Through a lens
upon a canvas of the mind
life becomes still;
in pulsing hearts
flows of thoughts
even words upon lips
frozen in an iceless pause of time.
In eyes of the photographer
lashes become a brush
dryer eyes in more critical light;
the endless possibility of place and proximity
and finding us, just this way.
An outer shell of pleasing poise
beauty on skin, purpose in eyes
and bodies that carry want and worry,
we are fruits that seed and ripen into age;
to touch and hold ourselves then held together
make a caravan of light,
captured as we might in these moments.
Before curious folds in curtained windows
[an image, was it a face in fear or surprise ]
hurried closed and hid an outside world, so cold.
Braced by familiar walls unforgotten tears
to hold echoes of years wept and gone by,
brother kept unforgiven pain and learns again
to sit with rage; and her narrow eyes do not disguise
the looks not returned to cold shouldered touch
as he has made it all right unto himself.
An empty hearted wanderer who stayed, so little
laughter left fingerprints for dust to recover.
Passed lives and footfalls of anxious children
still ring in memory, on and on
as they too grew old to the rhythm of air,
tolling bells in a churchyard,
somber steps in black.
The photo in too moist eyes
brings rivers of time and spent waters,
the photographer must blink away, and see.
In a list
A contest entry
- A Patron Favorite PIF by onerios13.
10000 points, ended December 4, 2008, 13 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 17 of 17
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Yes ...
a good photographer must be an artist first. Bon travail ici.
Good luck in the contest.
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Well done. These snapshots are so what we are, particularly the artist.
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The photo in too moist eyes
brings rivers of time and spent waters,
the photographer must blink away, and see.
The ending is what makes this piece sing. It creates such a wonderful intimacy, the anticipation of capturing something as illusive as an expression or a moment of history. It is such things that inspire our best and yes, even why poetry was created.
Thank you for entering this marvelous piece.
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Loved this leap out at me line PK;
"we are fruits that seed and ripen into age;"
The last two stanzas sealed the deal for me dear poet. My father was an amateur photographer. The pictures he used to take looked far from non-professional. I have some here at my home today and they look as vibrant as yesterday. The ones that touch me more than others are those of relatives and friends who have passed on. The beauty of photography is expertly expressed in these articulate, and well chosen words. I wish you well in the challenge.
Much Love ♥
P.S. HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO YOU & YOURS
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You must take wonderful pictures.
Joe
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Beautiful Imaginary here.......Best of luck with the contest..
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This Is a most excellent piece, well crafted and such a beautiful read
To me a real winner, all the very best In the contest
Be Well
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beautiful and thoughtfully penned.
didn't flow amazingly well to my ears, hard to say exactly why. I guess unfinished sentences (Before curious folds... hurried closed). Needs an actor and verb and action... what is closing? Who is closing it? How are the folds curious? That's a strange emotion for curtains to have... /etc.
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w0w
this is powerful and very expressive. I really love this idea of captureing the moments. Beautiful
xx -
Snap.
You've thoroughly expressed how we miss the moments in life until they are frozen with skill and precision by an experienced photographer. Very well done birthday boy.
Paul
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This beautiful poem reminded me of walking through my grandmother's retirement home and seeing men and women sitting alone with pensive expressions, alive in the moments they revisit. Sometimes a smile, sometimes a tear, but it was clear that while their present reality might be distressing, they had lived a full life with intersting experiences.
We take in so much information visually to be kept and processed again and again. Too often we neglect to truly "see".
Thank you for sharing this with us. Peace, Liz
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beautiful
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The gift of the poet--
to observe, to write,
thereby to share
of himself and
of his motivation,
the photo and
the story it tells.
Aesthete
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mmmm how wonderfull! your words is a photograph by itself!
All the best in the contest!
Becks
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What a beautiful metaphor--the mind as a camera, the thinker as photographer., together creating the still life pictures. You have done so much in these beautiful lines...taken us on the journey of a lifetime, as if WE were privy to the photo, having the series of memories ourselves. There is so much revealed in our memories, as in this lovely poem. And when we dwell there, as in the poem, we can be overwhelmed with the emotion of it all. But I love those last two words, "and see." They are a call to the now, as I read them, a call to continuance but with the benefit of renewed perspective.
Such amazing observation here of the human experience. Such wisdom and reality in your conclusion. Beautifully done.
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Amazing write..You have captured all and more of what a photographer sees as he looks through the lens at his subjects..Frozen in time, and all to be seen by the sensitive photographic eye of the one looking!Bookmarking this! Magnificent imagery and words!
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WOW
So much seen behind the lens...
images frozen and captured as pieces of time never to be seen again except in that frame caught in the artist's eye...
You are brilliant
Lynda
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