A friend asked me to help find some images for his wonderful words. So here’s what I came up with; this is the first time I have worked in a collaboration with anyone on my blog, but as I approach the 1 year anniversary of beginning theJohnnyspot, it won’t be the last. Enjoy!
“In Good Time” words by Joseph, images by Johnny.
Oft I have resented the cumbersome, creaking,
valley forming and mountain peaking,
stalactite dripping and glacial drifting
pace of time
The 4th dimension through which slogs the matter
forward so slowly
so that our moments are lonely
even though our lives
are but a blink of an eye
Oft I have resented the snails pace of time.
While I wait for relationships to arrive,
at inspiration, to comfort, to orgasm
I focus on the father sun’s radiance upon my skin cells
and feel the fluidity of my pulmonary process,
and the rhythm of respiration,
but all whilst resenting,
my human perception of time.
In the patience I force, for my creations to unfold
I seek strength in ancient breeze,
timeless trees, and monoliths of old,
In proverbs for generations told,
and I profess my love and gratitude for these things
as I call them timeless.
As I pondered about a woman today,
her face framed by fine black hairs that swirl like the
coronas off of a dune’s surface,
and her scent is that of a specific kind wilderness,
her expressions and movements inspire in me the pride of a daddy,
the curiosity of a son, and the pulsing joy of a lover.
As I pondered about her today, for a moment content with whatever may,
I thought again of the quantum fabric in which all things I love have been built:
the geological exaltations and the sprawlings of root systems,
the ingrained cultures and colloquialisms and tried and true devices of human spirit,
the romance and the peace in all things that show~
the cycles of life, in humble, yet monumental, passages in front of my eyes,
As I uttered the words in my mind,
“All in good time, All in good time,”
None of these things are timeless, for time is not a hindrance for the divine,
time is the air with which the Earth’s expressions breathe,
’tis the soil from which the lush garden grows,
’tis the space with my mind strives to know,
’tis the launchpad to imagine that none of it was so,
and thus become grateful, so infinitely grateful,
that true is the descriptor, when uttered
(qualitatively rather than quantitatively so)
“In Good Time.”
by Joesph B.