Best Photographer Poems
It can be an orchard with peach trees against patches of blue
as they swerve downhill and meet the foaming sea,
see him capture an indelible moment after
moment until he's amazed by that wonder
to have captured a breathtaking view...
which will be eternally frozen in his memory.
A photographer lives what he feels,
wouldn't it be a celebrity on high heels,
or the most gorgeous child cuddling a puppy
that she saw shivering when snow fell in February?
Didn't he anxiously climb that remote, sun-sunken mount rising in the East...
to find tiger cubs suckling from their mother as she watched a flock of sheep?
For all those who’ve been captured by my camera lens,
I wish we could do it all over again.
But time waits for no one despite what we see,
In images made of you and me.
In the snap of a shutter or the blink of an eye
A memory is frozen like tinsel in time.
Shiny and shimmering like diamonds and pearls
Each one a treasure, immeasurable world.
Yet never to last beyond dawn’s early light
As the picture of now is an illusory sight.
To have and to hold like water in hand
Hasten photographers to do what we can.
To coax, cajole, position and prompt
People and places to do what we want
To fill up our cameras with just the right touch –
Never too little, never too much.
With just the right color, right texture, right mood –
A slim slice of life that says what, where and who.
In a gathering of pixels of zeros and ones,
Technological marvel mixed with light from the sun.
And oh what a ride I’ve had by your side
Be you stranger, family or friend,
Throughout the years of trying to make clear
What’s moving like clouds in the wind…
People, places, flowers and trees,
Sun rising and falling on rivers and seas.
Small creatures and features of wood, sand and rain,
Sky scrapers and ruins of ancient remains.
The famous and infamous, lost and found;
The good, bad, beautiful and perennially profound.
Healthy, wealthy, humble and weak;
Down and out with nothing to eat.
But your smile most of all is my favorite frame;
Vignette of your memory, your life and good name.
Etched now in the hues of bold colors and grays
With gratitude I have you to reflect upon today.
It may be just a portion
Perhaps a small detail
To get your fire scorching
Or lift your deceiving veil
One tenth of a second
The pressure of my finger
A tangible gift beckoned
It will forever linger
My quirkiness is a blessing
Oddness birthed beauty
Ingredients in my dressing
Don't harm, but rather suit me
I don't anticipate riches
At least, not by formal currency
My prize is within the stitches
Sewn together for you to see
I'm humbled by the art
I have the pleasure of showing
On your wall, Pieces of my heart
A gift that keeps bestowing
======================
The Stranger and the Photographer
By: Inaam Al-Hashimi (Gold_N_Silk)
=======================
Sunshine in his eyes
A smile on his face
Dust on his hair
And on his eyebrows
Like a lone ranger
From outer space
Who crossed the desert
Riding the wind,
Not a horse!
And after his journey,
To rest his head,
He found a place.
Everyone was talking
Laughing and joking
And with their laughter
Filling the space
But alone he was sitting,
Drinking and eating,
In utter silence,
Minding noone else.
Like lightning and thunder,
On a hot summer day;
She suddenly comes,
To shatter his silence,
And cross his way,
"I'd like to take a picture,"
She said with a smile,
"Of you, If I may!"
Waited for no answer,
Took a picture,
"Thank you!" She said,
And went away.
Then turned around
And said with a sway:
Mind you stranger!
If destiny wants,
She'll have her way,
Your path and my path,
Will cross again,
Somehow, somewhere, someday!
******
Inaam 1993
USA
http://goldenpoems.wetpaint.com
Skies gray and rains blow;
Trees sway and creak like old stairs.
Thunder rolls and booms.
The den lights go out.
On the brown faux leather couch
Kids crowd together.
Whites of their eyes show.
"Shush! God is doing his work,"
Grandparents tell them.
Lightning bolt flashes,
Illuminates the front yard
And freezes the scene
Framed by porch windows;
He snaps candids from the storm,
Outside looking in.
Get the light just right
The sun is blinding
First shot too bright
Let's try rewinding
In the shade
What a bore
"Is this the sherade
I'm paying for?"
Lighting is dim
Dial down the shutter
On a whim
Don't dare flutter
If you can be still
As can I
We can finish this deal
Before I cry
8 people cheesing
Sharp faces across the board
In the business of pleasing
Master this and I score
I lose light for this shot
I know you can't imagine
A job for a tot
With my little red wagon
The aperture skinny
To achieve this focus
Pay me a pretty penny
And I'll say hocus pocus
Quick! snap a solo
I want a blurred backdrop
Must change up the show
Widen my f stop
"What's taking so long,
Is this not your profession?
Are you doing it wrong
We paid for this session!"
Doctor... What's your name again
Do you have any tact
I have settings to tend
This is a balancing act
Have you seen my work
Did you not call to hire
Wipe off the smirk
Before your session expires
My job, my passion
A gift to mankind
What better, a purchase
Than To rewind time
We have a secret
Unknown by majority
We capture the moments
Naked eyes can't see
There is invisible beauty
Only artists can notice
It lies in perception
Point of focus
My camera, an instrument
Uncanny sight
It sees what you cannot
No prejudice or trite
Don't misconstrue
Talent required
To freeze these moments
Before they retire
Funeral song put us as a wedding photographer
Photos making popane us in that Golden October
And 40 nights, like on top of them we counted some chronograph
Swirled snowflakes of care under the waltzes in your head
Who said it had to be this way and such terms
But it has long been supposed that the dead in forty days funeral service
Bad weather... what then in December there was bad weather
And at the heart of a Blizzard and I wanted to rant and rave
Nine months is not a period of time, said so himself Vysotsky
Just how much for those nine years I had to endure
And in July, when the land all in the thrall of nature
We had love, that was, to begin to serve a panikhida
And then the anniversary... just some kind of fairy tale, as if about demons
Led, whirled family home our demonic Blizzard
And you know, I never particularly believed
But love is lost, I do not know what to think sometimes
And now anniversary I love and feasts meet
Everything's just and date would like, but hard to forget
Because love is March, and the Lord in all the world revives
But the funeral feast - September... in September I have to re-live
I'm looking for, I'm looking to kind some sort of wizard
Able from past years this song somehow remove and erase
That included us once the drunk at the wedding photographer
I forgot about everything... and be able hymn to love to sing again
19.08.14 AKC
© Copyright: Konstantin Achapowski, 2014
The certificate of publication No. 114081801379
I photograph the violence but am not part of it:
Machine guns point like the cypress trees.
They drop for a moment ready to erect,
at the charge of desire
they burst into fire.
I photograph not only the cruelty but the sorrow,
the silent anguish of the lost and displaced.
A secure world has been upturned.
In bewildered eyes
I see my childhood and surmise.
I photograph the young body ravished with gunshot,
the strong man dismembered
the tough flesh-torn women.
For some, blood is a sexual wound,
a cut of desire
in the gun fire.
I photograph the clothes-peg mission camp,
flat like match sticks on the floor
or a shattered crater on the moon
with ribbon rags
stuck on the crags.
I photograph from my pinnacle of survival and pain,
flickering sparks for casual glances.
Only a few understand there is ecstasy
torn apart but tied
the man alive to they who died.
Just give me an aperture
and a shutter speed too
with a bright viewfinder
and a good lens or two.
I’ll take some pictures
in fact quite a few
I will almost certainly
take a picture of you.
But not just anyhow
I like to take my time
It has to be a bit special
a moment frozen in time.
I like to make a picture
something special you see
Not just any old thing, but
a photograph made by me.
despite the fact that such a skill has been overrun by the
digital cams at home, the PC that can pump out the cheaper pics that are so clear
that one wonders why they ever paid another to
prop them up against a hanging piece of old felt
squashed against family members in hope of a
spontaneous smile,
the family portrait photographer
still huffs it to the job
be them with family or without
in some way jealous of the families that come in &
in other ways disgusted,
but either way they document lives for the
moments &
find themselves withering away at the job
wondering what will happen when the digital eliminates their occupation
entirely---
they tell themselves that they will freelance,
but at the age that they are pushing
it just isn’t realistic, because all the kids have taken over
even that aspect of the skill,
again, with the digital revolution---
the overwhelming sense of frustration & anxiety enters their veins
as they help the children up to sit next to their parents
or tell the young couple to hold one another &
the build up of emotion must be hid behind the
fake smile which looms from behind the camera
telling the occupants of the coming photo to
“say cheese,” or some other such
nonsense.
She’s an artist of word and rhyme
He’s an artist of capturing time
She weaves lines creating emotion
He stills a moment in motion
He brings her into focus
She likens him to a crocus
They dance in monorhyme
The lighting is perfectly prime
He caresses her with long exposure
Her pen bleeds of love and allure
He looks for that shot he desires
Now she and her muse are on fire
His shutter snaps quick progression
She alliterates in rapid succession
Sunrise paints the sky with colors
Inspiring these would-be lovers
He’s waited for such perfect light
She’s yearned for inspiration to write
How fitting they finally meet
On the cliffs once walked by Keats
Her image fills the frame of his picture
As sonnets she pens like scripture
They were destined to be together
The Poetess and the Photographer.
For my son Paul
I'm so proud of you
Growing up in a small little town
Now look at what you do.
You walk the Red Carpet
Party with all the bands
Never miss an awards show
Backstage passes always in your hands
You've met all the movie stars
Multiple web sites to sell your art
Yet you've never forgotten all of us
Thanks for keeping your precious heart
I did good when you hugged me
I held back all my tears
I didn't want to let go
A mom always has fears
If you can retire at 30
Like you happily said
You can achieve what I could not
Laying in a perfectly made bed
The last time
I took
a photograph
Instamatics
were in flower
No one
could get over
the expression
on my index finger