"lense" poems
Seriously?!
I'm a ****
Wait. No you're not. Hold on.
I can't find...
I can't find my ******* Help me look.
blankets flung.
nothing.
You're...
you're laughing right now?
How could you not?
Can you see that
we're standing in a
giant pond of
ridiculosity.
a glasses lense
popped out.
hair a nest
of invisible
rodents.
his belt
all askew worried
face pursed
lips.
shirt tails- a crumpled
facade of the pressed
summer evening shadows
outlined behind
the lawn sprinklers from
the night before.
and in the cab
to work
phone almost
dies. 37 degree damp
heat pressing
against the car
like a monroe-type
kitten from the
50s.
the morning world
bustling awake
the driver asks
'you work this
afternoon?'
shake my head 'no'
slowly working the
knots out of my
hair
brace for the last
day.
And I'm
still missing
my underwear.
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 1:02 AM UTC
Facing the day with upmost pride,
Praising each ray of warm, caring, wonderful sunlight,
No matter the weather, they shine brilliantly, as children of the earth
Being happy about rain, these flowers only grow thankful, for what it's worth
Because these rain drops may look like tears, the scene may be sad,
No sound, but the gentle tapping of the falling water onto the ground,
but a lone standing Helianthus won't feel bad,
For it felt joy in this weather,such can be difficult for some to be found
A mysterious, yet beautiful lense, once the sky opens up a little for the sunlight to travel through again, inviting a rainbow through the sound of wind,
My pessimistic outlook of this weather, the raindrops looking alike tears, changed, through it's brightness, rather don't they look like jewels of some kind ?
My heart won't be drenched by sorrow,
Alike a helianthus, I shall look softly, gently towards the sky,
Towards the azure, ceiling beyond me.
~Umi
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 6:05 PM UTC
I am you, you are me
There is no difference inside to see
The color of your skin, hair or eyes
Does not represent what’s inside.
Physical traits come from the family tree
They give roots, history and a sense of identity
But inside we have the same blood, the same heart
So when does prejudice begin to take part?
Babies are born without preconception
They feel love and comfort from their caregiver’s affection
Their new eyes are blind to ignorance
They see through a clear lense and don’t see difference
As they develop, society gives them glasses,
Their vision gets clouded by the opinions of the masses
The lenses get darker as they grow
They filter the world to see only colors they know
Differences become obstacles, not celebrated.
Leaders tell them who to respect and who should be hated.
These biased views could remain for a lifetime
And then they’re passed down to the next one in line.
Opinions are essential, shared thoughts educate.
But when they’re bigoted and hateful we cannot tolerate.
Take those blinders off, take a look around.
There’s so much joy in diversity to be found
Don’t let the blindfold give such a narrow view
Don’t be complacent and take what is given to you
Rip off the filter, open your eyes
Find connection, common experience, destroy the lies
Revel in these connections, learn from one another
We’re all trying to get through from one day to the other
See through the skin, the hair, the accent
To the core of the HUMAN BEING with love and respect.
Jan 11, 2021
Jan 11, 2021 at 11:43 AM UTC
I've had a taste of my father's medicine
But it wasn't in any way a cure.
It stung like the strongest kind of heroine
That made me prisoner in this ****** moor.
It was an addictive transformation
Where I almost lost myself
A painful venom was set in motion
Yet I didn't want to cry for help.
I don't need those foggy glasses
I'm a man with a spider's sense
I weave courage while I kick some *****
Not a nerd who cleans his camera's lense.
But how can I be called strong
If I couldn't even beat this irony
Though I save a hundred people all day long
I couldn't protect those who are dear to me.
If only I could defeat the monster
This eight-legged demon inside me
I wouldn't have to say "In great power
Comes great responsibility."
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 1:25 AM UTC
NO.
Two ruby marks.
I can feel them bloated against my hand.
Like glue or blood.
Meat, metaphorical and incarnate.
Not that. It means nothing to me.
The milky light falls upon it as
I catch it from the corner of my own milky lense.
No.
The first and eternal struggle,
And still I march on and pray
It doesn't end.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
Created by dopamine and memories entitled with the sweetness of life, this process of thought becomes a nice place to rest and hide,
From the cruelty of what misery life could hold upon us if we didn't fight back, do something to make a day blissful, at least for a moment,
Serene and clear, events which occur far or near, are a trigger for this,
Created by an imaginated landscape inside my heart, forming from the techtonics of the transience, from those I hold dear to myself,
Step by step, on passing time, joyful memories seep through my head,
Sure there are those, who would find glee in even a clouded raining sky, but it is well to know; it comes in all different kinds and ways,
A mysterious but beautiful lense, reflected by a raindrop from the drizzling cloud, whichs mission it is to fertilise the earth, so may life grows out from the gentleness of the suns majestic golden light,
Perspective, is what makes thoughts wonderful and happy, or drenched in the deepest misery of ones own nightmare fueled fears,
Rain drops, seen as tears could turn to jewels, cast in the smile of your beloved, sitting with them, watching the rain showering a landscape,
No matter the weather, this world shines brilliantly as long as you keep your heart from being drenched by sorrow and let it soar into the blue sky, carefree, pure and filled with wonderful happy thoughts
Umi
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 10:47 PM UTC
There were six horses,
Abaco Barbs - black, white, tan -
enclosed in my Olympus's lense.
The camera reached through deadwind
that whipped the Huey's window,
painted a staggered line where the herd had been.
It was fall 1977,
Abaco's Independence Movement had ended;
Oliver and WerBell were gone,
having run off like photographed horses -
distant, almost ignorant of me (at some point,
they must've assumed there were wildlife
photographers inside Abaco). It was fall
1977:
the ornamental Allamanda still rustled in deadwind;
the starfruit still ripened and fell. It was fall
1977 and that country
was nearly the same as it'd always been.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
I have fallen in love
With the air, the trees
The thinly paved and often cracked roads
And even moreso with those covered in cobblestone.
I have fallen in love with the tanned locals
Old shopkeepers with hats and bifocals
Their calling voices
The natural movement of their hands
The cool sea water
And hot white sands.
I have fallen in love with espresso
And how it feels in my throat
The smell of leather
Taste of gelato
Harbours full of fishing boats
The sound of a vintage vespa
Weaving its way through a crowd
The arguing couple, arguing loud
And this is a country of which to be proud.
I have fallen in love with the architecture
The vast and complex history
The more I learn the more I admit is a mystery.
I have fallen in love with the way the sun shines brighter
The air is fresher
And the fruit is sweeter
The men are bolder
And the books are cheaper.
I have fallen in love with the words they say
And how those words effortlessly roll off their tongues
I breathe in their culture
And try to hold it in my lungs.
Pizza, pesto, cute cafes
Absence of anxiety, holidays
The tourists who view it all through a camera lense
Adventure begins and tension ends.
I have fallen in love with it all
Every flower
Every hue
All those pairs of knock-off sunglasses
I love them too.
Every cloud
Every ray of sunshine
Every drop of ***** riverwater
Every painted line
Every brick
Of every church
On all those hills
In all those tiny towns
That populate the green countryside
And every visionary who in them has lived and died
I love
But most of all
I have fallen in love with the version of me
That comes out when I am in Italy
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
don't say it's me
this problem
you are holding onto
it cannot be me
don't say it
don't let those words fall out of your mouth
(just so you know)
i am new
i am beautiful
i am irreplaceable
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 3:19 AM UTC
Like air to lungs
Like love to lovers
Like life to death
Till death do us part
Till God makes us see
In him we all need
One another
One after the other
Brotha & Brother
Sister 2 Sista
Like water to a well
Lets not wait until it runs dry
Eyes wont dry
Until another color cries
With us, not for us
There is only one race
the hueman race
translation
man of color
many colors of men
Color coated pain
Assorted flavors of oppression
All leave a bitter taste
In the mouth of a wordsmith
these words hit like bricks
against walls
in glass houses
with paper doll people
the revolution is being televised
because revolution cannot be heard
without being seen
focus your lense
See yourself
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
i've picked apart myself
the pieces that make sense
looking through a rose-tinted lense
of being content
i'll walk behind them
my friends who dance
along the lines of more than friends
and i'll clap and smile
i'll keep tabs on them
their pinkies intertwined
awkward and flushed, i laugh at their faces
as i feel a pang in my chest
these glasses are broken
maybe, i ask myself
i don't need it, i say
but i know inside that
i will always wonder what it's like
i'm at the end of the bridge
steps slow and quiet
to not make a sound
i give them privacy
as they share a kiss
tender and discreet
discreetly, i sigh
i'm at the bridge's end and they've walked past me
but i lean against the railing and think
"when will i?"
Jan 2, 2022
Jan 2, 2022 at 2:31 AM UTC
"The telephoto lense is slightly cracked,
But everything else is in pristine condition,"
I said, straightening up.
"She's served me well over the years."
You raised your eyebrows.
"She?" you asked, quizzically.
"Well, of course she.
Actually, Bella.
She's named after my grandmother who..."
I caught myself.
"Oh, you don't want to hear this."
"No, please go on."
I took a deep breath, and continued.
"She was named after my grandmother, Bella,
Who first introduced me to photography.
Grammy Bella gave me her old Polaroid
For my eighth birthday.
It was just..."
My voice trailed off,
"The coolest thing."
You smiled.
A picture perfect smile.
Flash.
I continued,
"My life is a series of documented flashes.
Lost my first tooth; flash!
Played in my first concert; flash!
Sang a solo for chorus; flash!"
"Wow," your voice cracked,
Nothing more than a whisper.
" I think I'd like to buy it."
I stumbled through the filing cabinets
Of my subconscious mind,
Thumbing through old flashes...
"Actually, it's not for sale."
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 6:28 PM UTC
It begins the same way it ends.
Fluorescent combinations of photonic crystals,
Burning beneath my skin, into my gaping soul.
These are my lights.
Gripping tightly to is base, holding it steady,
Peer through its open lense.
Record each and every moment.
This is my camera, so let it commence.
Take 1.
A mother wails as her baby rolls out.
Physicians stagger in, along with nurses.
NICU is now home to the baby girl who
Came 2 months before she was due.
02/01/1995 - the unforgettable date that
I changed my family’s lives.
Take 2.
Fast forward to when everyone else’s
Nightmare’s become my reality.
The thoughts took over my anatomy,
Constricting blood vessels in my brain
And with every heartbeat those enlarged
Vessels collided with my skull – throbbing.
A rainbow of pasty pills dissolved on my tongue,
Releasing their chemicals into my ocean-like blood stream.
Take 3.
Every waking day had not only become a
Physical struggle but in fact a psychological endeavor.
The thoughts hindered my perception of reality,
Just as cumulous clouds darken the suns light.
Back seat riding with my negativity leading
Me through a tunnel of self-destruction.
Take 4.
Addicted.
To the bottle, the drugs, and the razor blade.
Addicted.
The dullness of the liquor,
The euphoric journey the drugs took me on and,
The intoxicating aroma the blood gave off
As it poured down my wrist
Shaped my addictions to that of self-annihilation.
Those were my Actions.
It ends the same way it began.
Fluorescent combinations of photonic crystals
Burning beneath my skin, into my gaping soul.
Now this is the end.
If my life was a Motion Picture;
I would go back and film it again,
But this time validating true happiness.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Life without her is like life without the sky, 70% of what it could be. Those were the first words i heard of her and they've never left me since.
She could make anything and anyone sound enticing; she does make everything and everyone sound enticing. She makes me complete; she makes me a poet. Maybe it's because she's so poetic simply by the way she is. The way her words flow out of her so effortlessly; the way she'll pick up and leave at a moments notice if it means an adventure with one of her many human infatuations; the look she gives when her words aren't enough to show her affections; the way she gives me that look with those cherry eyes of hers. The way she looks when i speak of those cherry eyes cause the meaning of that description still baffles her to this day; how she doesn't know the way her eye lashes curl up and flare out, more than ever in those moments; how's there's a sparkle in her eyes she'll never see because it only comes out when she gives that look, a look im sad to think she'd never give her self. She'll never see herself. She sees energies and dynamics and persons and places and sometimes it's through a lense of grey, but her view is spectacular unlike any other; this is why when im with her i get caught up in the moment, nothing but what matters matters. I share a glimpse of that view just for a while; it's like driving when the sun is setting and finally coming to an open field with the perfect view. But the view of her is better. I don't want to experience anything new but with her; each and every abandoned house, nights of wasting a full tank of gas, adventures on bus rides to unplanned places, all the seasons and random trips without reasons.
We first met in summer, sometime in june. The days were sweet and we'd only fall asleep to our tune. Now fall will come and as the wind will carry away our bad thoughts we'll only be left with the good ones that we'll leave on the pages of our notebooks we found together. I know we'll carry on until winter, drinking our coffee to keep us warm after cold sleepless nights because i wasn't there to be her blanket and she wasn't there to block everything out of my mind. Then spring will be next, our last new season together. When the cherries blossom and you'll still wreck the car before you hit that possum and ill never want those cherry eyes to end watching those morning skies with me. And when those cherry eyes can't see the colors of those cherry skies ill show you its colors through a not so poetic description, hoping that in your world of grey i can accurately portray the beauty of its rays because my eyes are the same color as your view and my soul wants to share any part it can with you.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
I roam from here to there
Until i’m everywhere
And everything
Dancing in the graveyard of my past,
cracking the bones of our memories
Beneath my nimble feet.
I dance until my soul is dust in the wind
And travels across bodies of blues,
And greens,
As purple women swim ****
Before my eyes.
Their energy morphs into beams of light,
Until all that’s left are fantastic flames,
That illuminate
The voids of spaces,
Purple faces,
Blue auras,
Green eyes,
Red flames
That burn beneath me
As I descend into the evening,
Falling to my knees and praying for beautiful Death,
For we are familiar friends.
The reaper’s boney fingers grasp the curves of my waist.
The silence is our music
As we waltz for centuries in one moment,
as I watch history unfold
before my purest lense of perception;
A kaleidoscope of fear and love,
Like two opposing warriors holding hands
And sharing secrets.
I wake up from a dream in a cold sweat,
Spat out by the portal of sleep.
I celebrate nirvana,
And thank Death, as I swim in it's dark nebulous.
I await the universe to kiss my eyes
And ask it to release me from this endless wander
in this human form
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 2:55 PM UTC
I wish I could write something
That pierced the wool
Pulled over your eyes.
Your depression, your nihilism;
The things keeping you coupled
To the miserable lense of your life.
Cause there are so many things,
That are just perspective.
And everything else,
We could work through together.
I fear you can't imagine, what
It would be like, to improve.
Walk the world afresh, renewed.
Just so long as you're comfortable,
It doesn't matter if you're happy.
We could be something wonderful,
But you can't see.
That's the real tragedy
Jun 19, 2023
Jun 19, 2023 at 11:18 PM UTC
*The art we make.
Child of our imagination.
Looking back at us.*
The farmer let us into his old
Storehouse. Where food and
Goods had been stacked and hanging
Centuries ago, there were piles of
Rubble and memorabilia.
Half drunk and inspired, we filled
A bag with old objects. Brass scales,
Leather blacksmith protective glasses,
Razor blades and what not.
"Guess were going steampunk," you
Concluded, and I agreed.
We spoke briefly of bats, and
Retreated. Back home, the fire was still
Going. You sat down with your
Drink on the floor, arranging objects
Onto the canvas. Bronze spray paint and
A sharper eye for detail than I ever
Had. You nearly forgot to drink your
Wine, and apart from my applying some
Sealing foam and other handyman
Touches, it was all your creation.
I helped you to your feet -glass in hand-
And you stood there with a paint stained
Finger on your chin. Pensive; still working.
A part of me stumbled slightly deeper in
Love with you there, another took your
Picture in my mind, my eyes blinking
Like the lense of a camera, before you
Tilted your head against my shoulder,
Eyes not leaving the work in progress.
*"Don't you just love it? The art we make.
Child of our imagination.
Looking back at us."*
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
Dont overplay your hand,
I'm the type of Aries to
Throw caution to the flames.
Set a fire
And watch it burn
Watch as you learn
Yearn for the heat of my rage
Lust. My love oxidised you to rust.
I blush
I digress
And I rush.
If that's not living
When 100 I'm giving,
Then I'm already lost on forgiving.
When through dust I'm sieving,
Looking for Hope
And for my mind to cope,
Truly lost yet never got the scope.
Looking through a different lense,
Cleanse, forgive and love true friends.
Life's what you shape it,
And I will find form,
Lived in chaos:
Thought before the storm.
Though now no longer
Find myself torn,
In life anew I am reborn.
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 3:58 AM UTC
I know you're supposed to be that thing
That thing that keeps me grounded.
That thing that keeps my feet on the floor.
That thing that keeps me from drifting away.
But lately I've been floating.
And I don't know if you know what that feels like.
It feels timeless
and weightless
and sunless
and empty.
I feel empty.
My days melt to weeks and my weeks melt to months.
My body feels like a crisp breeze of air that I just can't inhale.
My eyes only see through a cloudy, dismal, forsaken lense.
And well gravity,
It's all because you seem to be absent.
Now I need you to understand that I'm not asking you to hold me down.
Because I'd rather float aimlessly than be trapped under your hold.
But I just know that if we work together,
We can create a beautiful compromise of flying and crawling
And I think normal people just call that living.
Don't get me wrong the blood is pumping through my veins so I know i'm alive
But if your lips can no longer muster the energy to smile
And your eyes can no longer muster the energy to cry
And if the forces of attraction are no longer attracted to you
Are you really living?
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 10:48 AM UTC
I spy with my life's eye
a hidden lense out of the coroner's eye
from birth to a blade
love or hate on a single-stage,
one made the cut the other died.
May 9, 2022
May 9, 2022 at 12:32 PM UTC
Now! is the time
for those loved least
A howl!
assembles the spooks, kooks, and beasts
An umbral lens looks
at cracks between light
Be brave! Embrace inspired fright
Reach into the shadow
and we just might make friends
with the spectre called Life
We are alive! Let's celebrate this
divergent experience we co-create
Feb 9, 2025
Feb 9, 2025 at 11:12 PM UTC
Persons who, not agreeing with you,
Will tell you, your perspective is wrong.
That lived experience,
Has clouded your lense of reality.
But they offer no real difference
Nothing so substantive
As to say,
Mine is fixed
And based in a place
Of true, unbiased rationality.
Jul 10, 2023
Jul 10, 2023 at 11:31 AM UTC
Honestly
I can't sleep
Haven't slept for weeks,
Not because of you,
Or maybe,
Not entirely.
Not this time.
See, the problem is,
I'm so stressed out
Over nothing much
Just school.
Which is really just dumb.
What's school anyway?
Why am I stressed over it?
Just because it's such a huge deal to you?
Just because it's how you measure my value to you?
Is that why?
Because I seriously can't sleep
I'm freaked the **** out
I have this giant twisted contorted ball of nervous energy inside me
I don't know how to get rid of it.
It's so rarely I care enough about anything to get this stressed over it.
What is different this year?
Is it just everything all at once?
Our relationship slowly dying while you seem to be oblivious
My depression getting worse instead of better because
I can't measure up!
To you.
All the pressure on me...
Grades.
Depression.
Getting better. (As if it's that easy)
Being "respectful". (As if I know what that includes)
I feel like you don't even like me anymore.
I feel like I've failed so horribly I can never make it right.
I feel like you expect me to be someone I don't know how to be.
I feel like I can never be respectful enough, smart enough, responsible enough for you to like me.
I feel like you aren't there for me.
I feel like you don't understand me and don't want to.
I feel like you expect me to try and understand you, and then everything will be fine.
(As if I don't have needs too. As if I don't matter. As if you are all that matters. As if you really don't care about me, but only yourself and your wants and needs.)
I feel like you have no emotions except for anger and that's why you can't understand me. (Not that you try)
I feel like I can't trust you.
But most of all I feel like I can't tell you any of this.
Because you won't understand.
Because you wont' care.
Because you won't try.
Because you will only see it through your lense and your eyes and not mine.
Because you will say "that's not true" and "you're living a lie" and "you get something stuck in your mind and you hold on to it and don't listen to what I'm saying..."
But you don't listen to me! You don't see me! You don't understand me!
And I know it's selfish of me to want you to understand...
I know it's self-centered of me to not try harder to understand you...
I know I should spend more time trying to fix how I relate to you than I do trying to get you to understand me...
I know the way I only take care of myself drives you crazy...
I know I should be more selfless, more caring, more understanding, more open minded, more respectful...
I know I'm too selfish.
I know I'm a trouble maker.
I know all I do is cause problems.
I know you wish I was someone else.
The thing is,
I wish I was someone else too.
Even though
Everyone else
Except you (of course)
Even my brothers
Tell me all the time
How
Beautiful
Caring
Supportive
Sweet
Thoughtful
Nice
Funny
Loving
Good friend
Good listener
Good person
Wonderful person
Great writer
I am.
Even my therapists.
Even my teachers.
Even Mom. (though she only means it sometimes)
And the thing I just don't understand.
Is how.
You could think I'm such a terrible person,
When,
Everyone else around me
Thinks the opposite.
I don't know who to believe.
Am I good?
Am I who you say I am?
Am I really a wonderful person?
Because the stuff they say is true.
I do
Care about people.
Help people.
Listen to people.
Love people.
Write well.
Speak to people.
Encourage people.
Support people.
People love me.
Why don't you?
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
At times one gets the notion to get lost
Just walk upon a track many seldom go
Take a staff to steady the rough stuff
Supplies shelter food some tools its so
Camera mobile spare batties axe knife
Pens pads matches or lense for camp fire
Alone your soul your home your very own
Peaceful thinking time bed roll silent desire
Ridding ones mind of stresses not yours
Allowing mind soul to take an earned break
Away from endless followers of total garbage
You the moon stars natures gifts thus to take
Away from gas bag preachers politicians too
A fool a mule knows how they lie as they do
Wasting others lives like the wasps in hives
Such a time its time of this time I knew
https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRUojXUAVtxElL3c2ysK3b5YqCy8x0S2EdHNGscTuUKaWSCYm77
terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 9:34 PM UTC
At first, I caught a delusion...
Of what simply needed to fade away
The paperboy comes here with his pay
And seems to stay here all day
He signs all my documents with a rubber stamp
And brings back my drugs like a champ
Temporary placements...
Deciding not to burn out
I went outside to hear my neighbourhood's point on doubt
All of them had varying opinions
And each one of them had to shout
I smiled and said "Don't shout, don't pout!"
I was determined that it would never happen again
And now the same person comes here with a blood drop on his lense
He said he slipped and fell and cut himself on the sharp edges of the fence
I told him to use soap, rinse and cleanse
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 6:37 AM UTC