PettiCoat shooting

run away go go go

what in name of what

past taking leave

all for name mention

fallen over rename

she dreams on

lost intention

you name it Yes you

taking away what should

have

been

inside your mind

do people mind

she left

decay undertone

she did get away from the bullets
running into a field away further away
into mist to hide from bullets
she made it
they came out not knowing
I cycled on laughing out really LOUD

Roos Boekjes

Cotton Wool Silence

where is my line

Cotton Wool Silence
still talk under beech leafs
above needle trace
tale away

blogcottonswamcup

cup holding lost torments
taunted perception
under rusted feet
frail away 

blogcottonswambeak

scream torned hunter
acorns out her beak
sworn under
sail away

blogcottonswamlight

black manes follow
thunderstorm frase
ler her paws be stained as
wished away

sunways

bold amber ways
crossing
trail string lane

blogsunray

bold amber ways
slow discovery
what lays underneath

blogsunhang

hangover maroon
from yesterday fairy trail
whatever it has been it is no more

blogsuntrust

hangover maroon
shouts out
what you want to say

blogsundrama

blues over grey
listening to crisper leafs
seeing linger foliole

blogsunpath

blues over grey
shall we stay or should we go
do you know

Just a perfect day
discovering new tracks
cross country
never alone
yet
perfectly still
to reload the battery
and
yes bighorn came across
with all the family

Roos Boekjes

place

The Place

This is the place where we can leave noises from society behind us

Here we don’t need to run
Here are no bills
Here are no lies
Here is no money
Here is no achievement

blogplacedew

Here you find beauty
Here you find survival
Survival we forget but can not ignore
 

that Place we all need
that Place we are looking for
We don’t know what it looks like
but
We will find it

blogplacefeather

We fight for it
We cry for it
We don’t know what it is
We all will find it all in our own Way

The poem was written in September 1986 and
one day it will be a part of a novel
no title yet

A book with proza, with memories, with forgotten stories

If you wonder yes, i found the Place several times in my life

Roos Zwart will have an open Gallery at her home/office
showing you some photo technics you can try yourself
make a date with her on
2 and 3 October
and
9 and 10 October

Roos Boekjes

seeing is lOOking

seeing you

to perceive that concept
you need to see
spy with your eyes
underneath your view

shit is where you find it

make sure of wet knees
determine worm glimpse
sleep underneath your lips
velvet observation

hidden glories

consider no evaluation
just look what you see
receive no consultation
walk to interview with eyes wide open 

over and out

distinguish what lays behind
your vision
notice that slightest sight
catch espy

love

appreciate your flight
 comprehend
sheltered love
within your fathom

Perhaps, maybe, possible, you need to see before you look
inside photography
perhaps not
Morning light sure helps to ease ones mind.

on a personal note, i am moving house going away from city persuit, leaving behind an other garden for somebody else to enjoy, creating more gardens on ground force, going north to a house on floor level.

see you soon

page 31 stOOf

On page 31 of the “Dropped Feather” book you find a poem with the title “Stoof”, here follows the inspiration of that poem.

new land

The poetry in the book is about the moment. While taking the photos my mind wanders, sometimes to surprising places, at times following memory lane.
It took me a while before i found the place, cycling in memories on straight road framed with straight trees, along bare agricultural land.
Contrasting landscape compared with the river landscape, where so many of the photos come from. It is intensively farmed land and nature has no change, except along the edges. The above photo was taken in April 2020, ploughed soil, partly covered by plastic, artificial irrigated.
New land, the riverside is new nature, this is new created land from nature.

look at the photo top right hand corner.

Once the land was a cultivated natural landscape with mainly Willows. The Willows were harvest for basket making and other crafts, including clog making, them traditional wooden shoes.
The land was swampy with many creeks and small lakes, flooded during the winter months. There were little hills, called Terps the top photo shows one of them Terps with a small house. The houses on the Terps in the old landscape were used as shelter and sleeping areas for the Willow-workers. The whole area is around 1100 hectares, or was 1100 hectares.

In 1926 they started to take out the Willows and filled in the many creeks and small lakes, by hand, with shovel and wheelbarrow. Work for the many unemployed man and woman from the locale area, it was the way they earned their ‘benefit’ literarily the only way they could survive.
Refusing to work here was loosing your ‘benefit’ and with no money, no food etc. etc.

de stoof now

The worst of all it was seen as charity. The new landowners became rich over the backs of the poor who found themselves in a situation, which was not their making.
This story i was told as a little girl when my parents took us on the bike (they never owned a car) to a place we called de Stoof but its official name is Stoop.
We would picknick there on a sunny summer day. The Stoop is situated on an old Terp and was, this always makes me laugh, given to the community ha ha ha, it was made by the community.

Sitting there on the picknick bench i wrote the poem you find on page 31. Why it ended up on page 31 is pure coincidence, it has nothing to do with the photo.
The Stoof was written on 24 July 2020, the photo under the poem was taken on 16 September 2020, the photo next to the poem, page 30 was taken on 1 June 2020. The way to create Photo Poetry in some way related yet not at all.

http://roosboekjes.eu

perfect dAY

caught mist

when you feel good
 you can jog with blue hair
while smiling

when you feel good
 you cope with remarks
 wet camera

not perfect

too late runs itself
 going over into
 mend 

forgotten key
 going over into
perfect

light

rattle of Motorway one site
rattle of geese, seagulls, coots other site
no matter
as light sparks even inside ears

1 became 3
walking filled with
inspiration

forgetting mindset
no matter
all will be fine

lens

traditionally
topsy-turvy
instead
winding circuitous
mazy twisting
meandering
roundabout trick

tortuous

In the proces of making a book-car to wander about with, showing the books, selling the books. It will hook onto the bike, butte, it looks boringly black.
Paint, waterbased gravity paint, to get the colours. Car was painted on the allotment in the open air.
People remember mostly the drop photos, so went to get the car with the camera, to take photos of dew on the paint. Walking as bike has not yet the ‘towbar’.
Just made it in time for the vanishing mist, almost there, forgot the key.
Got the photos as a background for a logo. AND
Walking back became just perfect, still water, morning light, floating catkins, perfect for the Salix book.
Will safe them perfect photos for the book only as always.
One day soon (hopefully) tourists will walk along the Windmills meeting me and the book-car.
The date for publishing is postponed as it takes the printer longer, to get it prefect.

Roos Boekjes

HOURS

these boots are made for………. and so we did
noise over noise 
inside more noise
need to get away from it
can't work like this
away
25 kilo metres 
searching for 
other sounds
on the edge of
here we go
dark and cold
scooter stink scooter noise, now there should go subsidies to electric scooters much better much better they who can afoord electric cars do they really need subsidies 
solved one problem in my mind just in my mind while fleeing what can not be left
here we go
dark and cold

landESscape
you know that feeling of
ultimate argument non winning sensations
now here comes the camera
excuse me 
what about them catkins ja
you are in macro mode ja
hey i am getting wet here ja
no win situation

once again
and again
under water what do you want to achieve 
with them spots them white spots
where did they come from in the first place
not inside my lenses my light focus shows something else 
and again

water
silence of water
music for mind
slowly certainly
coming and going
reflecting movement
let it be let it come let it smooth all away
hundreds of photos coming and going

suddenly Virginia Woolf flows by her shoes sink inside sand her pockets are filled with rocks her hair flows like waves over her facial expression just a moment out of hours reflecting in my mind her dead her books her words
3 women 3 timescales 3 livelihoods
1 movie hours away

like my mind hours flowing on water forgetting all what can not be left
leaving reality out of my mind like wolfs with dubble Osss
creating stories making lines of words over screams entering my mind
letting go of what lays behind entering what lays ahead in my mind just my mind not yours not his her lines are different than mine in offensive minefield going where insults solve into waterlines going where outrage sinks to bottomlines.

yep here an old place a new way


wave away

hours later words later images later
the certain need to go back

headache picking up
cold till the bones
legs numbing
battery low

almost too late for bakery almost not yet
so cakes and bread to celebrate hours
hours in solitude when creativity flows the best
now spending hours to fix it all inside my mind
creating my own words creating storylines
showing my vision 
what noise never will see
what hurry never will see
what concrete never will see



my studio

If you came this far to read what was written you might wonder i have lost my mind but no these are real feelings true feelings coming and going every day as i can not get used to city living inside a huge village but for dutch pricipes it is a village for me it is a city. To do what i do i need nature so need to escape.

My books are about just that in a certain way batteling against the stream in peace of mind.
Perhaps Virginia Woolf is the inspiration by the river.
More Virginia

None of the photos nor the poems will be published in the books they will stay unique for the books only, not for screens nor screams.