Repose
January 14, 2012 in Collage Nation | Tags: Blue Mountains, haiku, it really is a rare day when I don't think or dream about this place, Mount Wilson, old postcards, this place that's stuck in my blood and bones and heart and soul, visual haiku, what happens when yet again I listen to the Brideshead Revisited soundtrack
Under the counter or a flutter in the dovecote 
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January 15, 2012 at 9:16+00:00Jan
Gabrielle Bryden
Very cool haiku or you could describe it as a haiga I suppose with the words and photographs 🙂 That house is lovely. I dream about my old haunts regularly – I fly through the air over the roads and streets of my childhood and over the roof of my old house.
January 16, 2012 at 9:16+00:00Jan
Nigel Featherstone
Hi Gabe, about your second sentence, I misread it at first and thought that you dreamt about your old haunts but really did fly over the places of your childhood (somehow I pictured you as either a regular flyer or a pilot), which I thought was rather magical, all things considered!
January 20, 2012 at 9:16+00:00Jan
Gabrielle Bryden
hahaha – that would be cool, really flying over my old suburb – maybe I am really flying in my dreams – it certainly feels like it is real 😉
January 16, 2012 at 9:16+00:00Jan
whisperinggums
Ha … nice one Nigel. Love your tags too (as usual). No wonder you don’t have a tag cloud!
January 16, 2012 at 9:16+00:00Jan
Nigel Featherstone
Thanks Sue.
It’s nice to play around with words and images (as you’ve probably noticed). And, yes, I do tend to get carried away with tags. I’m sure it’s been done many times before, but one day the whole post will be in the tags – for one week that’ll get me out of doing something properly creative. And will probably annoy readers/visitors to this blog, so perhaps I won’t do it at all. Above all, as a blogger, I just wanna be liked.
January 16, 2012 at 9:16+00:00Jan
whisperinggums
Oh you are, Nigel, you are … liked that is. So, go for it!
January 17, 2012 at 9:16+00:00Jan
Nigel Featherstone
Interesting: Australian writer John Marsden said at an event at Manning Clarke House in Canberra a couple of years ago that when he started writing he just wanted to be admired. Eight-million copies of his books later, he said the impulse remained the same: he still just wants to be admired. Which is similar to just wanting to be liked, don’t you think?