Poetry of the moment, originally uploaded by Thorsten Becker.

Time. A string of minute events, a stream of continues occurrences, carrying upon its waves life’s many stories, passing, fleeting, never resting. But within this stream storytellers stand, listening, waiting, observing, capturing little pieces, packing them away. A treasure trove of random moments, bits and pieces of time, preserved, crystallized, distilled, cherished. So I fetch a moment myself, like one who found a penny on the street, a street paved with gray stone and framed by old brick houses and colorful facades, busy with the hustle and bustle of an early Friday afternoon. It is a random find on those lively streets of London on a typical overcast day. But it’s one filled with the rhythm of chaffing clothes and high heeled shoes, of shopping bags and cameras clicking, of those waiting, those walking, those smiling, those talking, of a white rose in the hair and listening to music without much care. A moment filled with words fluttering about like startled birds, “Fancy that” – “I know, right” – “Stop when you get to the rubbish bin” – “You’re hungry?” – “He was so rude” – “He said he was terribly sorry for that outrages fee.” An intriguing randomness of thoughts and expressions within this river of time, of people passing by, moving on, each one contributing a part to this melody of the waves, ever changing, always in motion, flowing and ebbing like the tides of the ocean. Yet it did not pass unnoticed, not unappreciated, this one wave, one song, this poetry of the moment created by a hundred poets.

© Thorsten Becker