Long Photos Poems
Long Photos Poems. Below are the most popular long Photos by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Photos poems by poem length and keyword.
Our granddaughter attended her high school Prom…
her photo was posted on-line
which led me on a hunt through our old photos
until I found one of me at mine.
As I gazed at these two photos
50 years apart…I quietly exclaimed
how parts of our world have changed dramatically
while others remain the same.
50 years ago social media and computers
were, to us, unknown
today we have access to the world
and can take pictures on our phone.
But as technologies and social media
readjust and rearrange
friendship, love and high school proms
are things that never change.
Take a look at these two photos
I’m sure you’ll see it too…
how even 50 years apart
we both look good in blue.
You may be wondering to yourself
which one of us wore it better…
no need to answer…God forbid!
Take another look…
it’s obvious who did!
Mary had a little lamp,
Its bulb would nightly glow.
It cast a white, but gentle light,
So her pimples wouldn't show.
Little Jack Horner tried to warn her,
But she told him to go away.
Left feeling glum, he drank some rum;
And passed out in the hay.
Little Bo Peep pretended to sleep,
As she cuddled up right beside him.
When he awoke, neither one spoke;
And she soon decided to ride him.
The Farmer in the Dell, knowing well,
What they both were in there doing.
Called out to his wife, to bring him a knife;
And stabbed them while they were screwing.
Jack Sprat, on the jury sat,
His wife held photos of the scene.
The Farmer did it, Judge had to admit it,
Then passed a sentence that wasn't lean.
So Mary brought her little lamp,
On the day of the execution.
She thought inside, while the Farmer fried,
Better pimples than electrocution.
Me a zombie?
Never!
Just a viral doofus poseur,
Brainiac and hacker on the loose tapping into other genie lamps,
Wireless Stikbot floater skipping ID challenge.
Hurdles that authenticate saliva from a silicone palate.
Trojan horse webber getting kicks from pop up photos and their tick box phasers.
Magic putty slideshows arfe my fix,
Overlapping gotchas in the cryptic mainframe,
zapped on sight.
Cookies nerd obsessive, parasitic nibbler on limitless net feeds,
Humanoid, human void,
vacuum mouse pad tracker ball bane.
Foxy email phisser,
wolf amid the Wiki swathes at random,
memory never full.
Sabouteur who pinpoints rootkit channels,
silently installing gridlock pixels deep freeze.
But I am not a robot,
just some micro chip app monger, macro chip on shoulder and those other parts designed by desktop surgeons,
sideline sci-fi wise guy not so wise,
hi-tech buff illusion in a hall of mirrors dash into the ether.
Me this CoderDojo mass encryption tangle,
blue moon barcode surfer, Janus-faced,
mutant bit part player who has somehow lost his byte!
Written January Twenty First Twenty Twenty
2024.4.20 Saturday one year ago.
It was our first trip ever.
We visited S back beach.
A warm beautiful sunny day.
This trip would not happen
If my USB was not damaged.
I lost three years worthed of travelling photos and videos.
As soon as you knew about it,
For some unknown reasons,
You promptly promised in your own will
To travel with me anywhere I wished.
To help retrieve the memories,
And to capture again those sceneries.
We had lunch at the top of St Pauls' pagoda.
Simple mixed salad and steam veggies.
I sensed something unease.
You hardly touched the veggies.
We went on to the next scenery,
When we got to the Jubilee Point,
You went down further
To get closer to the sea water.
Travelled on, we arrived at Diamond Bay and Bays of Island.
You were upset your camera's batteries were flat.
I let you to use my mobile phone instead.
Later, I found you included me in the video.
I deleted without hesitated.
Soon, I regretted removing that footage.
Because, you gave me not one single photo of that trip.
You explained, there was sand on your camera's lens.
You were too embarrassed about your negligence.
You did not make any apology.
You kept quiet for months.
It was ok BB. Any help appreciated.
I had lost three years photos and videos,
Therefore, one more day would not be a bit issue.
As long as you agreed,
We would come back another day.
However, months and months later,
I visited these places over and over,
But on my own and never
With you BB my dear friend.
There goes my hero, he’s ordinary,
like in the Foo Fighters song
Carries no airs or graces,
makes me feel like I belong
A family member perhaps,
even a workmate, or friend
Someone who can be trusted,
on whom I tacitly depend
There goes my hero,
out in the rain mending a fence
Standing at the back of photos
not overpowering the lens
Cleaning blocked up drains,
unafraid to pick out nits
Struggles in the charts for decades,
without any major hits
There goes my hero, she’s loving,
rears her dead sisters child
Puts the kid through college,
works nightshifts and smiles
Seeks nothing in return,
a little thank you will suffice
Salt of the earth person
that only gives solid advice
There go my heroes,
all extraordinarily mundane
Not looking for recognition
having no time to complain
I’m certainly not one of them,
comfortable on my own ground
Real heroes have stamina,
going forward round after round
Could be my hero’s Cobain
who blew out his brains
Cared damn all for money
and even less about fame
To Honor My Hero Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
07/31/22
...that builds its scaffolding within
neuro-rivulets
brain tidy
or caught in random whims
to form a sense of self
memory, where it resides
with packed up boxes of old photos
sometimes in mistakes made
that rub me the wrong way
like the gray torn threads of frozen seams
no microscope needed
recalling
a spring of sprawling promises
in a stubbled field where lovers once cooed
memory tousled like skipping ropes abandoned
or in your grandmother's hands craddling tea
fitting thoughts of tip-toed dancing
or childhood blips of snatching snowflakes
on tongues and lashes
sometimes the shoes it wears are boots in war song blues
or slippers that breeze through rosebud dreams
sleighs down hills
and sugar apples at Halloween
beyond the frame of what has ceased
memories like rock yokes about our necks
or the morning bread on which to feast
Deprived by country and elsewhere
For deeds and actions I didn’t do
Suspicious here, not welcomed there
You can imagine my worldview
You’re privileged to move around
Your peaceful countries waged no wars
I’m privileged to go without
The double standard world of yours
You think of nation seeing me
Though it’s not me but your projection
You’re talking to contemptuously
I only mirror your reflection
In Wonderland founded by bandits
Stands a glass house where I live
Break it to shatters, I won’t mend it
Just bear in mind I cannot leave
By circumstances I couldn’t manage
And to be honest, no one could
I am dehumanized and savaged
And you all set and understood
I’m not complaining, but just telling
The facts of living that I find
Funny enough to rhyme, compelling
Your short attention to unwind
I am a laughing man of August
I am a crying man of March
When spring blows off the winter dust
I click some photos to enlarge.
casting away all pieces and parts
of an existence full of casual talk
of board rooms full of rage
lost bodies in burning classrooms
full of philosophy and apathy
on foolish babble on time
lost and found morality
memories based on foundations
of aimless travels
looking skyward
casting thoughts incalculable
emotions of love
hate or disdain, unimaginable
full of the rage n pain
playing the blame game
who are we to say
rooms full of empty views
the apathetic feuds
glass shards, crack
crazy crystalline harts
like falling cards or raining stars
as bodies burn in lethargy
casting stones into the ocean of tranquility
small are the thoughts that ripple large
reflections hard as yesterday’s tomorrow insane
cast away photos in a scrapbook of memories
pieces n parts of arcane life, disregard
full of white rooms and silent storms
staring into the mouth of madness
casting all way the pieces
parts of an existence full of casual talk
in classrooms of apathy n despair
watching burning bodies sitting
in boardrooms full of misery
looking into a city, feeling its toxicity
counting the bloody beads of a rosary
(See the haiku text embedded in the image above. For a high resolution image, see cinemaspirit.info/heaven/.)*
Haiga for the Heavenbound
By Mark D. Stucky
We search for the source
flowing with living water
and find our new home
*(About this work: This ecological/spiritual haiga--an image integrated with haiku text--was inspired by Revelation 22:1, “Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb.” The image of harsh desert with threatening storm clouds, crystal glass filled with water, and water-nourished paradise is a highly edited collage of four individual stock photos and contains a dozen separate layers in the original Photoshop file. This was first published in Small Town Anthology IX: Southwest Michigan’s Tournament of Writers 2023, Vicksburg Cultural Arts Center, 2023, p. 365. See also my poems “Bringing Heaven to Earth” and “Resurrection iBodies.”)
This changing world scares me
There is so much I don’t understand or know
I miss the ease and simplicity
Of our world from years ago
A time with little technology
Transactions were of the human kind…..“ Believe it or not “
Where you were not asked to tick a box
Stating “No I am not a Robot”!
Life was more straight forward
Not a headful of passwords and codes
No cards and numbers for all that you do
Resulting in complete mind overload!
A time when you had one telephone
Attached to the wall in your home
Turned the T.V over by hand
Took photos with a camera
Not a telephone!
A time when you paid by cash
Not by plastic and machine
When cards and computers
Were not part of your days
Life wasn’t viewed through a screen
When a baby was born a boy or girl
Depending on their anatomy
Not letting a child decide
On which one they would like to be!
A time less complicated
Although hard working indeed
Tasks completed by your very own hands
Life on a slower speed
Back then life was clearer
Though not as convenient as the present time
There forever will be progress and change
“Life back then” now just a wonderful memory of mine!