While I haven't posted my works in the past, I want to post this poem- written because of a simple (but gorgeous) photo my cousin took. Visit his work:
Traveling via a photo
The propeller metal shines,
though for me,
it is only paper;
it shines at me like a
nickel that has lost its way
from a pocket or purse; valuable, useful.
And I feel like a bird that
has to pick it up for its nest.
Though the black and white
etch their thoughts of movement,
(perhaps a trip to the ends of the earth,
or a jaunt down the road)
the feelings of the passenger
must be like those of Earheart
or Lindbergh or even the Wrights:
The contraption is beautiful
and bright, made by those
whose brains are beyond the mass
of a million minds.