Best Cinematography Poems
American cosmonaut
moonwalking
Humanity is tethered to the line,
sweating vacuum fear facing the void
Planet of the apes ...
backwards talking
Silent film projector reel
spinning in reverse ... time capsule re-entry noise
Caveman slug in a spacesuit
retrograde crawling
Mushroom cloud cinematography ...
flashback to the future Stone Age trajectory
And Superman in a Captain America spacesuit
ain’t trying to save no one
The giant red star of Krypton
orbiting Washington
is gonna explode,
sucking the Earth into a black hole
Listen to the Neanderthal war chants
devolving into military gorilla grunts
Toraburu ... Rising sun trouble coming
Hear the nuclear choo-choo,
rich uranium promises ain’t worth nothing
Woe, woe ... woe!
Tick, tick ... lunar ... tick, tick
Trouble means Toraburu,
choo-choo ... choo-choo
Woe, woe ... woe!
Tick, tick ... lunar ... tick, tick
Toraburu,
lost in space translation
Hear the choo-choo,
around the bend coming is nuclear devastation
And Super Tweetman in a Captain America spacesuit
ain’t trying to save no one
The white dwarf star of Krypton
orbiting Washington
is gonna implode,
sucking the Earth into a black hole
Superman can you climb
out of the bottomless black hole?
American cosmonaut
moonwalking ...
backwards talking ...
retrograde crawling
Toraburu ... Rising sun trouble coming
Hear the nuclear choo-choo,
rich uranium promises ain’t worth nothing
Woe, woe ... woe!
Tick, tick ... lunar ... tick, tick
Rubble piles of Toraburu,
choo-choo ... choo-choo
Woe, woe ... woe!
Tick, tick ... lunar ... tick, tick
Toraburu,
trouble for the United Nations
Hear the choo-choo,
around the bend coming is global desolation
Toraburu,
insanity curse is coming soon
Death smoke from the choo-choo,
will blot out the sun and moon
Woe, woe ... woe!
Superman is kryptonite sick
Woe, woe ... woe!
Tick, tick ... lunar ... tick, tick
Captain America is radiation sick
Woe, woe ... woe!
Tick, tick ... lunar ... tick, tick
Vivid in an undefined scene where light and darkness mix
and vagueness’ reality is in a very clear expressionism
to the point terror wears her dark shade and highly dignified
with every next step slapped with the threats of uncertainty
and directions holding no promises and lacking all truths.
Faith is the living tissue for all survivors,
courage, the sandal on which any rough mountain is climbed
and hope, what gives all existence a reason to maintain sustenance.
But these three are becoming the sides
of a triangle with disjointed edges.
A traumatized soul is susceptible to moral infections,
a punctured pocket subjects
a comfortable hand into unforeseen strandedness
making the liberty to be free, quite expensive
like the fate of moving in so much space which is still very limited.
Standing, walking, resting and walking again
as a clear vision of oneself on a second person’s perspective
on a very real event, sums up the influence of this situation.
The end of the world is reached but looking backwards gives more threats.
The free fall is inevitable and that last step
for it to manifest sits at the edge of the cliff.
Then with open limbs, the descent is quick and scary
just to land and discover the destination is one just near the bed
exclaiming in thanksgiving all holy indignation, this isn’t real.
The panting, sweating, heartbeat and palpitations say it all
of an emitting fright gunned out of the mind’s night’s cinematography.
A broad day light went dark
with his own conscience..
He locked himself
into a cubic space..
he searched for his cellphone
shut its voice..
after the last call...
curtain was up before he recall.
speeding cars, mind blowing cinematography
thrilling chase , dashing heroin,
ruthless villain, mesmerizing hero..
he slipped into the drama
sucked into illusion ...
he laughed with the hero
fought with villain
cried with heroin..
overwhelming story ..
he munched the popcorn so fast!
one hour 25 minutes
he got dragged to a different world
he lived a shadow life..
laughter & pain
hatred & love
inspiring love, motivated anger..
success & death..
he lived it.. he lived it ..
and munched the popcorn so fast!
one hour 25 minutes !
he forgot who he was..
he forgot his own story line
till the minute the hero won the race...
till the heroin ran to dais
to hug the hero...
he forgot who he was..
till the curtain was down..
he came out like a bandicoot!
facing the light with heavy heart of loneliness,
he searched for his car...
he searched for it.....
What a name called?
Football a game called,
To known arena called stadium,
Played eleven to eleven side to side each,
Formations of it kinds,
Aims of a two goal post net,
Aims of a trophy,
Aims of winning,
In a color Jersey of its kinds,
In a color booths of it kinds,
Side to side balls picking sons round,
Spectators sat rounding pitch watching,
Centered with a nominated referee officiating,
Lined with a two lines men flagged,
Officials of substitutions in questions,
Pronounced by named commentators,
Red and yellow cards rules in question,
Supported keys of volunteers,
Supported with all sorts of supporters,
Declared a stadium manager jobs,
Declared a team manager jobs,
Host the nations, Host the world,
At moment of a country designated!
At moment of a country authorized!
Called for all practitioners....
Photographers, Cinematography, Press, Medias, Adverts, Sponsors, critics, etc. centred.
What a name called?
Football! football! ! football! ! !
A rounded leather circled!
Circled in its color of its choices,
Declared fifa authorities,
Declared statistical over all game,
Respect covered face to face,
Stretchers officials in uniforms of its officials medications,
Football a game called,
With boots of its kinds worn,
Saddled a whole lot supporters,
Saddled a whole lot analysts,
Presumption for a nation's glory,
Preemptive individuals' desirably for survival,
Football a game called,
Called to the passionate in spirit,
Football a game called,
Embrace understanding to unnamed,
Embrace love to unloved,
Embrace unity to diversities,
Embrace creativity to un-creativity,
Football a game called,
Adore a nature,
Football a game called,
Called to a glorious home,
Football a game called,
A rounded leather circled!
With boots of its played,
With jersey of its kinds,
With choices of many kinds,
Football a game called.
Whether working wallabies would weave waved warm wafers or whether wallpaper would wear walls is two times a question really. It is rational to assume that an ass jacket would dart over a yak and a yam would appear. At intervals. Rotating. But rotating is not a salivating salubrious salutation singing strong songs. Nor is it a giant radio beam. Dancing. But the power of a hoover in many a house can simply be powered by five hundred and forty two heron wings. Hovering Hoovers having heaped hinged hunts. But a hunt disturbs a grunt so why line up paws and hooves in rows. Cinematic of scale and climatic of chaos. Said the four centimetre jar in a herd pile. Herd piles are not mooing nor are they moving either. Pan to the alloy and a fistful of iron ore can symbolise a very pretty pavement in a green patterned dress. But standing next to a chess set of colourful butter beans is pleasant for the partridges whose lacrosse abilities are really quite astonishing in a supernova diesel twist. Spinning. It is nit fashionable to quiz a funfair over which ride is the best for they all are egocentric and often argue with lashings of colours, noise, and fur ball darts. Pressure no pea to preform a painted piano concerto for concertos can control and control is akin to a line of skating cows on an outdoor rink. Always count the pink buttons carefully and slowly. Evaporated milk is often found playing near to margarine containers. Z cinematography Z at fifty nine little splooshes splashing to thirteen fish hooks waving at the fins. Z xxxxx zzzz whirrrrr the wings and eeeeee to mice piles. Z
Form:
Swashbuckling, piracy, Tyrone, Errol and yes, Rathbone.
All actors that rode the Spanish Main called the sea home.
Stories of Robinson Crusoe to Mysterious Island.
Fantasy stories with a moral, it’s for enjoyment for man.
Plenty of men have traveled the high seas.
They thought it was their purpose, their destiny.
A wild age then, a new world, a new hope.
Some ships battered and sunk at sea, some got lost,
But a lot reached the Eastern coast.
Now legends, fantasy, came from Melville and the like,
About Jason and the Argonauts seeking the fleece,
A fantasy that had a future so bright.
How Captain Ahab chased passionately for “Moby Dick”!
Mr. Peck, played the part to a tee, cinematography was a kick.
How about Crusoe and his man Friday? Truly one of the best.
The sea has always captured man’s imagination; it just roars sometimes calmly rests.
Movies made from great authors who knew not the way of fowl language.
Our Father has His own picture show going on; morals today signal the end of an age.
Our Holy Bible history is filled with many compassionate moments.
Men of strength courage and fortitude.
Our Father will get his Spiritual Family, keep reading.
Studying, be vigil Brethren, God will soon be amongst men with a Spiritual solitude.
Oblivious to arcane mishaps
That molest the bones established by society
The echo of her tattoo sings of a great depression
Each time the memory surfaces,
A twisted grin is born
Perhaps this could be the preluding window to existential purgatory
My mind began to wander down a path of banal humor.
On it's own accord.
It was some kind of sick and strange homo-erotic imagery, with a story.
It involved myself and Martin Scorsese.
A man in a lime green and plastic suit asked us,
"What are your two favorite George C. Scott performances?"
I replied without missing a beat, "Doctor Strangelove and The Hustler..."
Scorsese just smiled and laughed out loudly. His laugh echoing through a dark place.
He agreed with me
and in a deep, harsh alien voice kept repeating the line,
"Great minds! Great minds!"
Where it went from there... I will leave to your sick, erotic imagination.
All I can say is, the man has magnetic eye's and a sublime taste in Cinematography.
Come to green mother
Naked, willed and wild
Visit the bed of death
Where circles hide
Submerse senses in the newborn
Aroma and cinematography
Tease the skin with warm wind
That tumbles and tingles dry
Cradle the baby’s breath slowly
As it toddles and cries into a bouquet
Beneath a marbleized sun
On the beauty of a bashful April day
Callous sentences saunter into the quaintest of landmarks
Capturing the cinematography that is the mockery of felicity
At times I ponder on whether its veins quake with fear
In lieu of the eyes marring her with bullet holes
Whilst humming commemorative memories
That now lie lifeless just as the wealth of their youth
Cinematography of Chaos
Cinematic impressions, climatic sort of dream,
upgraded to pathetic, idiocracies new theme.
Temperament unadjustable,sleets of snow heat wave,
melted in unhappiness, metaphorical life slave...
Mind divisioned split end irreversible destination,
the ends split, nowhere fits, ageless in estimation.
Sightseeing with psychtoherapy,crawl deeper, farther within,
Creative Chaos called Manarchy, the evil mannequin!
How too choose, how to select
A film to fill that two hour slot
The bumph will big it up
Over egg the pudding like as not
So I look for key word like
“Thought provoking” or “moody”
“Poignant, “Critically acclaimed”
Or “Stunning cinematography”
And when I’ve identified them
I know they are the ones to miss
And I get the one with the cover picture
Of a girl in a state of undress
Form:
Situations stirring like a great big bee. Finishing annihilation aimed at a tree. Forty-six fishes means a great big line. And a pool of senses is neither a slime nor a faith. In a nine centimetre goblet there is existing a catacomb of unauthorized doctrines who seek to revoke a planetarium alignment at six o'clock and a wide rancid frog belching in a corner is merely akin to a large box of chocolates waltzing on a plate. But at the high speed cycle of a washing machine there cab exist 200 drones, a purple nightie, a silver molested glove, ten drawn swords and a sparkly dagger. Omit no orbic residue from a tidally induced flood. And a flour is not a flower it is not a baking in a two foot garden. Hahahahah synergistic syndrome symmetrically symbolised stirring sap syrup. And a giant horn of a herd rising and raising a radioactive beam. Oh prison not a prism. Pickle no paint. And curve no charisma. Hahahaha to it all. Ho how much you can do that for the purpose. And a dove. Dancing. With a curvaceous cabbage. Dawn that then demon. And chop. Chip. Xxxxx gravitational gibbons giving gratification xxxx hahahahah plaid pig pointing posts. Xxxxx cinematography z
Form:
A physical fort is a contact entity but a branch brain can bake many layers of bread thoughts. Thus reducing the need for manufacturing. When a pretty pickle faced person sings to birdsong it is said that it is wise to hold a broom in a semi circular formation. Hence a saying could be a long term statement. A crow nods in agreement. And nineteen silver fish prance on the waters. Cinematography of an otter world then. Good. Portly pork playing platinum puck. Fantastic news for bees. It is often said that lifting a tiny calf is to bring great fortune and blessings upon villagers. In a collaborative collection one should never eat coleslaw from a ladle as ladles are accustomed to soup. Soil is not an advertisement for diving into the ground. And imprisonment of a billion is merely to ensure the playgrounds of slugs and frogs last to span time. *** having fun are we? Hahahaha £% and often a mystic ¥ so call to a pointed ceiling then. *** ham and egg dance with the plate xxxx totalitarian *** z. Cvbf. X
Form:
Inspired by the epic and beautiful movie, "Legends of the Fall". Excellent story; and brilliant performances and cinematography.
Fullness of heart
By Michelle Morris
02/01/2023
You said you'd wait forever
But forever was too long
You married someone else
And left me all alone
I can respect this
I wasn't the easiest guy
Too busy chasing
Adventures on the horizon
Somehow things worked out
In the destined manner
It wasn't always pretty
It wasn't always planned
So many loves and losses
We all suffered along the way
But ultimately we were free
Creating family history come what may
You struggled with your decisions
You couldn't take the pain
Not having children
Left an abyss filled with hurt and rage
You took your own life
And my wife died in vain
Too many tragedies
For our family name
I lived a full life
It was wild and it was free
My death was a good one
My ancestor's helped me see
Now I'm in Heaven
With all those I loved so well
You drift in a different circle
But I know you're doing swell
I look back on this life
And I do have my regrets
But sometimes I wonder how
Things could've worked out in retrospect
God and His angels
They speak to us about our choices
If we go back to another life
We need to hear their voices
But, as we know so well
When our souls come back down here
We forget all our knowledge
And start from scratch and tears
Maybe we'll meet again
In a different place in time
Maybe our souls will remember
Everything good that rhymed
Hopefully, each one of us
Will make better decisions on our path
And we will live a little better
With love and fullness of heart
© Michelle Morris, 2023