The foot of the table
rose up to adjust the shape of my chin.
It was a glooming, looming 3 a.m.
when I saw the bedside clock
through that pitch dark
that occurs at the back of an eye
when time is a few decades too slow.
The table has put itself together
once more,
bought from IKEA, it took two days
to assemble, and a lifetime
to disassemble.
Now it's just a lightless prop
for a drooling jaw.
My dad is here offering advice,
when he was alive, he made televisions
out of the spare parts
of alien spacecraft.
I have no such skills, yet I know
that time occasionally
stands at the edge of a cliff
photographing
my fleeting existence,
as if it were a Dodo
straining to remember
how to fly.
In a distance beyond my ken,
table feet clip-clop away.
Phlox of purple field, Bill's
photographing hidden
Phoebe, favorite bird.
Phased by nothing else, like
Pheasant flying up, he
photographs Phoebes. Next
Phalaropes, wading birds.
Mama Mallard's hatchlings so downy and sweet,
she's proud to show them, springtime is complete,
waddling along the lake with her brood in tow,
Daddy Mallard quacks as people stroll to and fro,
decked in pastel clothes with cameras in hand,
photographing the baby ducks on a weekend grand.
The baby ducks in April are here,
toddlers feed them, grinning ear to ear.
Daffodils bright yellow, honeybees full of pollen,
Mama Mallard leads them to water, all in.
Spring brings animal babies to the earth,
we delight at their sight as we're full of mirth.
Two frisky kits
Enjoying each other
About the same size
Being watched by their mother
I used a telescopic lens
For I did not want to get carried away
By a super protective mother
Who might have chased me far that day
The kids had no idea
They are being photographed
I secretly named them
Minnesota and McRaft
worthwhile painters of sunsets tackled this romantic sky
turtles do not look up often, and their eyes are fuzzy
they might miss the colors, but they feel the richness of the day
turtle cave, a sanctuary for turtles in many sizes.
I stay my distance, photographing them with telescopic lenses.
my artist eyes take another peek at the fascinating pastel sky.
I return home with a plethora of photos, of the sunset.
each one a smidge different than the last; no one else sees it.
Xerox copier sounds raise my eyebrows
wondering if he’s photographing unclad organs
like another time?
Beware zealous dismay from your justifiably
Quickly vacating nervy, kinky gentlemen!
written November 5, 2021
for "Alphabet Soup" poetry contest
sponsored by William Kekaula
X marks the spot
Where a young child had stood,
Enjoying his friends’ company as only
A young child could.
X marks the spot
Where the child lay dying,
Medics there to save his life,
Desperately trying.
X marks the spot,
From which the crowd was kept,
The child’s mother who broke through
And uncontrollably wept.
X marks the spot
Where the ambulance came,
The police taking measurements,
Photographing the stain.
X marks the spot
Where the piles of flowers were left,
Where the moving tributes were made
From those now bereft.
X marks the spot
Where the funeral procession slowed,
Where a community’s grief
In rivers now flowed.
X marks the spot
Where the young child was struck
By a man on a mobile
In charge of a truck.
X marks the spot
Where a quick call was made,
The cost of this phone call
Extravagantly paid.
Age can never erase memories of yore,
For there's an old but lovely song still rambling
In my head as I love to go a wandering
Along the vales or up the mountain sides,
Fetching flora, photographing fauna and sampling
Wildflowers, collecting leaves fancy or plain.
Study trees, evergreen or autumnal bare.
How I loved to stop near some clear rill.
There would be daffodils I’m sure up on some hill.
Checked which song birds choose to build their cosy nests,
Birds picking up small or curvy twigs with care.
Even today I ramble along the vast countryside,
Sometimes I rest, imbibing the air so fresh,
Watch some little children playing joyfully
With young nuns in front the impoverished crèche.
Bells ring from a chapel calling for prayer,
I join trusting my sins the good Lord would spare.
packing for adventure
pouncing on a puppy
planning to prank people
photographing flash floods
painting under bridges
pretending work's a game
performing impromptu
4-7-2021
Pleiades P Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kim Merryman
X marks the spot
Where a young child had stood,
Enjoying his friends company as only
A young child could.
X marks the spot
Where the child laid dying,
Medics there to save his life,
Desperately trying.
X marks the spot,
From which the crowd were kept,
The child’s mother who broke through
And uncontrollably wept.
X marks the spot
Where the ambulance came
The police taking measurements
Photographing the stain.
X marks the spot
Where the piles of flowers were left,
Where the moving tributes were made
From those now bereft.
X marks the spot
Where the funeral procession slowed
Where a community’s grief
In rivers now flowed.
X marks the spot
Where the young child was struck
By a man on a mobile
In charge of a truck.
X marks the spot
Where a quick call was made
The cost of this phone call,
Extravagantly paid.
Butterfly counter, paid by the hours
Walks miles, studying beautiful flowers.
Captures blues, silvers, yellows, monarchs too
They arrive in splendiferous colors and hues
Okay I don’t get paid in money, she says.
Something fun to do, for my Aunt Inez.
Inez has been gone for fifteen years now, you see.
Photographing butterflies is her gift to me.
spiritually aware
feeling entities in grasses
photographing orbs
in tune with nature
and heavenly visitors
sensing their presence
one of gods creatures
so beloved and cherished
protected always
A cuttlefish swallowed my house the other day.
He ejected his inky black fluid and we could not get away.
The local newspaper came out and had a heyday.
Interviewing and photographing the monster that you may all say…
Was doing what comes natural in a regular cuttlefish way.
Rather bleak ending to a regular Wednesday.
Polite Pink
Perhaps a not-so perfect princess
Performing particularly pathetically
Persuasive Pink
Promoting purple
Pink, plunking piano
Passionate Pink
Photographing Pink
Perhaps playfully probably philosophically
Playful Pink
Prancing, painting, proofreading,
Pink is Me.
Photography is a visual expression,
I love capturing images frozen in time;
Sometimes, I snap close-up details of the flowers,
I stroll city streets searching for the sweet sublime.
I love capturing images frozen in time,
photography is an adventure and journey;
Love going on hikes in the city and nature,
I am often stalking wildlife on paths ferny.
Sometimes, I snap close-up details of the flowers,
I am developing my own personal style;
emptying my wallet for photographic gear,
and find photographing architecture worthwhile.
I stroll city streets searching for the sweet sublime,
finding inspiration in statues and old tombs;
not in a morbid way but as an expression,
I feel so creative when my camera zooms.
__________________________
February 13, 2019
Poetry/Quatrain/Photography: A Journey Creative
Copyright Protected, ID 02-1114-485-13
All Rights Reserved, 2019, Constance La France
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