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Julie Grenness Jan 2017
Torn photograph  I found,
Dry eyes, tears did not abound,
These days I am a good old girl,
Why did rotten mongrel I give a whirl?
C'est la vie, I guess, ashtrays,
So I threw  the photograph away.....
"Good riddance" that's what I say!
Feedback welcome.
Kim Jan 2017
Hazy outlines familiar faces
Echoes of familiar places
Captured moments long forgotten
Honesty in words unspoken
A fleeting smile unguarded eyes
Truth beneath the surface lies
Pause a moment the masquerade
Telling postures now displayed
Rueful smiles and tired eyes
A warm glance melts a mask of ice
And as the frame fades away
Smoke and mirrors back into play
I'm quite a fan of candid photography
It is an art that is underrated in my opinion
I have had the privilege of taking some beautiful, albeit inexpert, candid shots of my friends and family from time to time -
And shall continue to do so whenever I have the opportunity!

(Edited "breaks through" to melts - credit to Phil Lindsey for the suggestion)
Dana Skorvankova Oct 2016
Only photographs
         In your room
                 Know you're a liar.*
                
Take all of them
        And keep them
Wherever you go.
Fay Castro Oct 2016
I went to a flea market today
And between the stalls peddling jade
Antique swords
And old Japanese plastic toys,
I found a box of photographs
Forgotten by time

I picked up the photographs one by one
And in each of them I saw countless stories.
1940's Taiwan.
1920's Japan.
A couple.
A group of men.
A rice field.

I watched the smiling faces and the wide, vacant grins and wondered,
'Who are they?
'Where did they go?
'Who did they go home to?
'Where are they now?'

I looked at the photographs and saw us.
Happy. Content.
Unfettered by the passage of time.
Unaware that one day, we'll be nothing, or everything.
Uncaring about how short and how eternally slow life can be.

I look at us and wonder,
'Will anyone remember us, fifty years from now?
'Will anyone care what happened to us?
'Will we simply be, sixty years from now, old photographs in box in a ***** flea market?'
I found no answers to my questions.
I doubt I ever will.



I went to a flea market today.
But that's all in the past now.




I put the photographs back in the box.
I'm feeling very sentimental.
Brent Kincaid Jul 2016
I look through my photographs
And see a person I never knew.
An open smiling soul you might
Tell almost anything you wanted to.
And what a fine face I had
With shining unlined skin.
I look at that face and shake my head
Wish I looked like that again.

I don't remember being that cute
It must be a camera trick.
I'm surely not that hot now.
This just makes me sick.
Someone just managed to
Aim that cheap camera right.
Or else it was the lighting
Whether day or night.

I remember that outfit
And the length of my hair.
But I am sure someone doctored
This picture up somewhere
Because I never take pictures well.
I always look like a freak.
I mean these picture make me
Look like I had a widow's peak.

And, look how tiny my waist
And how great my style was then.
I wish I could be that hot
And that young once again.
I would  take that face back again
In a minute if I knew how.
But please no pictures of me today.
I don't like my pictures now.
Janette Bustos Jul 2016
As long as the sun rises time will continue to pass by
Greeting those who just arrived
Kissing good by those headed for a better life

You go to bed crawling
and wake up as wrinkly as a raisin
A blink of an eye  and ten years have gone by

Every year, month, day, minute, second
its non replicable
Non existing twice

There will never be a yesterday like today
Nor a today like yesterday

Rocking back and forth
in front of a warm fire place
Looking at the non-stopping clock

A lifetime printed in 90 karat golden sheets
Capturing every stage of life
Preserving memories until the end of time

A person to be known thousands of years after their death
Time machine
Allowing people to re-live their greatest experiences

All earth's gold brought together
Transformed into a thin glossy sheet of paper
An image, a picture
A treasure...
Poem written on 2012 from the perspective of my eighteen year old self.
angelina bee Jun 2016
Four blue walls, four pink walls, three yellow walls, one green.
Moved everything across the hall got paint on the ceiling,

put pictures on the wall.

Went away, came back.
Took pictures off the wall, photographs of strangers.

Put them in a box, back of the closet.

She told me once that skeletons sleep there.

Seems peaceful.

Out of sight, never mind.

Lost my home, but found a new one.




If you lose yourself, check my closet.

a.bee
Anig Muh Jun 2016
I just want everyone to be happy, why can't I be?
My head hurts,
as my heart parts from my body,
is this what's left of me?

Detached numbness I feel,
is this the calm before the storm?
How will I go on,
without your presence as the norm?

I am a rubberband,
pulled tightly by those who care for me.
I bend and pull in knots,
when will I snap completely?
Inevitable, but I socialize my way into solitude,
mournful of my own attitude.

You're such a good person,
it's my fault
it is my fault.
I never wanted you locked up in a vault,
though I'm now safe
from your preying on my insecurities,
my mind is still busy and full of formalities.

Everyone thinks I'm better off waging war,
but I just wanted peace.
Still, you needed to be gone,
you weren't even on my lease.
The feelings still shake me that I cannot release,
Regret and Remorse
Your love a drug highway,
I GPS'd the course.
Driving forever,
Stranded
The love ran out,
I searched and I pleaded
but there's no fuel about.

Don't ever forget that I care,
even if to you it seems wrong.
One Day I'll convince you,
in Rhyme, and in Song.

I will remind you,
it wasn't farewell, but goodbye.
When I told you I loved you,
it was never a lie.

I still just want everyone to be happy, why can't I?
Kastoori Barua May 2016
The scarf that you took off with a graceful flourish,
From your warm throat, and covered my head
On one beautiful, wintry afternoon long ago;
That memory intensifies and weighs me down,
Like photographs that develop in the darkroom
But are never shown the broad daylight.

My head now stays uncovered with snow;
I wear your scarf on my shoulders.
Betokening my will to carry
The burden of the emptiness,
You left behind with your departure.
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