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That brief moment
Walking into the shaded apartment to find you reading in flannel
And everything in me jumps
The camera obscura of my iris snaps,
Suspending you in amber light.
The tapered elegance of your fingers across a page
A glint of Versailles blue-gold eyes
And fortified ramparts of your shoulders.
I will carry this vestige with me
In a petticoat pocket
Until we are old
And your arms do not lift me as you just did
The last strand of your hair is silver
And your cheeks sink with age like your father’s.
These small gems of youth
Of promise
To keep in a sleeve until they are needed
And the mirrors show reflections we cannot change
Nigdaw Aug 13
I bought a Leica camera
someone said
it must take really great pictures
I sat and watched it
for over an hour
it never left my bag
selina Mar 22
a lover by day
and an artist by night
the epitome of perfection

let me paint you like you are
the heavenly piece of art you are
let the world see you through my eyes

the likes of an angel of love
sculpted by michelangelo
blessed by venus herself

brushstrokes simply cannot do you justice
50mm lens still cannot show the world the truth
cold clay cannot compare to eucalyptus eyes

forget these superficial takes
let's make art, my love
let's make love
Rea Jan 13
I stood over you, blinding you with the flash of my polaroid camera.
Writing "my best friend" on every one in black ink.
Feeling the rumble of your voice on my cheek
when you talked about your childhood on rainy days.
Now this is all I have left.
Memories like quicksand,
slipping through my hands.
I'll let you go, one piece at a time.
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2020
From
the veil of
trees, I can
peer into
your window,
and count
the family,
imagine them
gone to bed,
dreaming of blue,
"underwater, unaware."

Those summer
evaporations tickle
my skin,
bring on such
an observational
itch:
how you,
freshly out
of the pool,
bloomed
brightly on
Betamax.
Josephine Wilea Mar 2020
icy blue eyes
fixed just below
the camera

almost
but not quite
calling me home.
Poetic T Oct 2020
They think that cos they wearing badges that
its power, feeling it be like they wild west.
          thinking they catching outlaws.

When they the ones letting the shots hit unarmed
                                           hands on his head.
but they not moving as he shouted gun.

It wasn't even a mobile, they just trigger happy
                       in blue as the family was in black.

Tears aren't bringing his last word back,
                       Mum, Daddy,
last cherished thought his baby girl.
Tears fell silent as they had knees on his neck,
                         what the **** he dead
yet you thinking he needs cuffs,
                                   morality took a side step.

No one is on their knee no more,
         hands held at height trying
to reach the fallen to show that they
still being reached for.

I promise we ain't forgetting any fallen,
       we'll reach high walking the streets.
   They ain't holding pistols to this many.

Hands-on heads showing peaceful metaphors,
          we shouldn't have to be scared
of a badge that's meant to protect
                               not a knee on a neck.


Or a gunshot on an unarmed person,
                   due to his demographical heritage.
                     another fell like a tree in a forest.

But every flower has a camera and nothing
falls silently anymore.
Carlo C Gomez Oct 2020
High above this
destiny

I can see your private
mystery

Mechanical wasp controls
the hive

Its sensors are buzzing and about
to go live

Over the shoulder, around
the bend

The naked you is about
to trend
Lily Sep 2020
art
Perfectly curled caramel hair
Cascades down her shoulders,
Bouncing in time with the music.
He can’t help but savor every
Fragment of her movement as he
Traces the camera around her frame,
Capturing the dance.
She’s an actress in every sense of the term,
Her eyes sad yet powerful,
Her body hurting yet beautiful.
The music ends and she stops, breathless,
Her hair that has fallen in front of her face
Flowing up and down as she catches her breath.
“Did you get it?”
She asks him,
And suddenly he’s back to himself,
Back from the world her dance took him to.
“Definitely,” he says, and when
Her dimples break her face open,
The camera is still rolling,
For he doesn’t want to miss a second of her beauty.
She isn’t just poetry.
She is art.
poetry girl pt. 5
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