The Ayes Have It (But She Don't) Everybody knows the bill is dead Everybody knows the Senate’s red Everybody knows the deal is done The major parties had their fun The crossbench bargains were all just show The whips have cracked, the whistle’s blowed That’s how it goes And Hanson always votes no. Everybody knows the bells are ringing Everybody knows the mud they’re slinging Everybody knows the clerk can’t count With all the grievances they mount Everybody knows that the motion’s lost Everybody knows what the lobby cost The Ayes go high, the chamber’s low And Hanson always votes no. And everybody knows that it’s now or never Everybody knows that it’s gonna take forever Everybody knows that the act is rotten Old amendments best forgotten Everybody knows the tellers move With nothing left for them to prove The red room puts on quite a show But Hanson always votes no. Everybody knows the maiden speech The lessons that she tried to teach About the fish and about the chips And the tig...
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Woman with Flowers in Her Hair
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Woman with Flowers in Her Hair
Dusk
Vignette
The twilight hour weaves its tender shroud across the decaying streets as the last remnants of day’s warmth surrender to the cool breath of evening. She stands in the dim glow of lanterns flickering like dying embers, a melancholic and wild vision. Her hair, crowned with roses and entwined vines, blooms defiantly against the weary, withering city that crumbles around her.
Beneath the flowers rests a serene yet haunted face, as if sorrow’s soft whispers have painted shadows beneath her eyes. The world stirs in echoes of forgotten grandeur, and she, like some mythic sentinel of the earth, is at once the bearer of life’s vibrant colour and the solemn mourner of its inevitable decay, a living embodiment of the cycle of life and death.
Here, amidst the ruins, she is both the flower and the tombstone, standing silent as the day’s final breath collapses into night. Yet, there is something eternal in her stillness, as if in her fragile bloom lies the pulse of creation itself, defying the darkened world to wither her bloom.
Description
She emerges in a city where dusk falls like a velvet curtain—an ethereal vision crowned with vivid blooms. The vibrant roses in her hair stand in stark contrast to the decaying urban streets around her, a symbol of beauty and resilience amidst chaos. Capturing the spirit of strength and serenity, this haunting image evokes the timeless balance between nature’s grace and humanity’s ruins. Just like the fleeting twilight, she is a fleeting yet unforgettable presence. 🍂🌹 #UrbanElegance #CityOfContrasts
Urban decay, Flower crown, Beauty in chaos, Dusk photography, Ethereal imagery, Urban portrait, Nature in the city, Flower symbolism, Twilight scene, Urban art
This artwork is protected by U.S. and International copyright laws. Distribution and/or modification of the artwork without written permission of the sponsor is prohibited.
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The Metallic Bloom "It starts on the back of my tongue. A cold, sharp tang of copper... like biting down on a gun barrel. Then... it detonates. It’s not a scream—it’s a jagged, violent bloom tearing through my throat. Shards of silver... iron... and rust. I am no longer a man... just a dark silhouette exploding into shrapnel. The panic is absolute." The Metallic Bloom video-poem It starts on the back of my tongue. A cold, sharp tang of copper— Like biting down on a gun barrel. Then… It detonates. It isn’t a scream. It’s a jagged, violent bloom Tearing through my throat. Shards of silver. Iron. Rust. I am no longer a man— Just a dark silhouette Xxploding into shrapnel. My body isn’t mine anymore. My voice isn’t mine anymore. The panic is absolute. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett , is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via Blogger , YouTube , Flicker , Facebook , Instagram and Deviant Art ....
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