Photography and such

I like to consider myself an “artist” in the idea that I am a writer, photographer, and appreciator of the large amount of beauty that can be found in this world.
Here is my Facebook page with just a sample of my photography work. It’s a newer page, but I do everything from weddings to seniors to newborns. Mostly I work for free or very cheap since it’s more fun as a hobby, but if you or someone you know lives in central Minnesota and want a decent photographer, I’m your girl!

Facebook.com/ostleyphotography

Here’s a sneak peak of a shoot I did yesterday:

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Stormbreak

It’s raining outside, torrential rain that would be beautiful on a summer day, but today it is just bleak. It has been raining since early yesterday morning and the sky’s gray color feels heavy and the rain makes the air thick, like breathing warm smoke. The turn of the seasons from winter to spring gives me hope, but my skin still aches for hot sun and dry air, and the loud buzzing of insects fading in and out.

The silence

washes over us

in this way that’s

sort of devastating.

Like the shoreline

in April your eyes

are ice-edged and

this chill you can’t see

seeps through somewhere.

Some pregnant sky

broke loose that night

with all those words

you’re wishing now

you never spoke,

and one cigarette later

my tail lights were

bleeding your face red.

The rain pounded out letters

onto my windshield

and you said, “you were never

good enough for me

anyhow.”

And the silence then

was thick enough

to hear your heart breaking

there inside your ribs.

You learned then that

no love poem you could write

was any match

for self-destruction.

Winter’s end

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This poem was composed using magnets in my office earlier this winter. Reading this, I am thankful that winter is over and I am sitting here, outside, sans jacket, breathing in air that is not paralyzingly my lungs.
As far as degrees go, 60 is a welcome number.

Bursting

I am turned

into a creature –

blooming,

in reverse;

as if seen

for the first time

in some sulfurous

light.

Reality cracks open

about your head

like dragonflies;

and the heat-stunned

stillness

at best,

would be lost.

 

Today is a good day. It’s funny how I measure things now. Time is now ‘good’ or ‘bad’ or the days go by when I blink or they go by so agonizingly slow that it’s as if they will never end. I am bursting with change; how I live my life being the biggest. My aim is to be more ‘here’, or experience life as it comes and not worry about the past or future. It’s easier said than done, but I want to be fully here in the now as much as I can because it will go, faster than I’d like it to.

In other news, I have been published again, my poetry is in the April issue of the 3Elements review, and you can see it on their online PDF for April’s issue.

I am full of conflictions: yet another one being I long to be ‘discovered’ or recognized as a writer, and at the same time I’d like to hide it forever and remain in obscurity, my raw emotions never being bared to the world. It is a liberation, in a way, to share. I am on page 45 of the PDF: Meteor Shower by Angela Ostley. So here, enjoy.

http://3elementsreview.com/current-journal

When we Thaw

It is starting to feel like spring time again, and I have to say I have really missed the sun. Here is a little something I wrote several years ago, but somehow still resonates with me today in how I’m feeling. Ever since my dad died, I feel almost as if I have stopped moving, frozen in time as the world keeps spinning. I keep working, talking to people, doing everyday chores, smiling, but inside I feel as if everything has come to a screeching halt, and only inertia is pushing me forward. Waiting for something to shake me loose…

 

Everyone talks about bones

and birds and flying and falling.

Everyone talks about love and moonlight

and kissing the creases of warm skin.

No one talks about the water

in the river that decided

to stop moving a few days ago,

or the clouds that haven’t lifted

from the sky in months;

or my heart that’s been inaudible

because my fingertips

can’t measure the murmurs anymore.

I know that it’s winter and the cold

laces everything with frost.

I just never thought my heart

would need to thaw

with everything else

that iced itself over.

 

My lips stay warm in winter months

but the nerve endings behind them

crawl back inside to rest in a web

of synapse behind my eyes somewhere.

They move and they talk

and they press against your lips,

but they can’t remember

what it used to feel like.

What it felt like when a spark

traveled from one mouth to the next

and turned my brain to jelly in my skull;

 what warm and wet tasted like.

I tried standing outside in the storm last night

with my mouth wide open to see if lightning

would strike me right through the middle.

Maybe then the electricity in my body

would react with yours again.

 

I’ve been watching myself breathe

for a while now, watching my chest go up

and then down again as if my bones

can stretch and contract beneath my skin;

watching my belly rise and fall

like a rolling ocean wave.

I am listening to the air moving

inside of my lungs and I wonder what happens

to the air that just gets stuck

swirling around in the bottom forever.

 

I’m tired of comparing myself

to a bird that can fly but doesn’t know how

when I don’t have wings to begin with.

I just have a pair of stubby shoulder blades

that stick out too far

and I fantasize about the sky all day.

Maybe I should start comparing myself

to a different kind of bird

so I can stick my head in the dirt

and wait for an earthquake

to shake something loose.