A Collection of Emotion

Photos and Words by Paul Snell.
No Editing and No Post Production.
It is what it is.

I love the stillness that appears before.
A quiet that heightens the senses and feels soft on the skin.
Tasteless, but with a scent of foreboding.
The storm front marches on - silently tumult.
Black waves rolling through the sky like smoke from a burning pier across the still sea.
And then amongst the calm desolation of the street come the first drops.
Bigger than expected but softer they sweep over me.
Emotion collected and digested and sent to the heavens and back.
Screaming for the freedom, a tearful outpouring.
The cloud covered dullness contrasts with the iridescent, ricocheting splashes of street-lit glory.
Every splash holds a tale, every ripple tells a story. Of a calmness. A joy of stress - swept away.
And all the dreams and all the hopes are mixed together and clarity appears with the more you see_
The puddles washing away dashed hopes and sore near misses.
Straight down, no wind. A wash of emotion refreshing history.

The sky is clear.
Emotions lay glittering in the streetlights, like the stars in the clear, black sky.
Cobblestone reflections of fiery dreams and emotions gleam in new hopes.
And dreams.
A crispness in the air, a lungful of fresh clarity as steam rises from my mouth.
Tales run through the gutters chattering out a continual tone of hindsight.
I stroll into the blackness under old street lamps that light my future, directed by chance.

New Zealand, South Island

New Zealand, South Island

It takes a lot of mistakes
Endless tumbles
To be proud of your regrets
To realise they are tales of glory
Another failure, another story
Depictions of futures, of resilience
The privileged fall free few will never know
Moving on, giving it another go
Skin knits to a shiny pink
Scars become another line in the epic tale
Then duly fade until again we fail
Another trick, another turn
Walk away, walk and learn
White lines, a story on our body – scrawled
Dark breaks inside of a story rarely told
Light shining through the cracks
As we rise, look back at our regrets
Look back at the tests
An odd silhouette we show
As the light shines through the scars we know

Seagulls, Abel Tasman

Seagulls, Abel Tasman

It’s a long journey now, but not like before
The new buses don’t smell as safe as the old ones
The lights hurt your eyes like K-Mart
Just like the old train windows expressed freedom
You no longer see in your air conditioned cage that sways like the sea
doesn’t judder like the memories of your youth.

It’s a long journey now, but you’ve come so far
_ and it’s only just begun
The crowds please you no longer, longing for peace
Peace you no longer find in the clinking of glasses or in the boxes or tubes of steel
Instead you steal those quiet moments when no one is looking, to shine
Not hiding, but growing
A sign of the time spent finding all the wrong ways
A seedling under Autumn’s frozen detritus
Peeking through.

It’s a long journey, but murkier than before
Now there’s danger hidden behind every unopened door
More doors close than before.
Or so it seems.

The new buses don’t smell as safe as the old ones.

Omokoroa

Omokoroa

The sea breathes a deep sigh
As the wind cackles quietly by
Summer blooms begin to wilt
As colourful leaves jerk and tilt

And the thoughts of death make your soul shiver to life
A soul released by nature’s nature
But why did it shrivel and die?
What did they take from you?
Why?

The earth warms the souls of her feet
Her soul butterflies about in the smiling sun
Once was shrivelled and waning
Now from inside comes out
What did she have to give?
What did she have to lose?
How?

And so we see the natural beat of peaks and dips
Emotions felt, words spoken from lips
Like the sea it flows and ebbs
Souls bloom, shrivel but never die

Wellington

Wellington

She smiles a smile so sweet, but the bleachedness of her teeth set her aside
The sparkle in her eyes so vivid, but shadowed by her frown
Her laugh a titter, it sounds
Bitterness impounds her words like a car clamp
As she clamps her lips to yours, as soft as plastic that has turned brittle
Her heart shatters when she doesn’t look
But he looks so happy without her
Her falseness continues
And she spews forth a titter tatter
Her heart a torn rag, paint splattered
Her words elegance lost
Conversational track creates commotion
And she’s precariously balanced between loneliness and insanity
But it’s all the same
Her verbal salinity is mixed with her fluid grace as she moves across the floor
Still he doesn’t look
Her eyes are hooks
And he’s hooked – by her charm
It’s a sham, she’s a broken woman
Her voice trembles and his is a treble
Still he never looks
But her cloth heart is tattered
And she’s still fishing
Her heart is metal, rain battered
Her eyes are hollow, her soul is itching
When he walks from the room
Her life gets a little darker

Roll the Dice

Roll the Dice