left (Remove filter)
b roll (03/16/2025)
so often, when i get handed stories where people die, I go to where it happened.
I go the place where they were last themselves, in their bodies, alive
"why do you film the flowers, Zach?
why do you show us the grass?
the breeze?
the green, green leaves?"
i want to show what it means
to look up at the sky one last time
i want to leave flowers for them
when I don't...
Sunday 16th March 2025 4:25 pm
Recent Comments
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Another Old Poem
2 minutes ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on For Patrick Bocarde
15 minutes ago
John Coopey on Forget-Me-Not
31 minutes ago
John Coopey on To My Wonderful Son On Your Birthday
34 minutes ago
John Coopey on Another Old Poem
37 minutes ago
John F Keane on Fiona Larkin wins National Poetry Competition
1 hour ago
Graham Sherwood on For Patrick Bocarde
2 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on Reinvention.
2 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Tube Shelter
2 hours ago
Philip Stevens on These places
11 hours ago