Film Photography > Poetry

After playing the vocal prodigy to Volya,

Comparing the songwriting and the word styling,

Swirling in the Jeff Buckley falsettos

We determined he was not

as real.

Then Laura chimed in with her take on the sound as she plays violin,

The vocal cords are like strings

There is a resonance there she has never heard.

I am then offered a house that is dilapidated

But has the beautiful view and the sound

Of the valley is intoxicating with the variation of birds singing with one another in


The contest makers want everything to be a competition with the stylistic measure of one to another.

Compare one romance and touch to another

The electricity has to float in the rhythmic

Beating of the winged


The materials of this passion build is scarce

In this multitude of expressions to pull from

It has to be authentic and not


Or pre-existing.

I gather materials of discarded nature and also of antiquity and that of melody.

Down the street another artist

Covers a entire facade with a facade of graffiti

Illustrious windows in the brick with wind

Blowing gossamer curtains of paint from an aerosol can.

I show Lisa the writer the view from the West Point.

She says she could sit here and write for days

And lose time but gain speed in her novel.

The pages would turn more effortlessly

When you find a piece of paradise

In the mediocrity.

The judges gather and I am selected because

I knew how to fold the fabric over a tables

Edge and placed the object in the right direction to charm the room

Not to charm the viewer.

To have silences overlap solicitude and cradle it slightly.

The bank is ruthless in their pursuit of profit

Giving the promise of a new day and comfort

In security.

When my bank bag is full of vegetables and


Nourishment for a soul.

The seed planted in the cosmos.

They always put the spin on comfort, or as how popular it is, or how the unknown


that never became famous was the muse to the rock star.

They found her music on a discarded cassette

She left it with only the word written in purple on a sticker that said


Forgetting these paths to the fading sun.

The encapsulated moment that carried you through the journey freely without acknowledgment.

Where you see the fading light of a day on a buildings edge.

Wedged between paradise loss and

Paradise gained

Francis A Willey

December 26 2022

Vegetables in a bank bag