354 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/12

354 Image-Content-Blog of the Day 2019/02/12 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
My friend Pola Amber from and in Poland. Ola and i go back a long way into the depths of the soul. We met in the magic of the day and ended thru the twisted circumstance of intuition. Love flew in and out of the breeze like snow dreams on a windy trail. The night came soft and the air went still. I remember things from the road but the trees have turned cold and winter is long here in the mountains where thought spreads across the valleys like dreams made of light air. Time has written this poem and occasionally she sails across the heart. I watch in pure silence not to ripple the waves.
Image circa early 2000’s
#poland#portraits#patrickwey#women

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM
Patrick Wey

306 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/26

306 Image-Content of the Day 2018/12/26 of-by patrick wey http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day

No other has taken me to the depths of my being, no other has forced me to see what i had failed to see. As it should be, if one is growing, i am forced to see the impermanence of it all. It is quite uncomfortable at times, this world without eternity, these thoughts doomed to disintegrate. The whole world full of dream, this life set to die, an endless stream of illusions to observe. This thought dying unto itself.
Money, it all revolves around paying rent, taxes, poverty has its claws inside my heart. Where could i be without this hindrance chaining me to mediocrity. This afternoon of springs last winters-wet-snow and gloomy skies and desperate thoughts hanging on to the last remains of your love. Can we grow? I don’t know. Is there hope beyond this air?
Image circa Poland late 90’s – writing April 2, 2005 4am

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

155 Image-Content of the Day 2018/07/28

155 Image-Content of the Day 2018/07/28 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
This was a place i would go to when times end, the place where most people walk endlessly around, where the square is the world, where the buildings are made of cutout cardboard and the cafe feels on edge. In the afternoon the gray people walk their gray walk in a slow hurry to the other side; i felt that place within, that sacred place where saints pray and martyrs hide their sins. With every footstep a melody caressed the air in gratitude for the day, the gray day in all its grayness, a seemingly reasonable way, a gray way with all its subdued glory. The cafe expressed itself with a fine aroma. Espresso served in a grey cup. I was there participated like a prince. Herbs hanging on the wall.
In Poland waiting. She says she is near but things feel so distant. Time is slowing down almost still at moments. Her walk slid around a corner appeared disappeared came close then fell apart again. I loved her in the middle of the gray. Her dreams slithered in beside mine and stayed there awhile full of colour before an ocean caught between us ended things.
The square is empty without her, this time is absent now. Her polish is elsewhere. The gray haze of the day continues as if nothing has happened and nothing ever does here in the square gray.
circa 90’s…..a search for love is vain, it finds you or it doesn’t, it didn’t….Wroclaw Poland Square

PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM

#71 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/05

#71 Image-Content of the Day 2018/05/05 of-by http://patrickwey.com/blog/category/image-content-of-the-day
Wroclaw Poland https://www.facebook.com/wroclaw.wroclove/
In the centre of the city is this beautiful square inside a square of old brick, stone and youth live from a long history of persecution in from the winds of west and east.
A mime dancer in bare black and white with ancestral memories too dear to expose. Years turn into years and time twists down the bent roads of minds like a gray day does within the shadows of life. There was a slight breeze of melancholy that day, dull from an awareness of a past; lives shattered and splattered against walls and yet a magic encircling hypnotized the space in beauty and tender thought . Life has its way of moving on. We do move on. A rose is a rose is……

circa very late 1900’s

Patrick Wey
PATRICKWEY.ZENFOLIO.COM