Color balance can be tricky.
Light from a window full of blue sky
may not mix with illumination
from yellow incandescents.
Your photo will look unsettled.
That is the common wisdom,
but like most rules,
it is not always true.
Variety can be a blessing.
Colors can harmonize.
If you are eating soup,
a spoon is enough;
but if you want a full meal,
use a knife and fork as well.
And if you want to be free
of blemish, you’d better
be made of stainless steel.
COMMENTS
Greg J. wrote:
I love it! Very clever.
Kathleen J. wrote:
Lovely image, Danny. Simple and serene and just so. Beauty in the ordinary. It’s very Miksang (a type of contemplative photography that I have studied and am now certified to teach – of course I have trepidation about actually teaching it).
T.C.D. wrote:
Lovely. The swirls remind me of Van Gogh’s starry night.
Alice V. E. wrote:
Love it! Thanks.
Elaine H. wrote:
There is always a lesson to be learned from your Photo-Prayers. Thanks!
Kathy B. wrote:
Nice one, Danny: photo and words.
Bob Cox wrote his own poem in response to my photo:
“Silverware”
The fork waits with pitchfork patience,
the knife beside it, straight-backed and quiet,
and the spoon curves like a question.
Every day they take their places
on the right and left of a plate
as if assigned by some modest constellation,
three small stars of stainless steel.
You could set your watch by them.
Yet they travel without moving,
through oatmeal mornings and spaghetti evenings,
through birthday cake and scrambled eggs,
through Thanksgiving gravy
and the pale Tuesday soup when someone is ill.
The fork spears celebration and salad alike,
the knife divides turkey and tender grief,
and the spoon carries both ice cream
and the slow medicine of broth.
They never complain about the menu.
Afterward they are rinsed,
laid among their own kind in the drawer,
touching quietly in the dark
like old companions who know
that tomorrow they will return
to the edge of another plate,
ready again to take part
in whatever small feast or sorrow
arrives at the table.
Bob Cox
11 Mar 2026
Bob Cox, who inspired me to break my prayer into short lines, wrote:
Where to break lines has the same kind of impact in poetry as in Shakespeare’s plays. When a thought is incomplete and carried into the next line it generates a feeling of urgency and speed. Some poets write in long, run-on sentences for just that reason. More breaks, like Emily Dickinson’s em-dashes, can add a breathing or stuttering quality to a poem. It all depends on what you want to say and what feeling you want to convey. I read a poem this morning where the poet was inspired by a Walt Whitman poem and used the same first line and ending words for each line as WW did. It felt like reading WW with something left out. Like a smile with a missing tooth.
_________
Photo Prayer 2026-06. Photo of stainless steel cutlery in a stainless steel bowl illuminated by blue sky and yellow lights. Photo and text copyright 2026 by Danny Nelson Schweers.
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