These are my desperate ranting about this weeks images in the PF Gallery as seen at http://www.rit.edu/~andpph/gallery.html. Bill Ellis (Quiet river one Sunday afternoon) - Though the toning is nice, it reminds me of ice and not of a warm, sunny day. Where hop the bunnies? Where fly the birds? Where does the box turtle play? The light is quite pretty which makes it a pity on the dark side is where I must stay. Bob Talbot (Losers) - It came from behind slamming my mind into the back of my head. I did not see that bloodied knee that would force me six weeks into bed. But I knew it was true as fields of blue bore flowing white ribbons aloft. Fading faces I saw as I shattered my jaw upon the ground normally soft. There are reasons I guess why photography press should keep behind the white line, but the moment was right and it blinded my sight. I'll surely know better next time. Peeter Vissak (Pigeons on the square) - Under cover of birds at a loss for words I stare at my Pythonesque queen. Overcome as I am, by a hunger for Spam, I fear the very next scene. The foot shall come down with rude splatting sound and cut to the dead parrot scene. You can call me a twit. I won't deny it. I'm in love with my Pythonesque queen. Deen Hameed (Leaf) - Gently in spots, others flaringly hot, sunshine lures me over the lip. Barely out of the shell and strongly compelled I cannot forego this trip. Oh, to stay in the shade in the cool summer glade, finding peace 'neath this emerald beauty I would have to deny the plant that is I and forego my sun seeking duty. No, the forest loam cannot be the home of homage or even of piety A plant has no choice, an unheard voice, just a victim of its society. Rob Miracle (Fall(ing) Butterfly) - Graceful stance, upside down perchance, to sip the nectar of life. Clinging to her victim, its stamen she licked 'em, but not to cause any strife. >From flower to flower, in sun but not shower and not when a strong wind does blow. Hanging upside down, not making a sound, she too is on the lookout for Joe. Christopher Strevens, LRPS (Don't go to Sea, Daddy!) - Laden past my gunwale, I live on borrowed time. For obvious reasons I'm known as U-boat 209. To the bottom I shall race at an ever increasing pace until at last I find myself resting in the brine. The world gets more distorted in not so subtle ways. The beach appears, and confirm my fears, to be fashioned out of clay. Why would this be when all else seems to be a normal day? Marilyn Dalrymple (Kido and Cat) - Is Kido the master? He cannot run faster and can not kill mice with such ease. Is Titus in charge? He's nowhere as large and can't meditate on his knees. Nirvana one's aim, the other to mame, a sparrow that flies 'neath the sun. Not given the option, of feline adoption, I'd say that Titus has won. Greg Fraser (Rest Stop) - To herself she thinks, this really stinks waiting for one more shot. Get the car moving or I'll soon be proving why little girls should not get hot. I know I'm in shade but at my young age I really just don't give a crap. Two more hours to drive but you'll never survive when I make this car into a trap. Stop looking at me! I gotta pee! Up is what I'm gonna throw! Are we there? Gum in hair. Is that the fastest you go? Maybe next time you'll know when you want a photo and the temperature's starting to rise, it's really not far to my side of the car and at least I'll keep open my eyes! Roger Eichhorn (Carmel Sunset - August 2002) - The moon sits high with Jupiter nigh on the edge of a band of blue, fading to gold on the horizon to hold the outline of a tree or two. Faintly we see the edge of the sea barely discerning the brush. A quiet retreat away from the streets to forget the day to day rush. King/Arthur (Hi Andy!) - In case you don't know, which one is Joe, he wrote it in ink of bright red. It may well be Boston, or somewhere else that he's lost in, but that's him with the cap on his head. To Joe's left is a lady, who finds him quite shady, and is starting to run to her right. But she's nothing to fear as Joe grins ear to ear 'cause he only gets nasty at night. Emily L. Ferguson (Fall reeds, Mill Creek, South Yarmouth, MA) - Who laid in this grass, tickling his ass, on the blades as they blew in the breeze. Not a wolf or a deer twas something I fear, that crawled upon seedier knees. Sniffing the wind, again he had sinned, a victim of full moon light. But he did it with tact, and I know for a fact, twas Joe gettin' nasty at night! Jeff Spirer (Esperanza) - Respected by others, by sisters and brothers, Esparanza is not who she seems. No parents have they, so she spends her day at the laundry pressing with steam. Through a chat room it seems, that the man of her dreams, promised that he would be there. Door slightly ajar, she hears footsteps afar as she listens, ears straining through hair. Then perhaps she might sneak one tiny peek through the window that faces the sun. Oh my lord it can't be! Yes he's coming for me! Board the windows, tell the children to run! Known well by the locals, both yuppies and yokels he stood in the pale moon light. Red marker held near, grinning ear to ear, stood Joe still nasty at night! Thanks to all this week's contributors and specially thanks to Joe for providing inspiration. Greg Fraser
