a curled snapshot
shivers in the drawer~
its blank center
softly glowing,
as if the moment
it once captured
were trying
to return
out of a shallow dip
catch-water field
of landscape polished rock
a shock of pregnant junipers
in pine pitch laden sunlight
olive-green fires arise
and my eyes bedazzle
gossamer
floating specks
of bees
new hatched
butterflies
golden jump
and spiral
as if tethered
to child’s witching wand
random rode
the windless air
Snapshot! - a shutter impales,
a life to clicks, betwixt inhales and exhales.
Light into pixels, bloodshot in frames
kidnapped for a ransom of sometimes soon.
Snap! - a dry twig fractures under boot,
its echo resounding in forest shot.
Too brittle is the log of memories
we captured when we said we won't.
Shot! - the Sheriff, not the Deputy,
for he blinked and she pulled a face.
Both instantly aged by taking photos
of bygones not let it be, that refused to fade.
Snap! - of fingers cracked the hush,
a starter’s pistol shot with less smoke.
Called all and sundry to attention,
before all duck-dived for cover behind hands.
Between! - the blinks of eyelid snaps on eyes,
the video of endless life lives on,
in the stares and glares of film not shot freelance,
in a trance that freedom can ever be believed.
A sunset walk past a garden
midday frolic in the meadow
Early morning glide through a forest
sunrise snapshot of a glistening lake
How we take our eyes, our ears
our five senses for granted
With all of them implanted
this earth is enchanted
"To see in color is a delight for the eye but to see in black and white is a delight for the soul". - Andri Cauldwell
Just an old photograph, in black and white
No dye to reflect the calm of hope’s song
Shadows blow across the heart’s golden light
Snapshot comes alive, a soul seems so strong
Image of light and love, sure to excite
Singing wonder through hearts all their lifelong
While the past will remind me of His grace
There’s joy that nothing on earth can replace
Just an old photograph, meant to inspire
Faded thoughts echo a silent prayer
Black and white beauty I always admire
Wonder from a heart who is still aware
Eager breaths of elation start a fire
Just an old photo who was meant to share
In the end, I hope the heart will believe
Love snapped a photograph for those who grieve.
We venture right to the path in which we heavily rely,
we see the distant life and cant find a reason why.
To whats becomes, what we did may never dare to repeat,
the same as we cry softly making it our life as we retreat.
There is hope, there is life, there is pain,
There is also memories, which we cant explain.
Life has taught us strictly all that vision are not clear,
and one by one the worries slowly start to reappear.
I do not forgive but feel sympathetic, for those who tried today,
to kill and devour my motivations and my thoughts on display.
My heart is here, guarded almost too well,
trying to be free but I simply can not tell.
My mind is settling for what is, that never will I see.
I feel refreshed, but quite disturbed for whom i came to see.
Did i picture myself so motivated to learn and love and grow,
or am I living precautionary until the end of this here show?
Picture this, snapshot that stayed,
Confusion and self esteem revamping all thats made.
Once I reset then we shall pick and choose,
the We that we create will somewhow once come true
ABORT ABORT
but Donaldson was already drifting
further and further away from us
the thickness of his suit decreasing
as his courageous kindness
floated on within his demise
and all I could do was stare panic stricken
through the small window's cruelness
as the white speck of my friend
became more and more surrounded
by the blackness of space
far removed from everything that existed
and I wondered if Donaldson would
explore the universe forever
Nothing rivaled the lemonade in Georgia.
Now, you could also find some damn good lemonade in the neighboring state of South Carolina. Virginians liked to think they too made fine lemonade, and it was better than anything north of the Potomac.
But the best was in Georgia.
And people in the good old days really did drink their lemonade on a lazy, late summer afternoon on the front porch of their wooden house as their kindly old dog, usually a Labrador or a golden retriever, lay down by their feet.
It happened exactly like that.
Just the way you’ve always pictured it.
The face of spring shines
On the convivial tapestry
Spread on luminous landscape
Of vibrant vivacity
With the dreaming blue lagoon of the eyes
And the petals of lotus of luscious lips
Painted on the silken canvas
Of charming countenance
Engraving the narcissist features of innate pride
With marks of suppression syndrome subdued.
The wheel of time turns
On the wrinkled canvas
The spider of winter in twilight hour
Weaves the web with endless senile lines
Hollow eyes gaze forlornly
At the weathered wasteland
The lips lose the patina of the wilted flower
Hedonist psyche refuses to gauge the grief of loss
The face morphs into metaphor for panorama
Captured by the snapshot of concealed charisma.
____________
April, 28, 2023
For A Brian Strand Standard No. 1212 Contest
A
young lad,
apprenticed
and learning the
trade-
holds
steady
his candle-
a light into his
world.
an ekphrasis after Georges de la Tour's painting
step up close..
undo the zip
and enter the mood
flights of fancy
enthuse,spawn
then trespass within
deliberate stains
accidents awaiting-
to happen
OSKAR & ALMA
The
only
child they had-
was their game of
love
in the here and now..
what I see..
unique
as it appears to me-
whatever is meant..
form
is the content
impressions.
.from within-
so to begin..
this secret,for free..
..know how to see
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