Autumn's many colorful moons seen through the lens of a camera,
I see beauty and color everywhere.
As a child,
I did not know there was a harvest moon.
I loved watching the full autumn moon,
as it seemed to change colors.
Autumn's many colorful moons seen through the lens of a camera,
have changed over the years.
What has made this change?
The huge night clear sky is not as clear as it once was,
the full bright moon is not as bright.
Do we see the change year after year?
Do we even care?
I weep for the beauty of olden Autumn days,
a more peaceful time.
A bright full moon and clear night's sky,
that was once seen through the lens of a camera.
Children's giggles, the melody I enjoy.
Glowing faces, the golden era of joy.
Their moms shout, the sun sets,
music stops—a break from hearing, "YAYAYA OUT".
Sometimes the genre shifts;
a deep convo between lovers hits.
Some cries, some smiles,
an emotional roller coaster,
a compilation of human files.
The dogs run, the air's fresh.
People exercise, talk about mesh,
share their pain, resolve them,
take the energy, smile—worth a gem.
The old tales hymns everywhere.
The grandpa reminisces about his prime time,
misses those people he still cares.
Sad one sits, prays to God.
Life's a movie I have watched.
Spacemeat. The light cone enfolds the individual effectually creating a ghost through geometric topology. The negative of the person, the "ghost" is a result of the lensing of the original person's light cone interacting with a tertiary lightcone that predicates it's future on the subsequent intermingling of the light cones. The result is essentially apodictic insofar as the consequential nature of the topological result is the determinant by which the conclusion from the incipient portion of the status aforementioned is solidified. Spacemeat.
A desert of pain , thirst and decay ,
death emotion , trees naked , fallen to their knees , uprooted from the earth, their barren arteries , no water to quench , no breeze.
A haze on the horizon , an oasis in a dream , an illusion of salvation is all that is seen
River’s lost in plastic, a child sits upon a bank of consumerism , a stick to shift the waste , and sister brother mother try to mend their broken concrete space ...
Our seas as vast as they are , roar with unease , to the pace of a storm that began with a breeze , shifting gently and melodically amongst the palm trees ....
Our Island , Our home , your home , our home , no longer seen ,
only our families, drowned in the tsunami seas , caught amongst the fallen, a child of hope of love , clings to a tree , the only one for miles that you and I can see ..
The reality dawned and rose like the sun , through the lens of a testimony , a need to protect her medicines from the fires that burn at her heart , the trees the forests the wonderland of nature that man has torn apart ...
To see the big picture
when looking at life in the hope
of finding signs of sanity in humanity
use the little lens end of a telescope
altho' by putting the large one to your eye
wishing it would improve the view
by diminishing flaws or imperfections
you're only fooling you
Gerry O'Driscoll, 'There is no dark side in the moon, really.'
Martin H. Samuel, 'There is no wrong end of a telescope.'
I wish you could see yourself
Through the lens I view you in
I yearn for you to hear
Hear the music of your exquisite laughter
Hear the sweetness of your dulcet voice
Whispering you love me
I long for you to see
See the glory of your amazing beauty
See the deepest love in your hazel eyes
Glowing pooling of joy
I ache for you to think
Think of how deeply I love you
Think about how I think of you
And how proud of you I am
I need for you to feel
Feel the love in my heart
Feel how it all belongs to you
And the way it beats your name
I wish for you to touch
Touch the smoothness of your skin
Touch the softness of your hair
A delight to my fingers
Yes, I wish you could see yourself
Through the lens of love that I have for you.
Things that used to mean a lot
Don’t mean as much today,
Yet missing them can still feel sad,
No matter what they say.
In memory, there’s laughter
And there’s comfort, which surrounds
Friends and family partaking
In the foodstuff that abounds.
In reality, that picture’s
Filtered through a rosy lens,
But the past still seems inviting
When comparing now and thens.
As the world pulls taut around me,
I seek solace in the thought
That most often, all the yearning
Won’t reveal that which was sought.
When you fall fast asleep
and awaken the next day,
All is the same and
nothing is in play.
But what if every night of sleep
was followed by a new beginning,
an awakening in a land
where all may not be grinning.
This is not a part
of our conciseness yet,
but should be to make sure
all get a fair bet.
If this was actually factual
not just a mere thought,
all would make sure
not to land somewhere with naught.
This fine formula
to assure fairness for all,
obviously people cannot see
beyond their own needs.
Humankind should care
about all on our earth,
hopefully all can look
through these lens
and find everyone’s worth.
THROUGH THE LENS OF A FALLEN LEAF
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
oh, if I could drift
through autumn’s gold descent—
watch roots drink deep,
feel frost’s first kiss,
know the weight
of a single raindrop
on paper-thin skin,
and blaze one last crimson sigh
before settling
into earth’s dark hymn.
photography is an obsession of mine
love taking snaps by design
the capturing of moments that align
my passion for chasing sunshine
and seeing how its beauty imitates the divine
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
"Lens and Leaf"
The alley looks quite good to look around.
She followed the trail like a tail.
Chirping Wings Melodies is one of the hosts.
The glow of sunray's is enough to release 'serotonin.'
Leaves are proving their presence with a peaceful waft of air.
Moral of the nature "Someone's darkness is not everyone's."
This present deserves to be algorithmic memory.
Her camera got greedy doesn't want to be steady.
A nature of endless green seems another capable scene for her camera's memory.
Life has changed so much in merely two weeks
Life was hard and traumatic at times
Now it is just grey with grief
The beauty of friendship is still here,
A sunrise still fills the sky with wonderful colors
But life just feels muted and dingy
M-ind
A-ll
Y-our
E-yes
S-ee,
C-ounting
O-n
B-eholding
E-veryday
R-eality
©bfa052425
Monocrostic (Birthday of May L. Escober)
Courageous stories end courageous words, issuing peaceful assemblies
Laid away as day was valued, enjoyed without symbol
Divisive victory hiding overtures of bread
Hardships and arrogance about how we fed
In adams apple, the evening gowns
And cities skied believing hounds
Talks behind, collard barrels as wine
Another stretch and dance
A loft, building a glance
So far ahead the subway can fly
Counting callouses torn, empty greetings sigh
Departing mystery of burning sisterly
Caverns of sounds
Jostling of crowns
The Lord is faithful to forgive His children
when we repent sincerely of our sins.
He’ll redirect us to the path He’s chosen
and help us view life through the proper lens.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.