Long Photographed Poems
Long Photographed Poems. Below are the most popular long Photographed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Photographed poems by poem length and keyword.
The sun hovers on the horizon and
shimmers its rays across the sea.
In this snatched moment life is balanced -
as I breathe in its peace and tranquility.
A life's quest for contentment encapsulated
in this serene instant...... suspended ......
mentally photographed for posterity.
Glimpsed - then gone - as the journey continues.
Now, today, in this time frame, in this instant,
I am happy: I have found it; the elusive
rare butterfly; the slippery eel caught - held -
then gasped for as it slips from my grasp.
When I look back on this time, this place.
I know it will be remembered fondly.
I will handle it gently, removing it from
the cerebral tissue paper which preserves it....
carefully unwrapping, piece by piece.....
trying to recapture the clarity; the colours,
the mood, but not quite as my memory
becomes ravaged by the blurring of time.
I recall when the sun hovered on the horizon
and shimmered its rays across the sea.
In that snatched moment, already gone,
I found perfect contentment and peaceful symmetry.
I stepped out of the house a little before noon
with hope in my head
courage in my feet and faith in my knees
I knew that I had to go somewhere
to meet someone so dare
But I didn't know where
I rode my bike through the bushy park
and penetrated the deep
Summer was still linger by
shaking dry leaves from sturdy trees
whose branches was scorched by the feverish sun
Autumn is final here and the trees are in despair
Their dry leaves are flying everywhere
Leaving an awful stench in the air
Time is winding down so be prepared
The river is running dry and the clouds are standing by
It is nice to be in the company of trees
To have a closer walk with thee
The snakes are crawling around
and the clowns are hopping on the ground
The birds are rehearsing in the back
And the crickets are having a wonderful chat
I wade through the slow running stream
In search of my passionate dream
So I crossed the stream and enter park
on the other side of London town
yellow flowers brightens the thick bushes
with its colorful light gleaming through the trees
I found a quiet spot and sat on a rock
and relax in the middle of the stream
looking at the leaves falling from the trees
Sumer has sucked the life out of the trees
but they have been purified in the breeze
I feel a sudden peace over me
while read the pages in the book
Suddenly I heard a rambling in the bush
So I held up my head and look
A reindeer antlers emerged from the bush
she walked down the slope and stood on the rock
and stared directly at me
It stared and stared and stared
And even when I photographed it
It continue to stare and would not disappear
Shortly there was another sound
and baby deer appeared and walked in the water
and went back in the bushes
but mother reindeer continue to stare
I wanted to walked over and touch her antlers
But just as I thought of it she went up the hill
A strange feeling came over me
I wonder what it wanted to tell me
My hands started to shake my hearts started to race
And the meaning was as clear as a day
one two three we are waiting for thee
I got up from the rock and circle around the track
But the reindeer was no where to be found
it suddenly vanished.
The cactus hoovers like a bully daring to be touched. Another cactus of a different type blossoms briefly.
The vegetable garden lies bare this year and wonders why. She doesn't understand that when I sometime grow weary, weak, and worn reaping such small tomatoes, I take a break.
The roses stand erect longing to be photographed. The Iris has had their say and returned for the season. The lawn was beautifully green a few weeks ago, but she looks at me now as she slowly turns brown and pleads for water, forgetting that in summer, I prefer brown, not green. I promised that I would keep her cut and trimmed, but not green.
The fruitless mulberry waves her leaves, standing ready for summer shade. The peony, who doesn't care for high temperatures, is feeling the May heat. I will inform her in a day or two that she will soon join her sister in a more desirous, suitable, and shady place and be transplanted into a large flower pot. She is thriving so well. I must not fail her as I did last year by not being dutiful and prompt enough to provide her a new home.
In back, the Rose of Sharon tree is begging to be noticed. Underneath the tall palms, the plums, peaches, and nectarines are showing signs of a bumper crop this year. Water is limited and scarce; but trees and plants are thriving, and life is shouting!
050521PSCtest, All Yours, Brian Stran
Fist of crumpled bills, reading through the flavors etched in chalk;
While couples hand in hand, lean on one another and sweet talk.
She orders just for one; Chocolate seems to help when she’s depressed,
The buzzing ice cream lights illuminate the face of loneliness.
Chaotic cafeteria, he’s harassed for sport,
There will be no lunch today; the athletes, they extort.
Racing home to stay unscathed is his daily test,
Behind the baseball field they bruise the face of loneliness.
Flopping with some friends of his, he pilfered as they slept,
Withdrawal had him seething as his craving quickly crept.
Hypodermic and possession; he plead no contest.
He held the slate as they photographed the face of loneliness
“Will she come to visit today?” Trying to remember his daughter’s name.
He sighs, propped in his wheelchair, in his shirt with a coffee stain
“I should probably shower, but who the hell do I have to impress?”
His TV blares as he drags the razor across the face of loneliness.
My worst enemy is not a stranger,
but the fears that turn my heart into danger.
I care not to make a home upon the knife,
too afraid of the demons that poison my life,
as reason fights the devil, and my inner flame thrives,
soaked in the perfume of faith that revives ~
for I am worth more than the burning blame,
I bloom beyond dust, no longer the same.
I buried the nemesis dressed as my sweetest nightmare,
found my remedy in rhyming stars, amidst despair…
O tormentor, the familiar doubt creeping in silence,
I defy the voiced viciousness of your violence.
I am the violet diamond, sparkling blue,
photographed in parallel peace, now seeing the clue
of how terrors stole the rose-beam colors of light,
blurring my sunsets, clouding the velvet ink of night…
So watch me as I fall into the warmth of deep devotion,
surrendering my quill to the secrets of the infinite ocean…
What is life without the trust of ache ~ if not a heart breathing love’s rhyme,
as tonight… the moon slips stars between our souls’ truth ~ sweetly touched by time.
I never felt a part of things,
Never felt like I belonged,
Never felt like I was wanted,
And I always really longed,
To feel like someone wanted me,
To feel like I fit in,
To be included in the things,
With family and friends.
For reasons that I couldn't know,
I always got pushed back;
Kept quiet and out of their way,
As though somehow I lacked,
Some social graces that perchance,
Might cause some consternation,
If I should come into the room,
And spoil their celibration.
I could have some food, some cake,
Then get out of the way.
Don't mingle with the guests at all,
Sit down if you will stay.
My sister's wedding hurt the most,
That's when I really saw,
I was like a well known guest,
Not part of things at all.
They did not even want me,
In the picture with them all.
I was told to stand aside,
And wait till I was called.
Not part of the wedding party,
I was not allowed,
To be photographed along with them,
In case it might becloud,
My sister's perfect moment,
Immortalized in time,
And I did not fit in with them,
There wasn't room in line;
And so it's been most of my life,
Rejected most by those,
Who should be closest to me,
Even the mate I chose;
So it's no wonder that I built,
A wall for my protection.
When I reached out I got pushed back,
I'm tired of such rejection.
Judy Ball
It's very important to consider the feelings of your children.
What happens to us in our formative years often stays with us forever.
SHATTERED DREAMS
When I was young and still had dreams, with all my life before me
I dreamt of fame and fortune, where all the world adored me
Perhaps I’d grace the silver screen, the T.V. and the stage
And be acknowledged as the greatest actor of the age.
Or, if I didn’t make it on the screen or on the boards,
I’d be a sporting colossus at Wembley or at Lords.
And, when I got too old for that, I’d be a politician;
I’d quickly work my way up to a prominent position.
I’d be the Leader of the House, run ministries and then
The crowds would wave and cheer me as I entered number ten.
But now I’ve reached maturity, it seems it’s not to be
And public recognition is simply not for me.
No-one’s illegally tapped my ‘phone, my e-mails haven’t been hacked
My wife’s not been photographed down at the gym while her ‘trainer’ massages her back
The tabloids all ignore me; they’ve found nothing to chase me for.
When I peep through the curtains each morning, there’s no paparazzi surrounding my door.
They’ve shown not the slightest interest in the contents of my diary,
And I’ve not been made the subject of any public enquiry.
So now I have to face the fact that fame is not for me
And, when I die I’ll literally – go down in history
25th June 2021
A Broken Person Poetry contest
Sponsor - Faraz Ajmal
Oh spite, oh hell – to the Hell in my own name too!
The hell in love, the hell in romance, the hell of all men!
He being in my name as well of course… as if I’m made of men!
Do they control me? Na… funnily enough the sound of
my name’s conclusion… and what (no doubt) a modern man
would say at my fawning
Aside: What Demetrius feels about me without love’s potion.
for them. My name; partly made up of them all -
Hel e na.
He created me.
Created my name.
This man who shook history, shakes the
vast fields of stages still: created language,
created insults and idioms, created footlickers
and scullions and loons.
Aside: What Demetrius calls me, no doubt.
What if though, we were thrown into modern day -
we four tangled lovers? Our forest now a cobbled
city street, our names a hashtag or blend or
portmanteau of #Demena or #Hermander…
Aside: or #paintedmaypolegetsherman
…how my old Bard would laugh and
we would be his self-coined ‘laughing stock’.
I’ve been in ink and upon folio paper. Aloft a stage
and before groundlings: photographed on set, reviewed in
magazines, photoshopped
Aside: False imitation! Spurious image!
for internet trolls - a word
with a very different meaning to the faeries I’ve met.
How language adapts! But what, pray tell, stays?
Intrigue. Love. Summer seasons and shows,
his words, his characters - us and you and your
interest in him: a roundel we return to even
in his words we unknowingly use…
I should know of course… He made me after all…
Hel e na…
and you, in your hands and seats and voices,
still make me feel that same love and spite and Hell.
Neither of us are likely to be forgotten soon…
na.
When I think back on the tattered pages of my life, I find so much sadness and
sorrow. But there was a time way back when life was truly perfect, before Susan
was killed by a truck walking home from school one winter day. She was six and I
was four and we were sisters who were loved very deeply. Our parents were
hardworking and wonderful to us. But that day changed everything, nothing was
ever the same.
I can remember quite far back, it seems amazing that I can recall being fed in a
high chair, the train was coming and I had to open my mouth. I can still hear
mother laughing when I got food all over my face. She liked to dress the two of us
like twins. I was big for my age and Susan was small for hers. We were adorable,
everyone said so. Many days we went for walks around the neighbourhood and
sometimes we played in this beautiful wooded park that had a pond with ducks
and swans. I remember we would put our feet in the cold water and shriek our joy.
Sometimes we went to the beach dressed in our blue satin swimsuits and
everyone said we were sweet with our shiny hair and of course, we adored the
attention. I recall going to a fair with games and rides. We had ice-cream and
candy floss and went on amusement rides. We especially loved the ponies. Once I
was photographed by the local newspaper with the caption, "tot enjoys the fair," I
still have that photo of me with a big candy floss in my face.
We had dolls and teddy bears and grandma gave us a real tea pot and cups to
to use for our tea parties in the back yard, she even made us peanut butter
cookies, oh, it was lovely. Dad made us a little table with two chairs and a cupboard
for our dishes. We would dress up in grandma's old hats and stuff and even invited
the cat, it is a beautiful memory. Then Susan died and I had two of everything
like clothes, teddy bears, dolls and toys. Life was never the same.
_____________________________
March 31, 2015
Poetry/Prose/The Beautiful Days
Copyright Protected, ID 03-658-687-31
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
For the Standard contest, Golden Days,
sponsor, Rob Carmack, Judged 04/2015
10th Place
Years gone by I photographed
The sun rise and set, capturing
Kaleidoscopic colors cascading
Dawn to dusk across the untouchable touch
Of God’s unfathomably deep skies.
Overlooking cathedral towers and
Ancient battle fields where blood flowed warm and red;
Church steeples standing sentinel over cemeteries
Of the long ago lovely, now dreaming and drifting past
Stadiums over-filled with laughing, languishing, living dead sentient beings;
Museums, libraries and roads connecting and converging
Past, present, future and all points infinitely between.
In my mind I photographed these.
But now I sit devoid of film,
No camera lens to capture stills
Other than this life I’ve led
Step by step inside my head from
Life to life and death to death,
Ever so thankful for every flower, seed, smile
And whisper of gentle wind upon my face.
Step by timeless step, inching towards the inevitable rendezvous
Of who I really am, knowing
Somewhere between the light of day and dark of night
I’m bound
To end up where I began: With ONE
Eternal Photograph in Hand.