Long Camera Poems
Long Camera Poems. Below are the most popular long Camera by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Camera poems by poem length and keyword.
Life behind these eyes
This old body, harboured among so many artifacts.
My Spirit wanders the spaces within my four cornered rooms.
My Soul searches for meaning beyond the bars of my steel cage. .
My heart beats against the walls of my memories hoard.
Blood pumping, awakening the essence of what is stored.
My nights becoming the life what should be my days.
Slipping my mind into neutral, sound and electromagnetic waves carry.
Living vicariously through the eyes, imaginations, the talents of others.
Writers producers, directors, camera create and bring to the screen.
That one eyed monster, the cathode tube that carries one beyond.
Awareness of space time continuum, its linear journey lost to me.
Consciousness of times passing no longer has any relevance.
Seconds into minutes, hours, days, weeks months, years, a lifetime
One elongated stream, without destination, meaning or substance.
Carried off into the sun set, carried on the wings of solar winds.
Particles of time, connected, never seen by these tired old eyes.
Reaching, with both hands into the ether, the four corners of this universe.
Habits, rituals, routines dominate, no longer cognizant of times movements.
Days have become night, many hours spent in a bed of water.
Lost in dream land, where the subconscious brings to life ones history.
Stories told, be they positive, negative, indifferent or be they illusions.
A surrealistic representations of unfinished business, of desired unfulfilled.
On occasion, a vision, a premonition, something beyond a reflection.
For the most part, a desire to, once again, to experience the essence of.
Passions, desires, a life no longer afforded a disabled, indigent senior.
Only in the images played out upon the back of ones eye lids.
Painted upon canvases, woven into tapestries, displayed on TV screens.
Phantasmagorias that elucidate a life, some regrets, a life consumed.
B. J. “A ” 2
January 24th, 2021
Sphinx applied for a job at Duel Tool Instrument Manufacturing.
During his first days he was assigned four breaks and lunch at
Noon which lasted for 45 minutes.His work days would be four
days a week with $21.00 an hour. The company is opened seven
days a week Eight hour shifts could be divided by seven or four
Days straight with the company having the option of calling him
In for overtime which could be no more than five hour shifts with
A company dinner plan on weekends.The dinner plan would reduce
His pay by 12%.
Seven weeks into his beginning the company asked him to take his
Lunch at 11:00.They used a camera to monitor the lunch room.
At the end of the first week the manager returned him to the noon
Lunch schedule He noticed his portion size was reduced and the company
asked him to take less time for lunch and gave him a fifteen minutes break
To compensate the time. This is called a what?
A. Pain in the a$s shedule
B. A monitored mangament shedule
C. A Notified shedule
D. A camera monitored shedule.
That Bouis can sing ya'll type of deal
She lifts the one-piece blue gym suit toward the camera,
that relic of our girlhood trials~
the stretchy, scratchy, sweat-soaked uniform
we wriggled into like reluctant acrobats.
It hangs from her hand like a captured beast,
its elastic edges still whispering
of locker rooms, loud whistles,
and the long-ago tyranny of mandatory jumping jacks.
Her grin is bright, almost defiant.
“I survived the blue gym suit,” she says,
as if announcing a medal earned through
endurance, embarrassment, and sheer adolescent grit.
And truly~
for every teenage girl who fought that fabric,
who peeled it off after class like a second skin,
who learned early that some battles
are won simply by outlasting them~
it is a lifetime achievement award.
A small, silly triumph.
A shared secret.
A reminder that even the strangest struggles
become stories we hold up proudly
once we’ve lived long enough to laugh.
my life is a discombobulation of endless thoughts
like food is NOT my friend exercise is my friend
fasting MAY be a good idea
eating takes up way too much time
death is hanging over me like a dark cloud
I watch too much TV it is my enemy
money is not my friend
my life clock is ticking fast
no time to do everything I want
procrastination is something I do
housework needs to be done (!)
I need to focus because I am befuddled
must write stories and poems each day
cannot suppress the storyteller in me
friends often cannot be trusted
family live far away
I like to draw but there is no time
wish to read the books are getting dusty
want to wander the library for hours
meander the art gallery alone
go on nature hikes with my camera
work on my photography editing skills
have coffee in a really nice cafe
to contemplate the puzzle of my life
dance class is my friend but it takes time
meditation and praying is something to do
taking my pills, blood pressure, blood sugar
tick, tock, tick how much longer God (?)
I can honestly say I have never, ever been bored
but I have been confounded
what should I be doing today what (?)
I need a plan tick, tock, tick, tock
Happy Hour is one drink short
of a buzz,
I try to determine the moment
it all went sour.
I’m looking into the empty glass
wondering where the ‘happy’ went,
did it dissipate on a curling lip
or a sigh?
I find the remote in the back of my mind
where remoteness lives and has its bunker.
It’s been a tough past year, and we’ve barely sipped
this new one, bad joo-joo everywhere.
what with all this apocalyptic crap going on.
Occasionally a camera will capture a look
in a strangers eyes, and I see my thoughts there.
We are all lonely inside our eyes I guess.
The barkeep picks up his tip and nods to my fading presence.
The taxi home gets lost between Reykjavik and Lahore,
we all arrive just in time to watch the day show up
on the 6 o’clock news.
Body counts and empty faces talking through mealy lips -
time for another drink.
I am so out of my depth
In this world of technology
The life l knew, loved and understood
Now, just a distant memory
The days when television only had a few channels
Channel change required getting up and turning a knob
Disagreeing regularly with others whos turn it was to do so
Each claiming ‘l did it last time it’s not just my job!’
Days when developing photos was simple
You used a camera with a reel inside
When the reel was finished you took it into a chemist
Matt or gloss the only choice you had to decide
When all was not electronic
Car windows were wound down by hand
Accessing cash from your bank account
A walk in ,with your bank passport….easy to understand
Its all computers , technology and passwords now
No longer phones that “only called” and were attached to a wall
Cash was the general currency
Now , its abundant plastic cards for everything and all
Apps ,banking, payments, signatures, shopping and so forth
All accessible and done online from ones home
Clouds that do not belong in the sky
Lives functioned and lived through ….a computer or mobile phone!
Forgive the forgotten
I received the post from someone anonymous
a video, not knowing who had sent it, I put the video in a drawer where it languished for years
Yesterday, when clearing up the drawers on my desk
full of copy pens that didn't work a broken
camera, seven pairs of shop-bought glasses, and a copy
paper, although I have no typewriter, and the video
the video showed how my life was when young
and the people I knew were young as well
play, anger, love, dance, and greed it was all there
nothing spared the blushes.
Watching the video many times till late at night
when it struck me, of all the people shown, I was
the only one alive and had moved on and left my youth behind me; I felt a deep shame, a regret that
had not thought about them, those who had played
such a big part of my youth.
Later in the night, the forgotten floated up as pieces of a puzzle that made no sense.
A fair girl, why did he behave so beastly towards her? A broken stem of a wine glass was it his blood or someone else; a crescendo of uncurbed rage.
The sudden darkness, a new dawn far away, where
dreams become alive, replacing the embryo that
died before life, entering the state of oblivion, yet what once was exists in dreams and memories of those who once loved and made life bearable
Me Myself and Iphone
How’s the line can you hear me now
I’m getting bad reception
They say these gadgets make life easier
But maybe that’s self deception
I saw seven girls walking by the other day
You’d think out to enjoy the sun and the view
Six on their phones, one with nothing to say
Or perhaps just no one to say it to
No one was listening to the ones around them
The ones who were all within reach
What’s wrong with the world is they’re all too scared
To look up, to listen, to teach
You want to say, take a look where you’re going
Give them some friendly advice
But they’re all so engaged in their digital haze
They’re obsessed with their hand held device
You see them drive by with one hand on the wheel
They’re not even watching the road
Now the only acknowledgement they give to others
Is something they call ‘manner mode’
The phone was supposed to improve communication
To get friends and family reconnected
But now they’re all in self imposed isolation
Cut off by electronic walls they’ve erected
Each generation find’s it harder to cope
Less able to use what they’ve already got
The more man relies on his electronic tools
The machine in their heads is almost forgot
Camera, recorder, computer cell phone
These things are no match for your brain
Too much devotion to such circuit works
Would drive any person insane
It’s a superficial world that you just think is real
While the real one lies under you’re feet
It’s time to remember how to look, hear and feel
Before someone somewhere hits delete
Just try and recall how you first saw it all
Reach out to somebody nearby
They’ll never wake up until they get reconnected
To the great outlet who lives up on high
Andrew Jarvis, 2005
Ready
A camera, the battery, charger and film…(what is that?)
A flashlight, lighter, matches and something to burn.
A bag, a flag, a blanket, and comfort to sleep.
A favorite pillow, and bear, “yes you can bring him”.
The telephone the charger, maybe I should leave them?
What a novel idea…I think I will write one, a novel that is.
Camp chairs, the ice-chest, the stove and the lamp,
a table, the cards, two decks, that’s our camp.
Water in bottles, soap and dish pans.
The whole house made small, to answer the call.
Paper(toilet) and paper and pen and pins…
What should I leave, where to begin?
Earthquake, tsunami, the in-laws are here!
Be steady, be ready, show… no fear.
Fishing poles, fishing lines, and worms for bate,
I think they already know their ultimate fate.
Where are you going, where have we been?
This is the final list that I wish to mend.
Forget nothing, put everything in,
the giraffe, the barn cat and the cow.
You may not need them “when or then”,
but you might need them now?
Sitting on a bench, the sun drizzles over me
Strangers pass by sewn on their faces, stories of regret and triumph
Some eyes wells of the deepest depths that no coin has ever reached
and no wish never granted
Some mannequins with plastic eyes
and bodies punctured hissing life out
The suited boss too busy missing life to live it
The student searching the skyline with vintage camera,
hoping for the latest movement
The women struggles with broken bags and splintered fingers
The Stoner wobbles forward as if pushed by invisible hands
happy in his own
Frames of humanity scattered through my thoughts
as the sun ducks its face beneath the clouds
My smile inside never warms the all
and all the faces passing never seem to share
The lone smile inside can never find the same
and slowly dies alone and unseen