Long Nikon Poems
Long Nikon Poems. Below are the most popular long Nikon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nikon poems by poem length and keyword.
The stock of the rifle is hand-selected walnut.
I polish it with a soft cloth and occasionally
use linseed oil.
I dust a porcelain lady
twice a week. She does not need my attention,
but I give it.
My Nikon needs to be taken out of its case,
otherwise it may turn into a blind
coal-black memory.
I pick up a quartz crystal and sigh,
At least once a fortnight.
The sigh does not mean anything
unless you think ‘sighs’ mean anything.
When the black dog returns,
I drive out at night
with no aim or destination.
The 'dog' must be driven somewhere,
and left on the edge of a highway.
I go to the Oriental grocery emporium
each month to therapy-browse.
Sometimes I buy a paste or a sauce
not having a clue how to use them.
Cooking into the unknown
is my space travel.
These things I do are tramlines,
a navigability that gets me back
to a place where I can write a poem
with no black dogs attached -
no one likes a failing sun.
These things I do are rituals
for the safe-side of my mind.
~~
(‘Black-dog’ is a euphemism for depression).
It is December 31, the last day of the year.
The nighttime sky is dark, but quite clear.
In Times Square, there is a lighted ball.
The New Year arrives when it makes its fall.
Despite the freezing cold, there is a huge crowd.
They count down the final seconds very loud.
Finally, in New York, it is 2008.
Everyone wishes each other tidings great.
While I walked around Times Square earlier in the day,
I was looking up at billboards a little to my dismay.
There was Nissan, Nikon, and Panasonic on display.
Honda and Toyota cars drove by me today.
How many of you were around on VJ Day?
Most of us are too young to remember 1945.
Very few of us who were around are still alive.
Who has seen the picture in Life Magazine,
where a sailor kissed his woman, and made a scene?
This leaves me to ask with interrogative candor:
From all I see today, who really won the war?
The oblivious of technical school in Japan exist
In speaking California
Somehow people live with them
I am alive again
Perhaps to award self noble ink ignorance truth awards for forgotten reason folds?
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The stock of the rifle is hand-selected walnut.
I polish it with a soft cloth and occasionally
use linseed oil.
I dust a porcelain lady
twice a week. She does not need my attention,
but I give it.
My Nikon needs to be taken out of its case,
otherwise it may turn into a
a blank memory.
At least once a fortnight.
I pick up a quartz crystal and sigh;
the sigh does not mean anything
unless you think ‘sighs’ mean anything.
When the black dog returns,
I drive out at night
with no aim or destination.
The 'dog'
(my camouflaged depression),
must be driven somewhere,
and left on the side of a highway.
These things I do are tramlines,
a navigability that gets me back
to a place where I can write
with no bull attached -
no one likes a fake sun.
These inconsequential acts
are rituals, observances that maintain
the safe-side of my mind
while words eat words
in the dark.
Ever since I bought the Nikon,
I have learned that people
were as much a shadow
of the sun
as a tree is a personification
of an inverted waterfall,
they all get washed-away
never fully developed.
It has been growing upon me,
this sense of exposure in a photograph,
this feeling of being of the picture
but not in the picture,
an image taken of a person
no longer there, or that never was.
It is not a moment in time,
it is a moment erasing itself
in someone else’s mind.
The mind I have now
cannot remind itself of any certain time.
A ghost-light is uncovered -
seen to be haunting itself.
When I look at these self-portraits
taken by this stranger I have become,
it is as if I am witnessing
the latter-day works
of a passing sky.
I waited all morning for some kind of wildlife to come near enough for a shot.
My Nikon camera was set on her tripod, and I had been purveying the woods
I felt moose staring at me and I thought if I can just get one great photo of it,
It would complete the wildlife spread for the magazine who paid for this camera.
The sky was bright blue, it was a sunny day; I took photos of the trees.
Come on, I urged the bull moose. Just one little shot of you, would make my day.
The leaves on the trees were sparking in the wind; but no large animal came forward.
I was just about ready to pack it in when my grandfather’s voice came to me.
One more hour, he said. Just one more hour; he had never steered me wrong.
He had passed sixteen years previously, but he came to me sometimes.
When it was important, so apparently, this would be worth the wait.
Fifty-six minutes later, this grizzly bear came out of the woods giving my spread punch!
I took sixty-nine photos of her as she was walking toward me; I was insanely happy.
This is the best photo I have ever taken in my life! I told my grandfather.
I smiled all the way back to town, thinking about how terrific these would be.
They were too; everyone came up to say it; this kind of pure joy you do not get every day.
Like my innate need for eating
Walking, sleeping, and waking
Photography seemed inborn in me.
My heart and mind could make it free.
Clicking photographs of black and white
With a Click-III, a camera, very light.
I found Isoly II cheap and best.
I used it for a long , with ardent zest.
Kodak, Polaroid, and Pentax
Had adorned my photo tracks.
Nikon came to be, ultimately
Harmonized with me intimately
I clicked my masterpieces manually.
I got linked to each piece sentimentally.
It’s then that I happened to lose it.
Together with the entire photographic kit
A train journey had become my nightmare.
This heavy loss of mine I couldn't bear
Though the price of it indeed mattered much
My emotional attachment to it was beyond touch.
I searched for it in every compartment.
I complained about the matter to the rail department.
Every assurance and trial failed.
Like a phantom, in my dreams, my Nikon sailed.
This moment was like an existential emptiness.
Each day dawned with inner heaviness.
Friends and relatives consoled me, indeed.
With my duties, I couldn't proceed.
Each leaf, flower, fruit, and twig of a plant
Each butterfly, dragonfly, and tiny ant
Brought the memory of my precious Nikon
Which had almost become my life's icon
Mad-like near meadows I stood and stared.
At my despaired state of being, all were scared.
I should move on. They unanimously said
With new hopes in my heart, I should go ahead.
Another Nikon of the digital kind they procured
I was better yet, though not fully cured.
I click the finest pictures with it even now.
I am unable to forget the other yet, anyhow.
The vision came to me as I was sitting in a contemplative state
Oh Allah the vision did not have the scent of bait.
Within and threw the clear smoke I saw the vision of my future mate.
The presence of a person with an internal spry.
Within her smile there was a morning glow of ivory.
Upon her crown sat a weave of honey.
The honey in a high styled bun with looseness.
Within her hands a camera was snapping pictures of the wildlife. A Nikon snap with each second. Without skipping a measure, she would capture the pictures clearly. She must be a photojournalist, I thought to myself. The animal in each frame was in a pose of majestic quality.
The skin of a snow-white dove. The color that would be a vision in the winter snow of the rocky peaks (Pikes Peak). She is more than a cut above the standard denominator (the standard look of normalcy or the standard look of settling).
She is more than the standard error of the mean (The standard acceptance).
Is she a correlation of multiple gifts or is she the result of a 95% confidence interval.
The fit level of a yogi.
A smile that the Cheshire Cat would not match.
Allah! Is this a vision you have meant for me to see
Wow the vision is appealing and of bellezza.
Come lei... come lei! E lei il futuro
Grazie Allah for showing me the sight of this angel in the future mist.