Long Photographers Poems
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These are photographs of my village
Taken over a hundred years ago
The streets look just the same
As those I used to know
When Fifty or more years later
That village was my family home
And i wandered them as a child
With streets and fields to roam.
They show a part of my family
Each stood by their front door
On the little row of cottages
That isn’t there any more.
Condemned, demolished, erased,
New dwelling replacing the old
Some not yet quite finished
But each one already sold.
Large, desirable modern residences
Where once workers’ homes had stood
The village of my childhood changed
But not necessarily for the good.
None of those posing for photographers
Could afford to live here these days
Once working village dormitories now
As they have adjusted to modern ways.
One farm worker can do the work of ten
So you don’t need the labourer in the field
And modern mobility means most villages
Are full of commuters or the retired well heeled.
The orchards, allotments, garden meadows
That lined nearly every road and street
Have identikit brick dwellings built on
Grass destroying foundation concrete .
Sometimes, unrecognised, i visit my past
Still enough unchanged to make it hard
To accept these days my family presence
Is restricted to graves in the old churchyard.
Maybe it’s my imagination at work
But it seems to me a peculiar thing
As i wander those known streets again
I no longer hear so many birds sing.
In the labyrinth of warmth, I sought refuge in the cold room of frozen memories,
From the cold room, I fled to the coffin of unspoken promises,
And from the coffin? Only the bare hands of time bury constellations in the soul,
Though coffins are perhaps the cheapest homes in real estate listings,
No cell is lonelier than a grave forgotten by shadows past.
Remember us—all of us—in a single place of eternal rest,
We are buried incomplete, for our bones still breathe in your throat,
With your umbrella, you tried to take revenge on the sun; haven't you heard?
Even the "sun" sings its longing for "water" in secret verses.
From the conspiracy between rain and sunrays, a dream of a rainbow is born
For the evaporated hope of water—now captured in glass aquariums,
Though bottled, a fish state has been dismantled.
What well can survive with its neck cut by unfulfilled desires?
Where on the river's neck do the dam's fingerprints disappear into purification plants?
From bruised necks, a museum of invisible fingerprints was born.
Even the observer has closed his eyes tired from so much searching.
These tickets—what field of view do they truly open in your soul?
Longing—soaked between eyes and sea, between your sky and forgotten earth,
Of all the temptations that pursued a kite, only a diamond
Remains on the geometry test of moments lost in time.
A butterfly divided the world between two fragile wings,
For the crime of unusual colors, it was denied
A photograph in the vivid colors of hope.
The butterfly's bright thoughts left the cocoon too early,
In an era of color extinction, they chose to fade
In themes of black and white, in the silence of a forgotten painting.
We didn't paint—but stretched new canvases for old paintings and memories,
Photographs, forgotten by memory—yet one of them
Will eventually find its place in the frame of our obituary.
As painters and photographers, we agreed on the truth of faces,
Though we clashed as deeply as our tools of creation.
Yet—our hands are the latest fashion in delicate bow ties,
Designed to clasp the collar of time that flows ceaselessly into eternity.
The time is now, a battle is at hand
To complete my mission, and reach my end
Reaching the top of that mountain, I acsend
My camera and I ready, to conquer the land
To imagine the view, at the top of the peak
it seems impossible to reach, with all my might
I see enemies ahead, but this part of the fight
For I dont fear the battle, to get what I seek
I prepare my camera, for I am close to the top
Dread begins to creep, as the view is exposed
But i will not tremble, my mind is composed
I are am to close to my goal to simply stop
As I reach my destination, I set my gear in place
The scene itself is perfect, from left to right
Everything in its place, the subject is in sight
I see through my camera, to the open space
It is finally time, I Iift the camera to position
At the perfect moment, I hit the shutter
My mind is now clear, in my heart I feel a flutter
For I won the battle, and completed my mission
Somewhere between the Poseidon and Azure
Is his double shaded blue that always allures;
Between the lush and chrome, green hues
That glow in layers of velvet like necklace;
With rufous brown tail feathers and long neck
With strong twig like legs which are too thick
And with the slender body and crown feathers on head
Peacocks are the boss of mass which make others dread
From the Rats to the Snakes
From the Rabbit to the Crakes
Also the night warriors Bat men
Every one is afraid of this majestic man;
From the young women to the children
From the Kookaburra to the Magpie robin
And the Ostriches from Sahara
Every bird is envious of his aura
Thousand little eyes on the long floating feathers,
Blink only when he feels his favorite weather;
When the rain god cascades down to see his dance,
And when photographers yearn to use their chance,
In the mid of the picturesque green land,
with his feathers stretched, he majestically stands;
When Koels sing ragas and Ioras hum rhythms,
Begins he, the divine dance steps; joining birds with him
'Thath Tharihita Thai', he oscillates left and right
'Thom Tharihita Thom', he jumps and floats light
'Thathom Tharihita Thathom', he lands on the land gently
'Thamthom Tharihita Thamthom'he grins and performs friendly
From heaven, retains his dance steps best
Performs he, with sheer enthusiasm and zest;
Not to entertain us or his dearest friends
But to entice his beautiful girlfriend;
Does his persistent love line dance,
Until he puts his mate into a trance;
And the planet earth revolves
Just to see them dance in love
“To have the wings to fly and roots to reach deep inside is to find beauty and tenderness amid the gravel and dust and the wound opens the rupture into a rapture.." Jayita Bhattachargee
In the ambient silence of twilight's gentle embrace,
silhouettes and shadows dance as stars sparkle in grace.
Ecstatic eyes gaze towards spheres where dreams come alive,
an enchanting canvas of wonder where spirits revive.
An air of perfumed peace whispers in pomegranate skies,
celestial sensations glow as lavender clouds comprise.
Ivory moon commands horizons with purple hues,
as its rays reflect in glorious amethyst views.
A sense of serenity gives birth to spiritual rapture,
like a moment of nature, photographers crave to capture.
Where lonely lovers allow their elated souls to take flight,
merging with darkness to illuminate an ebony night.
Soaring beyond earthly boundaries of euphoric delight,
in a cosmic flow reflecting lanterns of fluorescent light.
Romance is a rhapsody of rainbow colours free flowing,
a perfect palette of pastels that leave a heart glowing.
Realms of true love endow golden visions of vivid bliss,
softly soothed by lips of a beloved's enchanting kiss.
For all those who’ve been captured by my camera lens,
I wish we could do it all over again.
But time waits for no one despite what we see,
In images made of you and me.
In the snap of a shutter or the blink of an eye
A memory is frozen like tinsel in time.
Shiny and shimmering like diamonds and pearls
Each one a treasure, immeasurable world.
Yet never to last beyond dawn’s early light
As the picture of now is an illusory sight.
To have and to hold like water in hand
Hasten photographers to do what we can.
To coax, cajole, position and prompt
People and places to do what we want
To fill up our cameras with just the right touch –
Never too little, never too much.
With just the right color, right texture, right mood –
A slim slice of life that says what, where and who.
In a gathering of pixels of zeros and ones,
Technological marvel mixed with light from the sun.
And oh what a ride I’ve had by your side
Be you stranger, family or friend,
Throughout the years of trying to make clear
What’s moving like clouds in the wind…
People, places, flowers and trees,
Sun rising and falling on rivers and seas.
Small creatures and features of wood, sand and rain,
Sky scrapers and ruins of ancient remains.
The famous and infamous, lost and found;
The good, bad, beautiful and perennially profound.
Healthy, wealthy, humble and weak;
Down and out with nothing to eat.
But your smile most of all is my favorite frame;
Vignette of your memory, your life and good name.
Etched now in the hues of bold colors and grays
With gratitude I have you to reflect upon today.
The sun slides as do fingers on the smooth surface of satin
below the horizon in silent surrender as surly clouds creep
across the scarlet and purple sky from the south
their mumbling and grumbling reverberating off the rooftops
Tonight I will see no stars twinkling like a billion fireflies in jars
Lightning resembling the forked tongues of serpents taste the air
Bursts of bright white like the flashes of photographers’ cameras
capturing a moment frozen forever in time illuminate the walls
through the single window of my bedroom while I write
wondering what the weather is like in London at this hour
if you might be dreaming of a storm somewhere
I love Canada for her wintry show,
the red-breasted robins in trees;
and fresh fallen white in a wild meadow,
forests caressed by a cold breeze;
serene ice rivers and streams that still flow !
We have aged primeval forests of snow,
winter water colored sunsets;
and magpie birds who sing a song of woe,
I live with the snow- no regrets;
and red cardinals hang on while winds blow !
High white draped mountain peaks cast a shadow,
while north winds kiss the boreal;
photographers take a nature photo.
look at- in books pictorial;
I love it when filigree flakes fall slow !
I love it when the flakes dance to and fro,
so magical and enchanting;
in the still calm I can just let it go,
but the deep snow leaves me panting;
oh, wish it would snow in each tomorrow !
_________________________
November 8, 2020
Poetry/Quintain-Sicilian/Canadian Winter Scenes
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1303-358-08
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the contest, Quintain - Sicilian
sponsor, Emile Pinet
First Place
Best man, maid of honor,
Father of the bride.
Toss the bouquet and the garter,
Groomsmen on the side.
In-laws, photographers, caterers…
Don’t forget to tip the waiters.
DJ stage, reception hall,
Gold bands, first dance, pillar to post….
And now a toast:
Here’s to prideful selfishness and petty vanities.
Those rocks and shoals can wreck your ship.
Suspicions will harbor resentment
And threaten your future contentment.
Be careful as you navigate your way.
Here’s to unresolved childhood issues
And deep-seated jealousies.
They can sabotage your happiness
And lead to endless miseries.
Beware these hidden dangers every day.
Here’s to poor communication
And a lack of empathy.
Emotional projections
That highlight imperfections…
The disrespect that only leads to tears.
Here’s to blissfulness and diligence,
Tolerance and vigilance,
Wedding rings and lovers’ knots,
Champagne and caveats.
Cheers!
In a public washroom, can Kings ever be DEthroned?
When a cowboy moves to the city, is he DEranged?
Do photographers wishes sometimes DEvelop?
Are former famous models ever DEposed?
When a ship leave for the Caribbean, is it DEported?
Do lawyers sometimes sit on Defence?
When a man gets ready for bed, does he DEbrief?
If they drain the waterway around a castle, is it DEmoted?
When a male is castrated, is he DEmand?
When a scholar is sent back, is he DEgraded?
Can a lady of the streets ever be DElayed?
Do certain shampoos help you DEflect?
When a doctor withdraws a needle, is the patient DEjected?
Can a person survive without DEliver?
If you tear up an agreement, do you DEsign?
Can baseball player ever DEposition?
Ever seen a dog chasing DEtail?
If you lose your extra tire, do you DEspair?
Do manicurists sometimes DEfile
When a downpour stops, does it DEluge?
When a student leaves school, does he DEclassify?
Can someone's old clothing DEfray?
Does a coffin always contain a DElivered?
Can a movie star ever be DEfamed?
© Jack Ellison 2013
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