A photograph expresses
controlled puppet moment.
Yeah,, most do ...
Green and gold cover of soft grass
Dark Chocolate, thatched roof houses
Serpentine dirt roads
Lined by trees with flowers pink
Cold and white, the valley fog
Nature and its secrets
Unfold in colours so true
As I gaze at a cherished photographs
of my youthful travels,
I review the experiences
I enjoyed while they were happening
and now reviewing and savouring
the details of the experiences
I enjoy the experiences again.
They are still here
recorded in peeling paint
cracked plaster and bare floors
as though only just left, momentarily
a life suspended
nature has forgotten the boundaries
where once walls protected
creepers, moss and mould
add their colour to the decor
lit by the same sun, life here
continues behind a veil
pictures still adorn the walls
faces of our fallen heroes
blindly stare as a photographer
records the passing of an era.
it's over a decade old
holding secrets I can no longer withhold
it's once vibrant colors now faded
and as I look into it my past feels jaded
I never knew how long it would last
that my hold on a lie would be so steadfast
the immensity and the intensity of the illustration is penetrating
behind us, the sun was pulsating
dancing among clouds, her beams shot through
like the final recital of a dancer who will bid adieu
the two of us poised like Greek statues in the light
him, in a sweater woven with gold and by sprites
and myself in a cape formed among the seven wonders of the ancient world
in front of a mansion that holds tales untold
the steps eager to see our eyes grow by tenfold
but then in the ensuing photograph
it is only I that stands
the glamour of my cape shedding
becoming the source of clamor
the lavender shade of my jacket is molting
falling apart, it reveals
a truth that only time can see
that our fanciful clothing was only a disguise
conjured up to distract their eyes
so this poem took inspiration from Margaret Atwood's "This is a photograph of me." After reading it, I subsequently wrote my own spin-off.
<3 - Anastasia
the hearth embraces truth,
and ends it.
searing corners, ashen smiles,
traversing time by burning
in the opposite direction.
slowly, at times, yet infinite.
we forget to preserve emotion,
as the rest of us are dead
or nearly there.
the cold, breeze
of the wind
that made your
a playful mess
from your lips
that i came
i took it
in a snap,
in the form
of a pictureー
a tangible memory,
frozen in time
"oh baby, i just wanna see that twilight. wanna see that with you."
"the exposure looks kinda funny"
"maybe just adjust the aperture a bit"
"add in the lighting"
"is the white balance set?"
the chair squeaks as it moves to the left
the weight shifts the couch in their direction
heat radiates from the family
whose fake smiles are nearly as blinding as the flash from the camera
despite the tripod, the camera sits off kilter
like the uneasy tension in the room
it feels hot--no, sweltering
unsettled emotions sit like
away and out of sight
"Okay, we're good"
and the family heads off in their separate ways
with no goodbyes for the others
inspired by dean's dayfly
you were the photographer
that never photographed me.
"if you want to learn what someone fears losing, watch what they photograph"
you never loved me you liar