#photography
At times I wish my eyes were a camera
Because the things I see are too beautiful not to capture.
The smiles of those around,
So carefree you'll get infected.
The colors of flora when the rain has departed
And the rain had covered the green in droplets-
Droplets that reflect the small rays of sun coming back.
The messily ethereal pond side,
Where algae and moss and tadpoles and stones
Perfectly fill in the space.
The neighborhood cat laying on the soft grass
Of the family who just redid their lawn.
Her soft paws stretched out
So that she could bathe in every inch of sunlight.
The sunset you see on the last day of summer vacation,
The exact image of the word twilight.
However, the portrait will never be caught on phone,
For the colors seem to dull and the sun decides to shy away.
I realize such magnificent depictions cannot and should not
Be captured.
Things so ephemeral should last their short time,
In the eyes, in person.
It'd be rude to steal their moment in a photograph,
So, I subside to having memories.
At this time, I'm glad my eyes
Aren't a camera,
But binoculars instead.
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 10:43 AM UTC
Outside of the mirrors wars
A father sculpts a mother
A vagrant widdles a home
The wealthy man paints lies
The canvas embalms them
He walks only passed his threshold
Sunlight spills silver
His heels click as the hive punches in
The vagrant and his aluminum sled follow
Gathering a used newspaper
He stays up to date
A filthy dog outside the liquor store waits
Time consumes the pieces for sale
Martyr depictions escape the workday
Meaning to rescue each other
They form enclaves
Meeting the mother and child
The art theme at the park today
The cycle of hunger feeds the pyramid
The wealthy man buys oils and brushes
Not all are immune
The vagrant finds peace
The mother uses water
The father a punchcard
Mar 22
Mar 22, 2026 at 12:35 PM UTC
Do not run
Do not deter your heart
Gallery of love speaks
Memory of me
Memory of seas
Holder of our chorus
Contain the day
And build again your joy
Collector and keepsake
Perfecting words and song
Continue to stay
Feb 8
Feb 8, 2026 at 1:35 PM UTC
I remember the first time…
I purchased a camera,
It was a disposable one; bought to be taken and thrown away.
That flimsy cheapskate, I took on a Year Nine bus excursion to Adelaide -
Photos of friends, felines (seals, we went to the zoo) and feet (nail polish and toe rings were big back then!).
I remember getting these snapshots developed and sticking them up on my wall, for a moment I was cool (ahem… ;p )
My second camera was a small, second-hand “Sony” with a sling that I held on to like a clutch.
That one, I took black-and-white photos with; nostalgic, chronologuing my puberty years: first crushes, family events in the backyard, and of course “selfies” before they were a thing!
My third camera… a Canon SLR…
Oh, how I fell in love with her; sleek, strong and two lenses to capture the micro and macro views of history - the ultimate accessory!
I also wore her like a handbag; it's all I needed for a time —
This one captured my love of sunrises and sunsets - divine.
I haven't worn her lately…
The journey that I've had with my eyes has taken me by surprise,
And grief ~ yes I am now naming it ~ has made the lenses not seem as clear, crisp…captivating —
Is it time to take her out again and open the shutters once more?!
Nov 9, 2025
Nov 9, 2025 at 4:06 PM UTC
- Photographer’s Perspective
In the hush of velvet shadow,
she reaches—gloved and deliberate—
as if to pull me through the lens,
into the quiet riot of her gaze.
I pause, breath snagged on the edge of want,
caught like a fly in the web of her pose.
A moment slips—
then she says my name,
low and laced with knowing.
Click.
The spell breaks,
but the image keeps her.
It’s the age-old relationship—
Muse and Artist.
She, tantalizing, young and bold;
me, hungry for something I can’t name,
latching onto the closest thing
that feels like fire.
The look in her eye—
I mistake it for longing.
But I pause, unsure,
afraid to ***** the muse
who’s let me near enough to frame her.
Nov 4, 2025
Nov 4, 2025 at 8:31 PM UTC
Tallow
The candle and I bear witness
to the long, lone, and restless night.
With a match, we bring ourselves to light
brilliant reminders of finer days past.
forced forth
out of love
not meant to last,
We complement each other in our fading vigilance,
twisting,
smoldering,
struggling
we fall,
exhausted or, dripping
We grow ever small.
Used,
they saw the one true answer,
and so it was
the only light.
No will,
no arms
with which to fight,
no rival to the endless stars, the all shared night
a sky that taught the world to dance.
Symbols of hope and knowledge
not brought into this world by chance.
To flicker and hiss or claim our right.
Wax sealed the deed and blinded our sight.
Born to burn and ever so fast.
Brilliant reminders of those finer days past,
wrought for a purpose,
understanding, it was never to last.
Illuminations are made,
in shadow we cast.
Those that sputter and waver,
gutter and wane,
flee before storms, slip from the reins.
Yet from us,
the lights still glow,
revealing the truths the Greats longed to know.
Some writhe .
Others twinkle
I smoke
and then fall
until there is nothing left
of us at all.
Here but once, and once alone
Is it just once, and all from a spark?
Our essence is , YEARNING
not Dawn, nor the Dark.
Feb 6, 2025
Feb 6, 2025 at 12:48 PM UTC
I.
Lain down, unconcealed
toward the window
shoulder to hip -- a shadowy cursive
perhaps penumbra
II.
Seated, face in utter profile
standing, sorting laundry
washing dishes, guarding
the radiator
III.
Hair eschewed in
conjugated waters
double-exposed
roots and
foliage -- wisps
of sugarland
in subtext
their dark net
cast over a pearly bright sea
discovery left
to the imagination
Aug 8, 2025
Aug 8, 2025 at 1:52 PM UTC
Tale to tell
Three piggies
Wearing a suicide, like a feat of hell
And the rage of a wolf, with a prayer between liberty's
A spidery breeze...
Aled to allure, the *** of repose
Come curious, my sincerity is an avid squeeze...
Compare me to silence, a need confirming those
Days end, in a savoring grasp
With the eyes of time, to these we tell a different story
Places of wishing hours, with the grace to live at last
With the flesh of light, comes a drama let, never sorry...
The pride, the copious sorts
When the world has a patience for your gifts
Subtle is the crave of possibility, to try, in short
The eyes of heaven have lent us, and an eye lifts...
A world of voices and presiding choices...
That collects itself, to a fury of poise, live lover
The awakening hunger we make, is a now's more
In the belly of worth, we have seen a creation overt...
Pretty as a picture, pity in a turn of cheek?
That has said the adding wink, of a salty memory
That has me by a quiet song, merit in the place of world's seek
Here is your purpose, under the very light's we know, are your story
Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 3:37 PM UTC
Dear girl on the groyne,
Forgive the forgeries upon my memory.
Forgive the feebleness of my firsthand.
Forgive the feeding of my frenzy.
Forgive the freneticism of my prose.
Take truth from the diction of my lens.
I trust you will grant me a fair hearing,
And offer me the clemency of purpose—
To once more capture or conquer
The presence of Iris herself in your greens.
Grant me a jury of judicious witness,
The pounding of the gavel as grace
For the crime of picturing the presence.
I bid the remainder of my fruitless fall.
Dear girl on the groyne,
Has your blacksmith forgotten you?
Left to entice waves at shutter speed,
Forged in flame,
Chiselled and tamed on Vulcan high.
Through his neglect has the time arrived
To render and share for all or none—
As Pandora, of beauty, of curiosity,
Doomed to open the box
For me and my eye.
Dear the man on the beach,
Do you have any sense of shame?
As if the still frame holds the truest face
The gods of our minds do not claim to fame,
But cower and quiver with a shout of shrill.
I beam bounty in the rays of the sun,
Watching the groyne creak and stutter
As the waves breach and mutter—
A voice of too great dread to utter.
I sense your presence, your song,
The siren’s call to prayer.
The screech of the zoom and focus,
Lulling and drawing a sailor of despair.
But it cannot be enough
To return the green to my grey.
It is but a mirror of Death,
For the true beauty lies beneath the skin.
As the waves crash,
And the wind howls,
And the flash—
Our moment in time, you and I—
A fleeting visit in a luminal light,
Between silence and soul,
Of a tune forgotten in the sands of us.
Yet for the sea, a distant whisper
Of a moment—
The opening of a story.
Was it a moment of theft?
A moment of true witness?
Good enough to frame?
Was I truly seen?
Or just a clutch for transcendence?
And still,
The tide remakes the shore.
The groyne groans.
The flash fades.
You carry the image.
I carry the knowing.
We both were framed.
We both were fire.
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 6:12 AM UTC
I am not accustomed to feelings of longing
As it is now not from a person
I stand on the creaking logs in the middle of a swamp's river
Balancing to remain afloat
I watch from a distance
Sitting on my rain cloud
As my acid raindrops on your safe haven homeland
I have hidden my heart under these planks
And the beating is like black and yellow sparks
Screaming in my ear
"Now,"
They shriek,
"Now."
I'm like an artist staring at a canvas
The rainbows swirl in my mind
But there is no shadow
There is no story.?
I watch the band from below
I shower them with photos
And they ask me to be there
Again and again
I watch from the wood
Longing to be in the rainbow rain
I describe the floorboards
Because that is all I know.
Mar 26, 2025
Mar 26, 2025 at 11:42 PM UTC
I was thinking about the blast
of neon colors in a film
and the New Wave Music
and Marie Antoinete pastels
But in my childhood
it was as if we had other hues,
a small box of crayons at hand,
or that the world was seen through
Kodachrome film.
There were lollipop reds and purple
and dungaree blues, lake and skies,
lemon ice yellows, setting suns
and lush summer green.
In scratched lenses, children seemed to play
as if inspired by the living colors,
imagining that their lives would last forever.
And even as they grow, it immortalizes them.
But, like life, the colors decay
and we gaze at scenes of sepia and moss,
with ochre grass and reds turned brown.
We must attune memory to remember more.
And using suspension of disbelief,
Elders, middle-aged and children gather
Like the neolithic ceremonies meant for gods,
But celebrate, not the stars or stones,
Rather the lives we have lived or have yet to taste.
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 4:04 PM UTC
~
*She smiles only in pictures
Her hair is growing long
With eyes closed
Au coucher du soleil
Her voice is dulcet
Her laugh is nexus
"Take me with you," she says.
"We'll make kites, we'll steal land."
The gentle arrival of rain
In the blue hour of
The portrait gallery
Makes her qualified to dream
About a serenade of water
And the blueberry boat*
~
Feb 7, 2025
Feb 7, 2025 at 3:50 PM UTC
As i look up in the sky
A sky that is night
I see beautiful things to take
Pictures of these wonderful
Stars and constellations
As I do my phone filled up and
Soon I am stargazing with my phone
As I do so I find that life is easier
With the phone instead
If a telescope
When I look at my pictures
The beautiful spheres are
Captured forever
On Facebook and Instagram
What wonders the universe
Has to offer us.
Feb 4, 2025
Feb 4, 2025 at 8:18 PM UTC
In the quiet of the night, a projector's beam,
A canvas painted with memories, a life's supreme.
Ektachrome slides, a flickering show of time,
A journey through the years, a life sublime.
A child's laughter, pure and bright,
A mother's love, a guiding light.
Triumphs and joys, a colorful hue,
But beneath the surface, a darker view.
Defeats and sadness, a somber tone,
Tears that fall, a heart alone.
Loved ones lost, a poignant sight,
A bittersweet echo, fading light.
More people lost than gained, a lonely path,
A heart heavy with grief, a soul's aftermath.
Yet through the shadows, a glimmer of hope,
A resilience that endures, a spirit that soars.
In the quiet of the night, the projector's beam,
A life's reflection, a bittersweet dream.
Ektachrome slides, a testament to time,
A journey through the years, a life divine.
Jan 21, 2025
Jan 21, 2025 at 10:10 PM UTC
Feed your starving soul,
Let inspiration flow.
Thus you slip away;
Don't wait another day!
Capture every glance.
Still the water's dance.
Freeze the hands of time;
Your Spirit needs to shine!
Look now through the glass.
Don't let the moment pass.
Starving soul, feast on,
Before your spark is gone!
©KSS 11/2014
Dec 13, 2024
Dec 13, 2024 at 10:24 PM UTC
where we are now is the causation
of thinking someone gets you
that they understand what you mean
where you're coming from
that they treat you the same way
you treat them
gently
like the world’s most empathetic nurse
despite the blatant risks available
and the *** is
thrilling
because it is like
fighting but
we want to hurt
each other
a dance of
mutual combat
i am your photographer
of war baby
i am
horrified
by your truths and
scars and death
not because of their
imperfections or ability
to stain my mind
with schizophrenic ptsd
riddling
throughout
but because i am a casualty
of your purpose
and much like war
you’ve relentlessly sold me an idea
and shown me how much of myself i have to give up
and to betray
for your manipulative propaganda
in order to soldier on
towards an empty promise
this patriotic love
is a cause that remains lost
like bodies in rubble
a love i have a tendency to incline to
this serviceable love
is scarce amongst rust and ruins
and instead of cultivating it
you rage war
against
me and
force
my
battle
cries.
-melancholicreator
(thanks for the experience…good luck)
Jun 3, 2024
Jun 3, 2024 at 3:20 AM UTC
~
*if you're feeling sinister tonight, come inside the darkroom. picture yourself pouring over mental images of a demure young botanist, loitering around the trapdoor of nostalgia, kissing someone new for the first time.
now imagine she is conscious and clustered in titillating blur, her smile beachy and airborne, with only the slightest suggestion that something troublesome is lurking underneath.
can you see her double exposure? totally tranquil, she poses with an arsenal of poisonous plants, as if she’s already slipped their venom into your tea.*
~
Apr 5, 2023
Apr 5, 2023 at 12:17 PM UTC
Kapag natuyo na ang ilog ,
Hintayin mo ang mga ulap ...
Pasasaan ba 't mumunti **** daigdig
Tatahan ang hinagap sa paghagilap !
Patingala ka man na masdan ako
O kahit pa tanawin mo ako ng payuko
Magmumula lagi sa kaliwa
Aking simula patungo sa kabila ,
ikotin mo man ang iyong tingin pakanan
Manunumbalik ako tulad ng isang orasan
At sabik muli ako sa iyong masid sa lagusan,
at tanging gabay lang ay hangin na may bahagdan...
sa umagang may lamig kapagdaka ' y init
At kapag ang ibaba nga ay nag-aalumpihit
Ang kaitaasan ay napapasailalim
Wari ay kabiyak ng kabibing walang lihim
Bukas-palad mo akong minamalas at sinasalamin
Habang tikom-bibig kitang tinatalastas at pinaparinggan
Nang walang ibang ibig sabihin...
Hanggang pawang totoo lamang ating anihin !
Kaya naman paulit - ulit ko itong binabalikan
Dahil sa araw-araw mo akong Mahahagkan
Gamit nga ang Lente ng iyong minamahal na sining..
Kapit lamang sa tuwina ako sa iyong paglalambing !!!
Sapagkat ikaw nga ang magiliw kong siyentipiko
Na may hawak ng tubong pansuri ng aking laboratoryo !
Pasasaan ba 't mumunti **** daigdig ,
Tatahan ang hinagap sa paghagilap !
Kapag natuyo na ang ilog ,
Hintayin mo ang mga ulap !!!
Dec 31, 2022
Dec 31, 2022 at 2:29 PM UTC
Imagine..
A cold windy day.
Your palms are shivering
Under the gloves you wear.
With you are your loved ones
Laughing with play..
You sit down on those chairs
Chatting away...
Or may be waiting for some one
Who has lost their way. .
You look around and smile
You have had a wonderful day
May be you drink cofee
To keep the chill astray.
You click a photo
To remember someday...
.
To remember someday. 😁
Apr 13, 2022
Apr 13, 2022 at 3:34 PM UTC
Thank you Lord Jesus for always staying with me. For never leaving me whilst in the valley of the shadow of death, Lord, Your mighty love, your guiding rod, Your comforting staff, they inform me. Thank You Jesus for helping me to use, even the toughest of times to glean some forms of positive personal growth and for the spreading of the hope Your Holy Spirit brings... It's good to know that You've got my back, Lord Jesus...
Dec 11, 2021
Dec 11, 2021 at 5:51 PM UTC
Rhythmic
Tearing
Cow on grass
Settling rooks
Cross sky
All around
Sound playing
Scent
On wind
Descending
Sun
Gold leafing
The horizon
Obscuration
Veiling arc
And furrow
Crop
And shadow
Poplar lined
Fields below
Quiet here
Above
A moment
Passes
Contrast sharpens
Trees recede
Into darkness
Sun bleeds
Into Earth
Apr 18, 2021
Apr 18, 2021 at 7:18 AM UTC
As I sat on my bed
On a gloomy evening
Listening to the soft Yet sonorous sound of falling raindrops
Looking Outside of the window
Unexpectedly
I gazed upon a dainty figure that was approaching towards me
I sat there confused
Thinking whether it was you or visions playing inside my head
I blinked, and You faded away with the raindrops As they splashed
I smiled in the midst of realizing
I was a fool Thinking I was in serendipity
While My memories were getting the better of me.
Feb 27, 2021
Feb 27, 2021 at 11:08 AM UTC