
a wastrel.

She was the child who was told
over and over
to be seen and not heard,
to silently listen to what others may say,
but not to butt in,
for her thoughts and her words
were worth nothing at all.

She was that child,
tho’ now an old woman
whose dreams lost their way,
who knew that, no matter what,
she could never succeed.
She’d been told so, you see,
over and over.

She was that child,
tho’ now an old woman
who wonders
where went the child
that rode life like a merry-go-round,
the child that wrapped her arms around Pegasus’ neck?

She was that child,
now frail and in limbo,
in the clear view of hindsight—

Her friends were their friends,
never her own,
so she sits here alone
tied into her chair
silently listening,
withdrawn into self
and searching—
for what?

She was the woman
who, through all the years,
sat in the back.
That was her burden, you see,
to live through the lives
of those who sat in the front,
for she was no more than a shadow
on the back stage of life,
for a shadow, you see,
is seen and not heard.

She is the old woman who mourns
for the years that have passed,
with hope too late to be hopeful.
For the road back is too far,
the journey too difficult,
the path—
over-grown and weedy.

She is the old woman,
tied into her chair,
trying to escape disillusion
while life rots around her
in the half dead and the dying,
while shadows pass by
ignoring the child that once was.

She is the child, now an old woman
tied into her chair,
who knows
that by taking the back seat,
she lost her most precious possession—

her life,

and what could have been.

Vi Jones
©May 26, 2008

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