"kodak" poems
Photography,
Photo journalistic,
Everyday, realistic.
Commercial, architecture, landscape, artistic,
Industrial, fashion, ethnographic, pornographic.
Big Brother, fallace, stealer of souls, vouyer.
News seller, instant gratifier, man pleaser, woman abuser.
Barthes, Sontag, Cindy Sherman,
Virginia Woolf, Warhol. Weegie, Francesca Woodman,
Leibovitz, Adams, Arbus, Tina Modotti,
Nan, Evans, Hoffer and even the Paparazzi.
Cheap ***** digital manipulator, image poser,
Center fold, coupons, Jackie O and Marilyn Monroe.
Where did they go:
Lifeless paper product, painter's picture mess,
C-type, digital archival,
Sepia, black and white, hard drive retrival.
Image addict,
Image taker,
Image maker,
image seller,
image buyer.
Newspaper, magazine, graphics and ads,
TV, dreams, even the trash.
Billboards, subways, phones and buses:
Utopia:
Surreal, crop, stretched and air brushes.
Modern ideal.
Surface manipulator.
Brain conditioner.
Consent manufacturer.
Oh Photography,
I got you in my eye.
A few thousand dollars,
A BFA, A critical scholar.
Or maybe a nerd,
Just boys with toys.
Telephoto genitals, with motor drive action.
Studio lights, umbrella traction.
Oh Photography,
You proprietor of obscene.
Detailed, de-sensitized.
Court ordered, jury analyzed.
Click, image, copy, edit, paste, print or post.
Myfacespace, twitter, flicker,
An internet media overdose.
Pry, spy, your friend's friend's acquaintances.
Parties, picnics, reunions and shows.
Visits, vacation, style, shoes and clothes.
Pics, photos, images, jpegs and giffs.
Snap shot, portrait, panoramic, Kodak kiss.
Exacerbate:
Divorce, break-ups, jealousy, envy, love and fears.
Devour and captivate society for years.
Slaves to Western and Capitalist desires,
Destruction of Earth with psychological, monetary empires.
Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 7:05 AM UTC
Death leaves a heartache no one can heal,
Love leaves a memory no one can steal. ~ Author Unknown
~~~~~~~~~~~
It rain heavily on the river in Kerala the next morning
I think it was a sign of things to come,
I remember our walks by the water
The warmth of the sun as it dampen your hair
this brought out your winsome boyish smile
as you playfully tossed a small pebble into the water
It became an instant Kodak moment for years to come:
We were so in love with nature that summer
I remember every moment how we held each other hands
Your loving touch, your kiss, your blue eyes
So trustworthy was I: Your lies were accumulating.
and my foolish heart was pumping harder and harder
Like a gallon of water in the desert heat: you made me fell in love with you
your love for me was like a battlefield and I were the unexpected enemy
I am still very fond of my captor, I smile from ear to ear- each time it rain heavily in Kerala
If you know your enemies and know yourself then you are on top of things:
Until death leaves a headache no one can heal: Quote:
And love no matter what: leaves lasting memories.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
"Have you talked to dad,
since you've been at school?"
"Nope."
"Are you coming home
for thanksgiving?"
"I don't know."
Josephina
breathes in a crackle
over the phone.
New York,
a cacophony
in the background.
A background of cold,
and
people talking
while walking
while hailing a yellowcab with a left
and slow-rolling heads locked
onto the phones in their right.
These people enter taxis,
not knowing if they're ever
going to reach home,
or the airport,
or union square,
just going
on the promise
that they won't become
road-kill.
I can't feel it in my yellow apartment.
If anything,
my yellowcab
idles.
Through the receiver
A squad car
rings nervously,
then
after a lungful
of garbage-smelling air,
it becomes a full blare.
A pause
of
noise
always ensues,
just for a second,
the entire corner
becomes a silent silo
of human beings.
"How's new york?"
"you know,
dad called me
and asked about
how to get on a diet,
can you believe that?"
Yes,
I can
dad is a fat ****
a pink, white belly
of a man. And a few
sandbags for chins.
"That's good."
"So I'm not going to see you?"
"Probably not."
"Well, you should call dad,
talk to him,
he loves
you."
Some conversations,
acheive nothing.
The same
tired, dead things
get run over.
Road-kill.
Josephina believes she is the spatula
that will bring back
pancake squirrels
and
pancake relationships.
As much as you don't know
about me and dad's relationship,
I can give you a kodak moment.
A snapshot,
of a hovering man,
pointing at his son's neck,
searching for the misplaced vertebrae,
the lack
of fear for the world
--"the right kind of fear,
the fear a man
should have
of himself"--
and a son,
hunched,
small hands in fists,
a heavy haul of muscles
pulled into a dark brow
right over black eyes.
This picture
will suffice.
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 4:59 PM UTC
Looking at my album,
Of a picture taken,
Long ago built,
Sandcastles,
Made from child dreams,
Of sand and water,
On a shore play day,
Using hand shovel and bucket,
Scooping sand,
Mixing with water,
Hands molding,
A child’s fort takes place,
With dreams of fierce battles,
Slowly afternoon tide comes in,
Washing against castle walls,
Reclaiming its precious sand,
Waves invade,
Hand prints disappear,
Molded mounds fall,
Those castle forms disappear,
Soon they become just a memory,
Forever caught,
In a Kodak moment,
Have you ever made a sandcastle?
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
Itaas na ang bandera at iwagayway
Iharap pababa sa mga naglulupasay
Dito magsisimula
Ang pagkuha ng retrato
Dito magsisimula
Ang pagkuha ng “selfie”
Sa pagtunog ng isang “click”
Ay makukuha ang atensyon mo,
Maaaliw ka,
Mabibighani’t mapapatingin
At tila pag kumukuha ka ng retrato
Ay ikaw ang pinakamaganda
Sa naglalakihang lente na nasa screen
Sa pagtunog ng isang “click”
Ay mapapangiti ka
Photogenic daw, ika nga
At sa pagkatapos lagi ng mga ito
Ay mawawala nalang bigla
Na tila nagsusuot ka ng antipas
Tuwing nakangiti nagpapakuha ng retrato
Sa pagtunog ng isang “click”
Ay mag aayos ka
Magpapagwapo’t magpapaganda
At tila isa itong contest
At kailangan ikaw ang pinakamaganda
At sa pagkatapos nito
Ay titignan mo kung nadaig mo ba sila
Ngunit bakit ikaw na hindi naman kumukuha ng retrato
Ay tila nagiging isang kodak o kamera
Na sa tuwing tumitingin ako sayo ay tila makukuhanan ako ng retrato
Na tuwing nakikita kita, wala mang click, ay titingin ako sa mga mata mo na tila lente ng kamera
Sa paglapit mo saakin
Ay makukuha mo ang atensyon ko,
Maaaliw ako, mabibighani’t mapapatingin
At tila pag kasama kita
Ay wala akong mahiling
Kundi ang patigilin ang oras
Para manatili sa piling mo
Ngunit bakit kapag nasa iyo ang atensyon ko
Ikaw ay nakatingin naman sa iba
Hindi ang pagiging nandito ko ang tumatakbo
Sa munting isip mo, kundi siya
Sa paglapit mo saakin
Ay mag aayos akong bigla
Magpapagwapo o magpapaganda
At tila isa itong contest
Na kailangan madaig ko siya
Pero parang hindi ko kaya
Dahil kahit kailan hindi ko madadaig siya
At kahit na gaano mo pa ako lapitan
Siya parin ang magiging malapit dahil sa kariktan
At ako ay maiiwan sa alon ng pag-iisa
Sa paglapit mo saakin
Ay mapapangiti ako
Lalabas ang mga ngipin
Na tila nasa isang patalastas ako ng colgate
Ngingiti
At ngingiti lang
Ngunit sa likod ng mga ngiting ito
Ang tinatago ko ay luha
Mga luha na hindi ko ninanais na makita mo
Sanhi ng simula mo ‘kong paasahin
Mga luha na pinili kong itago mula sa’yo
Dahil alam ko rin naman na hindi mo ito papansinin
Hindi ka naman kodak na itinataas ko
Ngunit bakit pakiramdam ko ay nakatingin ka saakin pababa
Habang ako’y nasasaktan at nagluluksa
At sa pagtapos ko ng piyesang ito
Ang tanging hiling ko lamang ay
Mga retrato na maaaring itabi
Dahil nag uumapaw na ang mga mata kong gusto nang matuyo
Itaas na ang bandera at iwagayway
Iharap pababa sa mga naglulupasay
Dito magtatapos
Ang pagkuha ng retrato
Dito magtatapos
Ang pagkuha ng “selfie”
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 11:15 AM UTC
What a relief to set aside
my mechanical pencil
and write with you,
O Ballpoint Pen
found at the bottom of my pen box.
On your side is engraved
“Samy’s Camera.”
Did I walk out with you by accident?
or was it on purpose,
beguiled by your sleek, cool body
as you nestled into my hand
and I clasped you tight
likw my boyfriend in a steamy nightclub
dancing slow to Moon River.
Was I writing a check for
a roll of Kodak film,
ASA 400?
Or was it more recent?
Purchasing a digital mini-camera
to carry in my purse?
Before cellphones took selfies so flawlessly
that I tucked my Sony
into the dresser drawer
behind my underwear.
It lies abandoned
soon to be joined by all my
mechanical pencils.
You, my Pen, are my reliable companion
who will record lists for me:
To Do lists
Shopping lists
Birthday lists
Laundry lists.
You will record why my lover
doesn't want me anymore, but
I will tear up that scrap of paper
as soon as the ink has dried like blood,
that heartless man,
unworthy of the ink I waste on him.
O beautiful Pen,
sleek as the fur on a cat,
smooth as a gin and tonic,
solid as his hand on my breast.
for merely.
I hereby relinquish my mechanical pencil,
whose lead keeps shattering.
But you, dear Ballpoint Pen, I can press hard.
And how much more beautiful
with you
are the curves of my words.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 9:08 PM UTC
It is something I appreciate most
Toodlers feeling grass on their **** feet
Ice cream dripping
People of all kinds
Bilingualism always caught my attention
Caution ...
Its all so precious
Lets take a kodak
For we do not know when we will share something so rare again
Grass as green as the algae on the deepest side of the sea
Sun so harsh as the truth we all hiding
And the closeness of the secrets that hold us together
My second most valued possession
In my hands
There it waited
To capture something so rare
Exactly so I could look back
recall every detail as is
Because it is a Beautiful Life ♥
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 5:48 PM UTC
no count-downs for birthday parties
no arm wrestles, no jump shots
no go-cart donuts
not even a snowball
where did we go?
blond hair
up to my shoulders
surrounded by jewels
some empty-paned picture frame
couple sprouts beneath a pine
saying "monkeys" for Grammy's kodak
red clay on your feet
pink frosting in your teeth
me, sheathed in my favorite shirt
"I'm the big sister!"
with a butterfly depicting
what I've yet to become
how wrong have we gone?
well, I'll be twenty
once spring rolls around
and brother
you're not far behind
I can't tell time
to change its mind
but I promise you
it won't be changing mine
from the photographs, scrapbooks
I'll forever feel your laughter
just like goosebumps
the brail I'm reading into
let's gaze past glares
straight through white sunbeams
spiking your brown eyes
twice as deep as mine
the truest shades
on the face of the earth
to this very
foggy day
this mirror, this moment snagged
before shutters snap
and capture us, splatter us
on matte paper, or cell screens
with brown hair
up to your shoulders
way to go, little brother
but I'm still keeping that tee
because the only thing
I've always been proud to be
is your big sister
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 10:14 PM UTC
They say
that a beginner
has many options,
but an expert
has one or none,
so I joined
a new website
where there
are thousands
of great photographers,
so, inspired by them
I decided
to enroll in Buddha's self-help school
of beginning photography,
and actually
I have never liked
photography as an art form,
until I began studying
and now I am obsessed
by the actions
of my little Kodak
that gives me
such amazing
bad photography.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 11:32 AM UTC
she was nothing but a silhouette.
her life once vivid- colored by dream and ambition has been blackened by a past too present still.
knocking on the doors of high rises and hotel rooms, carrying her treasured heels into the vapid mist of a sleeping city.
her figure even out of the mist is the only thing to make out still.
emptiness travels in her bones and loneliness is a dear friend.
by rare occurrence of special characters, she becomes illuminated and her appearance is said to be of an angel.
these special characters, men with their reassuring smiles, and kodak promises- and their shortcomings of wives, flirtings and lies make her short-lived sparkle dim.
she allows disappointment to counsel her and guide her deeper into shadow.
the silhouette is the tragic girl now
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
Through the street lights and brutalist cliffs,
blinking beams echo my breath.
Laughter still bleeds in my throat, conversations still pierce my ears, alas
A Kodak haze, a synchronized buzz
and agony is gone. For most are
nothing but pines,
A sleeping balm, a charming whiff, all the
same submissive to a whirr.
As a child, they left me in awe
Now I know they're nothing more
than a palisade for the sea. Those
that bid time in the isometric
backwoods, simply haven't the clue,
that no concrete can still her.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 12:06 PM UTC
the telephone rings at eleven on a weeknight
and i can see you
huddling over a stranger's phone in the streetlamp glare
your skeletal fingers slow and stained with nicotine
pupils shrunken
deer in the headlights
what do you need
the telephone rings at eleven on a weeknight
and i can see you
plucking pills from carpet fibers
scraping your hands through the couch cushions
snatching my allowance from beneath my mattress
prince of thieves
what do you need
the telephone rings at eleven on a weeknight
and i can see you
smiling for the kodak
cooing sonatas against her cold pretty ear
nervous fingers tying the corsage
casanova
what do you need
the telephone rings at eleven on a weeknight
and i can see you
peeking out behind worn fort walls
sketching monsters over saturday morning cartoons
fishing pole in hand
sweet thing
what do you need
the telephone rings at eleven on a weeknight
and i can see you
rewind the tape
first tottering steps
gummy smile
child of love
what do you need
the telephone rings at eleven on a weeknight
and i can hear you
hello
yes
what do you need
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 5:48 PM UTC
My metal detector doesn't work. I'm sorry my friend killed you, she has problems with her cerebral cortex. My metal detector broke, and I need to find the treasure buried by old ford himself; my ex said some meth-head said the devil was after him and he stumbled across the treasure covered in CD cases and hypodermic needles. They say he paid for a billboard over 75
Hey here, hey here it is baby
girl; blue shorts, bubble gum
in your hair? Here, here, here
and so I set out to find it. I don't care about my boyfriends other girlfriend; I'm hotter, I write poetry where the devil drinks what he siphones from gas tanks. My metal detector doesn't work. We only found out about the horseshoes in my ****** when he asked about insemination with his fathers ***** he always wanted a sister. I gave the horseshoe to my friend to hang above her front door in exchange for her twenty two year old metal detector. Nothing like the dentist bought me, but it worked. I found the treasure behind the VFW, stuffed into Kodak film bottles: maple leaves, water hemlock, and the keys to a ghost racecar.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC
When I watch you
smiling candidly on shiny paper
laughing, surrounded by the remaints
of your friend's cigarette smoke
or
when I watch you
in your old, worn-out-with-love Levi's
with the overused Adia's running shoes
standing, with me for your shoulders
like I was on top of the world
I say
when I watch you
you framed Kodak memory of a father
who used to be the handsome hero of my life
used to be my best friend
I smile
through your faded memory
I smile
Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 11:53 PM UTC
dozens of lamps on a string, flashing
bass and **** yous hurling in the air
"Cheese".
fifty applications out, no cashing
cold apartments and lots of life's not fair
"Cheese".
lotta pills in my veins, teeth gnashing
at this point, i just don't care
"Cheese".
brother comes out, plates smashing
parents won't share a prayer
"Cheese".
walked outside one night, two guys dashing
bones cracking and small tears and a big tear
"Cheese".
eviction, no help, no compassion
just another Kodak moment
Say "Cheese".
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 2:29 PM UTC
Remnants of firecrackers litter parkgrass, splitting seams once encasing them;
exposed twine ribs attached, stretched out beneath shade like sunken reliquiae
dashed against the earth, as freedom is, withered paper husks abound.
What explosions in the sky were heard
above the quietus of patient submission?
Tracing the dotted white clouds to our horizon with thread and colored cloth,
held breath until nighttime, expelling then
-- as wind does each languishing puff of smoke--
from our lungs, sordid smells of Summer; vanquishing the past.
Isolating each other, like memories on kodak prints
we separately cling to that sleek filmy acquaintanceship of proximity and hue
-- disavowed pariahs and hearts lit anew.
Fused inside one sallow skull-box, which doubled once for holding shoes, we linger.
Ideas, impulses and infringements on the eye, until-- once--
bound, unbroken, encased and unspoken,
our ribs unwind with dew-- after,
unstitching seams outlined from heaven and inundating visions with brightness
we descend.
Violent fumes of childhood intercede amidst our shaking fuses lit.
--and BANG!
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 4:19 PM UTC
across the continent
just my disposable Kodak
and what's on my back
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 4:06 PM UTC
I live here.
My world with edges.
An Oklahoma landscape.
Couldn't bear to be anywhere else.
You live away from me, though.
That failed mystic: Time
Sets his claws
(Teeth seizing ice) then
Bleeds all color from our hair.
But I can live eternally in
A photograph. My mother,
See? In the corner?
Yes. Just there.
When Death sets all god's children free,
There will be room for one.
For I will live in ninety-three
And pray for Kodak sun.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 3:08 PM UTC
In my photo album there's a black and white snapshot from your old Kodak camera. I'm sitting upon your stalwart shoulders with a backdrop of mountainous desert. Upon your height my head is above the hills my smile brighter than the whole blue sky.
I still remember that day. We went to Picacho Peak with a picnic lunch and climbed through the rocks, investigated the arroyos. The desert was alive with wildflowers. I collected some and brought them to you - you named every one.
Bluish-purple lupine. Yellow rabbit's bush.
Orange African daisies. Bright desert poppies. Indian paintbrush, flaring strokes of carmine fire. Pale pink globe mallow.
You have such a brilliant mind, a scientist in love with nature. I think you collected some seed to plant with the cacti in your backyard garden...
I still remember. It was a day that stands like that peak in my memory. The breeze in my curls way up high, upon those mountainous shoulders. It whispered to me of the desert spirits. And our guardian angels sang of the wonders of freedom.
I know you heard it, too.
♡ your daughter,
Catherine
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/20/2016
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 12:40 PM UTC
Venus of Willendorf
You seemed so distant
Cool and aloof on slide
Perhaps I was projecting
In the warm dark womb
Of Lecture Hall B
A silent world but for fan racket
From the Kodak Modal 4600
Eager to please on stiff little legs
Nosing toward the screen
Where you teetered
On impossible feet
Fighting a losing battle
With gravity I found
Touching, *******
No one could ignore
A chassis built
As the bluesman said
For comfort not for speed.
I hear Willendorf is nice
This time of year
Hint of fertility in the alpine air
Your crazy braids beckoning
Braille to a blind man.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 7:41 AM UTC
We ate eggs
And layed in bed
And ******
Whilst looking
At the view
Nothing to do
Other than stare
And care
Captured
And fulfilled
Within each others eyes.
Oysters
And bomb-diving
Seagulls
And Scissor for hands
Without any sound.
Kodak moments
And dressups
Like cowboy
Dapper dan’s
And pomenade.
Coffee and Belgium beer bars
And pirates with patches for eyes.
Silver trayed room service
And a mat for our feet at the side
Of our bed.
And daddy’s boy
With a cammo ****
Underneath
A Cheshire grin
And for five
Short hours
We walked
And talked
And were kept
Enthralled
By the allure
Of retail
Therapy
We accessorised
As if fashion
Were to cease tomorrow
Silver and tins
And etchings in time.
Then tie pins and scarves
And hats with wide brims.
We were lost
In a city of
Bright lights
And street art
And didgeredo’s
And bag ladies with more
Luggage
Than Sydney international terminal.
Bell boys
And valet
And privacy lights
Respite and
2 nights
of enjoying each day
from the
25th floor
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 2:50 AM UTC
Lonely London boy,
A stranger to the City,
A fluffy-haired gull
Lost in a sea of suitcases
And Kodak-clad people.
Big dreams tucked
Into the waistcoat
That hugged his frame
A little too much,
Occasionally glancing
Into café windows to
See how disheveled
He had become
During rush hour
On the Bakerloo Line.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 5:12 PM UTC
I'll put it together
like a club to a heart
or a ***** to a diamond
Like 52
I'm rare on earth,
in the universe
I'm a giant.
Like platinum
Im shinin'
cause I comprehend
science.
So ninja just jump back cause I sleep with
lions.
There is only one like highlander
On my own
lycan islander.
Bleeding through paper
like a *****
err..
She's sounding like a siren.
When she sleep I sit in silence.
Picture that
Her face is priceless.
like kodak
Timmy boy liked this
9 hours ago
I was @
the sto'
96 ounces for 5 bucks?
scientist is out
the do'
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 2:51 AM UTC
Sculpted faces,
aging drama queens,
all the world's stages, this
is after those, these depths
of despair, where no pieces fit,
Kintsugi, fractured flash bulb scene,
an instamatic moment, a Kodak memory.
Nov 20, 2024
Nov 20, 2024 at 4:02 PM UTC
Death is always in the room.
Death was there when you were born,
patiently standing behind the doctor
as he first held you up
and presented you to your mother,
covered in filth and choking for air.
Waiting.
Death was there when you took your first steps,
in case a truck
were to go careening
across your front lawn,
in a freak accident,
slamming through the front window
and into the living room,
ruining the kodak moment.
Death was there for all the important events,
and all the mundane ones:
Looking on with your father
while you learned to ride a bicycle.
Hovering over midfield
during every soccer practice.
One row down from you
in the orchard
during the rainstorm
when you had your first kiss.
And death is still there now,
one instant away from you,
always prepared
for that driver asleep at the wheel,
for that blood clot come unstuck
from the wall of your femoral artery,
for that gunman
suddenly bursting through your door.
But that’s really the beautiful part of it all.
Everything that's ever happened in your life,
everything that mankind has ever accomplished,
every crying newborn baby,
every impossible feat of exploration achieved,
Death was just an instant away—
a shroud around the entire planet
constantly abided and never
broken through
until the very end.
Death is always in the room.
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 9:48 PM UTC