Best Photographing Poems
Twas the day after Christmas
Throughout the North Pole,
Not a creature was working
Not one Ho! Ho! Ho!
The elves were at home
They had the day off
Santa was gone
To Hawaii, to play golf
A little R and R
With his island wahine
Displaying her snow globes
In her Christmas bikini
Mrs Claus was visiting
Family back east
And the reindeer were grazing
On their tropical feast
When all of a sudden
Out on the back nine
His cart left the path
Cause he'd gone snow blind
All of the golfers
Caddies and guests
Came running with cell phones
Photographing the mess
There in the sand pit
Was Santa red faced
His wahine on his lap
It was such a disgrace
But Santa took names
For next year's big list
If you weren't in Hawaii
"I'm sorry, you missed"
December 25
Wahine: pronounced /wa he' ne
Daniel Turner
Photography is a visual expression,
I love capturing images frozen in time;
Sometimes, I snap close-up details of the flowers,
I stroll city streets searching for the sweet sublime.
I love capturing images frozen in time,
photography is an adventure and journey;
Love going on hikes in the city and nature,
I am often stalking wildlife on paths ferny.
Sometimes, I snap close-up details of the flowers,
I am developing my own personal style;
emptying my wallet for photographic gear,
and find photographing architecture worthwhile.
I stroll city streets searching for the sweet sublime,
finding inspiration in statues and old tombs;
not in a morbid way but as an expression,
I feel so creative when my camera zooms.
__________________________
February 13, 2019
Poetry/Quatrain/Photography: A Journey Creative
Copyright Protected, ID 02-1114-485-13
All Rights Reserved, 2019, Constance La France
Age can never erase memories of yore,
For there's an old but lovely song still rambling
In my head as I love to go a wandering
Along the vales or up the mountain sides,
Fetching flora, photographing fauna and sampling
Wildflowers, collecting leaves fancy or plain.
Study trees, evergreen or autumnal bare.
How I loved to stop near some clear rill.
There would be daffodils I’m sure up on some hill.
Checked which song birds choose to build their cosy nests,
Birds picking up small or curvy twigs with care.
Even today I ramble along the vast countryside,
Sometimes I rest, imbibing the air so fresh,
Watch some little children playing joyfully
With young nuns in front the impoverished crèche.
Bells ring from a chapel calling for prayer,
I join trusting my sins the good Lord would spare.
all the pheromones circled around me
without knowing, we will gather you all
and we make a world
you draw like the silver treacherous snails
pressed intersections
some over others in translucent layers
ah, here, this is the time you said
and we gather around
all around
extreme words and states
I was photographing the world with one cyclopean eye
cramming it into one night
glasses, cups, plates
how many sets I broke
stockings how many pairs I broke
a silky mountain to circulate mathematical butterflies
invented by the statistics of the managers
on the thighs
and house noises
on the dress painted by your hug
we were young
we are working on an abyssal constellation
our bodies craved warmth
and the hugs
and expectations
friends were watching us too
getting under their skin I was growing
move forward
I made leaves and flowers
and they gave birth to other planets
and other trajectories
and other plans were intertwined
we cannot say that the walking has slowed down
and neither did I forget
I waited until everyone arrived
so far away
that no sound was heard
shouting from one to another
density increased and voices
they were impregnated as the leaves in the geological layers
one of us will have to come
from the future
to research them
to understand what I said today
so far we have each come
that
it will be necessary that on the wall of this embrace
to give birth to children
let's give birth to voices that forget us
Sacred and pristine Russian mountain;
here I am to ponder on your beauty;
From photographing you I cannot abstain!
Sacred and pristine Russian mountain.
Dear Russian mountain: 5861 miles plus
19 hours it took me to reach your home,
surrounded by nature. I am not a wuss!
Sacred and pristine Russian mountain.
Russian mountain, -30 F
don't deter me from being here. I don't
care if I frezee. This is sheer delight!
Sacred and pristine Russian mountain.
Russian mountain, make heart glad and gay!
If you were able to speak today
I wouldn't understand a iota of what you say!
Sacred and pristine Russian mountain.
Russian mountain sacred and pristine.
Mountaineers and explorers from abroad
come to visit you because you are alpine!
Sacred and pristine Russian mountain.
Russian mountain pristine and sacred.
We won't find you in an amusement park;
because you're only here, blue and red.
Sacred and pristine Russian mountain.
There's no one like you in Spokane!
Sacred and pristine Russian mountain.
The client was desperate.
The coppers gave up on the chase.
They might have caught him, but,
The killer didn’t leave a trace.
Flipping coins in the shadows.
Slouch hat, overcoat and a gun.
Photographing through windows
Some clown’s extra-marital fun.
Who went bust playing horses?
Just who’s blackmailing who?
Questioning his sources,
The detective’s looking for clues.
Dusting for fingerprints,
Magnifying glass in hand.
Searching for evidence,
Like following tracks in the sand.
GUMSHOE!
What Could Makes Me Happy
I have tarpaulin over my shame,
And instead of photographing un-wiped yarns
I will continue to climb the ladder of laughter
In case the eczema of fame spread abroad.
What Could Make Me Happy
If feverish joy could always splutter and flourish,
As often as eruption in one's crotch
Wet naughty naked tongue under the ruby flesh,
Then cemetery should be the death of belly dancing,
What Could Make Me Happy
A sex deranged Cliffordian orgy?
Trapped a pussy into his sacred slaughter slab
Dose her and embarrassed her hourly until lunar,
Dropping cold icicle of blooded lips
The severed corpse puke and raised the peace flag,
What Could Make Me Happy
In the cathedral of want,
With hiccoughing economy; dry hacking until comatose
The years of locusts go on like a long pronunciation,
Everyone is weighed down by portmanteau of problems,
And essential needs trickles in form of an anecdote.
On caparisoned, filleted camels do they
Over the great, soft, tawny sands
Ride;
Unfurled flags and tribal standards flown amidst them,
In the very midst of them-
Of they, who astride great tan camels,
Seem rather scandent and saltant.
These are the irregular, well-armed cavalry of the
"Men In Ambush," for such is the literal translation of their
Nation's cognomen;
And on the sands of the undulant, granular, eminent
Near-Judean wilderness do they ride.
Photographing these from atop the vespertine-hued
Summit of a delivery truck from the nearby
Eminent, circumvallatory, hilly
And fortressed city;
From the very roof of an antiquated bread truck
(Though 'twas then very new by the standards of those bygone days)
Whose radiator is soon to vaporously explode
Amid the oppressive, anhydrous desert heat,
Photographs an American, hatted in the whitest
Of Panama hats, who is a correspondent reporting of wars.
The Arab cavalry ride for locales
Damascene, in order to pursue one's kingly wish
To renew the gardens Cordovan and long-vanished.
Form:
Xerox copier sounds raise my eyebrows
wondering if he’s photographing unclad organs
like another time?
Beware zealous dismay from your justifiably
Quickly vacating nervy, kinky gentlemen!
written November 5, 2021
for "Alphabet Soup" poetry contest
sponsored by William Kekaula
If I could wave a magic wand and make a fantasy week,
I would rent some cabins in the wilderness near a tourist town.
And fill each one with my family’s love…butterfly kissing cheeks.
With all my children and grandchildren happily gathered around.
Camp food aromas would fill fresh air, tantalizing and good.
We would joyfully sing campfire songs amid giggles and sparks.
Talk about the “growing-up” days while warmed by firewood.
Each child snuggled under someone’s arm as happy as larks.
When darkness came, the moon would shine upon a distant owl.
Whip-or-wills would sing their tune; each child’s heart would thrill.
We would say prayers as a family thanking God for waterfowl.
Together on our beautiful earth, enjoying the quiet still.
In cabins nestled under the stars, amid the black of night,
Beneath scented cedars and pines, we would dream our souls to sleep.
Anticipating sounds of dawn and beautiful mountain sights,
I would lie awake and soak it in, remembering sweetness to keep.
Awakened by the sounds of dawn and crisp mountain air,
I would take my camera for a walk, photographing with flare.
In every bit of nature, I would recognize God’s care.
Thanking Him for sharing sights of deer, antelope, and bear.
When the week was almost gone, we would take a family ride.
And go to the nearby tourist town to shop and look around.
I would buy each some western clothes, feeling good inside.
And tell them I am proud that family love flows unbound.
On that last day, while packing up, we would hear waterfalls cascade.
All together, my children would work, singing a wilderness song.
As I, watching grandchildren, would thank them for good memories made.
Then, upon returned to each his home we could carry this dream along.
© October 4, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
5...4...3...2......1..GO!
Get ready to release yourself from deep waters
Land on high grounds
Thrills surrounding your awed temptations
3...2...1..
You are ready to take your first flight!!!
To a wondrous
Space of wonders
Good morning to a space glimpse!
Luminous happiness sweltering
From a secure, sincere sunshine
Peeking from scarless sun
Careless of the background
Space of wonders
You'll be always remembered
In my photographing memory
Cherished as my own child
Remain mild...control the ship in a sprinkled space
Space of wonders
How could you mutter those
Floating inspirations?
Tripping on every verse
Keeping track of space life
Full of energy and renewal
The commotion from Earth
Has been on the duelist
It's inspired for awhile
Replaced with a remarkable universe
Space of wonders
How could you burn our hearts with threatening passion?
Hugging us in compassion
How could you mutter those
Floating aspirations?
Cherished as my own
favorite memory
Good morning to space life
Devious and uncontrollable
As slick as many criminals
Working as a one big team
To circulate around
The main sequence of trouble
Glisten as the star-filled sky
Along with warm, heartening rain
Good morning...
To you, oh glorious soul!
Your vision shown in space
Rolling in your circular face
Thrilling and tripping unsteadily
With an unstable way of living
Close the scene for a lightyear moment
Feel our diversity
Watch the stars roam about like syrup rubbing against a soft, puffy
pancake
Take your flight, you sunlit fairy
On a cloudless, scarlet sky
Shining as the sun
Swiftly diving down as a surfing dude
Open as the driven waves,
trusting the possible tasks
Put your task aside for now
Save it for leftovers
We are arriving in our zoo-like cage
Suitable for excitement and ominous worries
Welcome royal destiny!
Arriving on the doorstep of your front door
Along with a letter saying:
"Goodbye to midnight bliss!
Good morning to a kiss of gleaming space of wonder!"
X marks the spot
Where a young child had stood,
Enjoying his friends’ company as only
A young child could.
X marks the spot
Where the child lay dying,
Medics there to save his life,
Desperately trying.
X marks the spot,
From which the crowd was kept,
The child’s mother who broke through
And uncontrollably wept.
X marks the spot
Where the ambulance came,
The police taking measurements,
Photographing the stain.
X marks the spot
Where the piles of flowers were left,
Where the moving tributes were made
From those now bereft.
X marks the spot
Where the funeral procession slowed,
Where a community’s grief
In rivers now flowed.
X marks the spot
Where the young child was struck
By a man on a mobile
In charge of a truck.
X marks the spot
Where a quick call was made,
The cost of this phone call
Extravagantly paid.
X marks the spot
Where a young child had stood,
Enjoying his friends company as only
A young child could.
X marks the spot
Where the child laid dying,
Medics there to save his life,
Desperately trying.
X marks the spot,
From which the crowd were kept,
The child’s mother who broke through
And uncontrollably wept.
X marks the spot
Where the ambulance came
The police taking measurements
Photographing the stain.
X marks the spot
Where the piles of flowers were left,
Where the moving tributes were made
From those now bereft.
X marks the spot
Where the funeral procession slowed
Where a community’s grief
In rivers now flowed.
X marks the spot
Where the young child was struck
By a man on a mobile
In charge of a truck.
X marks the spot
Where a quick call was made
The cost of this phone call,
Extravagantly paid.
I know that's how death will come,
Suddenly flying into another orbit
when you are photographing flowers.
It's not a gentle transition.
No-one will know where you've gone.
One step wrong and you're.
off the high wire
And plunging into the no safety net.
Flying for a while;
Jumping into hyperspace,spinning electrons
Startle your grey eyes.
Transiting the new black sun
You're on a double gold helix,
Spider on your web,
Knitting furiously
Into the future heaven on gossamer wings.
Butterfly goodbye,I'm off to see the stars.
And the black holes.Noone will come with me.
I'm shaking off,evaporating into mist.
I'm a flying saucer on a circus mission.
I can't say no to a new invitation.
Make it fast and break with tradition.
Time is passing smoothly till that break
In the music,I've been transmuted into a different key
someone else will play me on their violin
I'm a tune,
I'm a thought,
I'm a whisper in your vision.
Goodbye,darling.I'm under orders
Ready to leave for my performance
On the electric carpet.
Death dancing to a tune on a violoncello,
Arpeggionne sonata
i'm playing your words upside down
In a new foreign translation,
Accompanied by solo artists,ice cracking
I'm going in.It's too sudden.
I'm flying.
Spinning faster to amuse the clowns,
too many ups and no downs.
I'm going right out of orbit
I've broken the pull of gravity,
And fly with pure equanimity
Into my future life,
I'm off at some moment,
An instant ,a crack,a loud smack.
That was me passing.
I know that's how death will come,
Suddenly flying into another orbit
when I am photographing flowers.
It's not a gentle transition.
No-one will know where I've gone.
One step wrong and I'm
off the high wire
And plunging into the no safety net.
Flying for a while;
Jumping into hyperspace,spinning electrons
Startle my wide eyes.
Transiting the new black sun
I'm on a double gold helix,
Spider on her web,
Knitting furiously
Into the future heaven on gossamer wings.
Butterfly goodbye,I'm off to see the stars.
And the black holes.No one will come with me.
I'm shaking off,evaporating into mist.
I'm a flying saucer on a circus mission.
I can't say no to a new invitation.
Make it fast and break with tradition.
Time is passing smoothly till that break
In the music,I've been transmuted into a different key
someone else will play me on their violin
I'm a tune,
I'm a thought,
I'm a whisper in your vision.
Goodbye,darling.I'm under orders
Ready to leave for my performance
On the electric carpet.
Death dancing to a tune on a violoncello,
Arpeggionne sonata
I'm playing your words upside down
In a new foreign translation,
Accompanied by solo artists,ice cracking
I'm going in.It's too sudden.
I'm flying.
Spinning faster to amuse the clowns,
too many ups and no downs.
I'm going right out of orbit
I've broken the pull of gravity,
And fly with pure equanimity
Into my future life,
I'm off at some moment,
An instant ,a crack,a loud smack.
That was me passing,