"nikon" poems
related to childhood emotional abuse or neglect...
not to be confused with derealization or 'fantasy prone personality'
maladaptive daydreaming is seeing your face when I fall asleep at night
or hearing your voice in a children's store
"Come look! Look at these shoes!", and seeing you scramble at a pair of sandals
Big brown eyes begging me to buy them as "an early birthday present, just this once."
Maladaptive daydreaming
is blinking and not even having time to register the fact that you'd disappeared
and I was standing alone in the children's shoe aisle,
on my knees holding a pair of sandals
and feeling that same twist in my gut that I did on the day
the papers were signed and my passport was stamped,
to get on a plane to another country
without so much as waving goodbye
Maladaptive daydreaming is crying through anti-abortion rhetoric
and sympathising with teenage mothers
it's seeing you smile behind a nikon camera, calling
"Look at this pretty picture I took! See, see?"
and then realising that I was only smiling at a fallen camera in the sand
Maladaptive daydreaming
is regretting a choice I didn't make
it's steeling my jaw at immature jokes
and relating to all those children raising children
Maladaptive daydreaming
is regretting giving up a daughter
I never had
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 1:17 AM UTC
I wear glasses to see,
Not to look "cool."
I read books to feel intellectually challenged
And go on adventures to new lands,
Not to take pictures of the pages
On my Nikon camera
And get "notes" on Tumblr.
I drink tea to relax myself,
Not to be like everybody else.
Do all these things make me a hipster?
A poser?
Or myself?
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
Had anyone heard of her accidentally?
elsewhere there's no trace.
I saw this paradigm of time drift by.
Leastways Nikon F / Nikkor lens
ER Ektachrome caught her beauty;
never flighty Lavinia Stone:
1/125 F5.6 stood her evergreen.
Grained figurine, patient as light.
Portraiture from heavens sense,
cloudy drizzle
times eminent on blue rays.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 4:28 PM UTC
she had her lingering pale blue eyes
and long blonde hair
skin like paper
dotted here and there with freckles
She was the first
way back when
in the first grade
her name haunted that old farm house
she was the first
A friends sister
back in the sixth grade
she was two years older than me
and **** it
she carried it well
I'd sit next to her
on the sofa
waiting for my friend
to come down the stairs
so we could walk to school
The short brunette
who loved the Chicago Bears
watching that super bowl
in the rec room of my parents' house
truth or dare
a peck on the lips
my seventh grade conquest
bathed in nostalgia
I don't remember who won
I don't even remember who was playing
high school came
and brought with it
a new field of roses
some of them wilted
all of them perfect
I told her she would have made a great mother
and I meant it
my best friend's girl
The little church girl
little robin red cheeked
prom night photos
suits and dresses
and smiles and holding
crystallized in the flash of a Nikon
The girl with her guitar
and her poster
*carpe that ******* diem*
her upper teeth
came out below her curling lip
and when she smiled
a hint of gums
a hint of pearl
the one that time
placed out of reach
in some other place
with some other people
For one night
there was the blonde bombshell
she came to town once a year
like a hurricane
a natural disaster
that I stood outside waiting for
with my umbrella
The ones who were smarter than me
the ones who loved me
when I didn't
the ones who laughed
at my smart *** comments
the ones who were there
to pull me from
the flipped wreckage
of the silver hyundai accent that I miss so much
the ones who wouldn't take any of my ****
the one's I see walking by on the street
the one's I only see behind closed eyelids
the special love I have for all of them
all of them
my baby blue
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 9:23 AM UTC
Outside drizzle not seen
except through
silhouettes of trees.
An old Nikon swings
from the strap
on my neck.
I get excited
about the tree
next to
the most photographed tree.
I let my finger
rest on the wet trigger
and never shoot.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 3:10 PM UTC
Amid an Upper Floor
Of the Ford Building
Was a Friends Studio, For
Commercial Photographing
A Ponderous sized Room
Complete with 12 foot ceilings
6' x 4' foot Softboxes on Stands
10' boom Stand angled is Key Lighting
All Surround a Mottled Muslin Background
1200 Watt Strobe Pack with cord like snakes
To Strobe Heads, Imbue the room with Light
Some soft shadowless, other pin sharp bright
Instantly my mind took in the Possibilities
If I should delve into this Art of Photography
So Enamored was I, to use Studio and Lights
I mopped and polished floor to a Shiny Sight
The feeling I had connecting Camera to cord
I knew that Moment I could ill Afford to
Not Pursue this Pashion as I Shot a.....
Lovely Young Model of Fashion
Accordian Like Toyo Large Format Camera
Ansel Adams treked up mountains to shoot Vistas
Have Stood the test of time, and Anals of our History
Or the Mamya's and Hassleblads Favored By Fashion
The 35mm Nikon F3, though its one I could ill afford
He used to teach Me, and Softboxes the Light Adored
It was Barely Shadowy, A Keylight with a snoot was bright
With Light and Shadow my Palette I began Photography
Of the Studio Life and the Parties at Night,
I could go on and on, Cold Pressed Coffee
Long after Sunrise, was the Ritual of the Yawns
This Tale's How I began the Art of Photography...JMF 3/2/2015
I went on for 10 years Doing Commercial and Weddings
My photo website is www.shamusmediaarts.com
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
Quote: "when I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left and could say: I used everything you gave me"
Only in my dreams
Do I encounter
Branches with real pearls
Rolling down
In a spring breeze
From the depth
Of my gut
I wish to make it real
To build it up
From whatever meets
My expectation
But then I wonder
If I make this
How real will it be?
It was not created
By the vast evolution
We have been subjected to
or was it
perhaps the fact that I'm creating it, is evolution in it's own right
Overthinking my creative process
Killjoy.
I could draw it
And I did.
It was beautiful
Exactly like in my dream
I could build it from
A real branch
Attach pearls to it
But then would it not be
Totally kitch
Bah- kitch!
I could make it from clay
Yeah. No.
I could sing it's perfection
Maybe it sounds like
A high note
Or the piano...
Can't play the piano.
Can sing though...
Maybe!
I could wait for spring
And take a picture
Of raindrops on tree branches
But it's not the same!
Putting away my Nikon.
Maybe
I'll write a poem
About having
all the talent in the world
And not being able
To express my own imagination.
Cruel irony.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
We took the river boat all the way
up the Rio *****
to find the monkey rehab,
some said it was a loonie bin
for problem simians.
And you,
rebellious you,
always breaking protocol,
carried your wares
with you instead.
Did you not realize
the howlers
break the rules too?
Good God, it was the craziest scene.
Two wild ravenous fanged-monkeys ripping
threw your stuff like a whirlwind
spun out of control.
But I bet,
you didn't want that Nikon anyways?!
I wished I'd taken a picture.
Priceless.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 5:48 AM UTC
the perfect photograph
taken with your vintage Nikon D-something-thousand
sharp lines and enlightening contrast
clear edges
exact focus
the sun rising in the horizon
cannot convey the way I feel
about you
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC
On the map there 's a tripod
And an eye blinking trying to focus
Far away on a land called Tierra de Fuego
And there goes my Muse's Range Rover
Greenlaning la luz del amanecer
Tracking butterflies orchids grasshoppers and dragons,
Sad salads and fired bananas and dew
And all sorts of bits and bobs
Keeping corrections to a minimum.
If it looks Topaz
She didn't do it !
She's more like aurora,
Traveling long distance with laughter
Or lenses cooking light with cuddles
Or stir frying a full curried moon over the volcanoes
Of seven types of fired bananas
Always worried about aperture and exposure
My muse wouldn't live without her lens bathing
Diving and swimming into the warm and shallow depth of field
Just as she wouldn't live without her daily dose
Of nine megapixels of bioluminescent plankton
Because my Muse is an addict
My muse is a Nikon D800 addict
and an aurora addict as well
Earthing and grounding relentlessly
The inner storms of morning light
Leading to her native archipelago
Of Tierra del Fuego !!
Sep 19, 2019
Sep 19, 2019 at 6:07 AM UTC
Not new
but new to you
your first Nikon
my father gifted
when he saw
your countless
flowers
it was six years old
but it was like
a wrecking ball
concrete blocks
and mason's tools
tied up in an
ethereal sky blue
ribbon
which sparked
your desire for art
and commerce
coupled with my need
to find again
the line and verse
adrift
in the harbor fog
and record it
for posterity
that ultimately
leveled and rebuilt
reclaiming
in what felt like
three days
a beautiful thing
that will
and should never
cease and desist
Whit Howland © 2019
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 9:13 PM UTC
I carry freight
interstate
eight
hauling gear.
I fear
noting
nothingness hoarded
the nights on my road.
Carrying a load out in
Fresno,
ok
all of this works if you know
Fresno
and I've seen things here
things that made me fear.
I've seen nothingness in the eyes of a lady, the queen of the maybe and maybe that should have been it, but **** happens and we have to deal with it.
There is
more to the ramblings of gamblers or ex drinkers who foam at the mouth for a beer,
and I've been here
sold my soul for a handful of quaaludes
in a back room with some dudes
I can't even remember.
But I remember the fear when the nothingness lit on my shoulder and you carry yourself even though you get older and the road out to Fresno is the same as the last road which was 4,000 years long,
So it seemed
And Lucy who never knew diamonds at all
only the rough hands of bad men in the crack dens of Harlem
until nothingness steamed in and screamed like a Stuka and you think to yourself
Jeez I am one crazy ******
but you're still on the right side of
Interstate eight,
carrying fear like you carry the freight
hoping that no one will see you .
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
' ***** for the masses'
optimum exposure from the seat of social media.
It's complicated
highly overrated
but we love it like a long lost child.
I know
We're being filed away
as *** heads in some distant '
'Futurama'
with Nixon as our neighbour.
aw
please
shoot me now
with a Nikon
processing complete
your videos are ready,
share.
don't care?
don't mind if I do?
who's watching anyway?
Today's Goliath was yesterday's bean
ask Jack how he knew
ask jack how he grew,
it's
all to do with targeted marketing
Plucked out to be slotted in?
congratulations
you
win a prize
I tried to close my eyes
to the hypnotism of it
tried to block my mind
to the greatest ever
conjuring trick
but in reality,
which now airs twice weekly
live on Sky TV
I never stood ' a cat in hell's '
Camera, action, ring the bells
count admirers and
Off we go again.
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 2:54 PM UTC
synrconicity, law of attraction and manifestation
After the redundant
Courtcase I had this morning
Where I was cleared
Of all charges
Thank you very much
I ordered a coffee
In the center of the city
And for no apparent reason
I gaze out of the window
Right behind me.
I try to live in this moment
So there was no reason
For me to turn and look
But as I looked
I watched you pass by
Looking more bear-ish
Than I've ever seen you
I opened my mouth
As though I was going
To say something
Then realising
There's a window inbetween
I went about my day
Casually strolling
As I handeled my Nikon D3200
And as I turned to walk on
There you were again
Again I opened my mouth
As though I was going
To say something
Only to see that
You would not have heard me anyway
I believe all things to have
A purpose and a reason
Yet you're very existance
Only raises questions
That I could not voice
If my life depended on it.
I cannot explain enough
How deeply attracted I am
To your grumpy persona
But perhaps you only
Reflect me in this time and space
I have seen your soul before
And he's so much kinder
Than I precieve you,
The vessel to be.
Then do you go against yourself?
The soul is the boss
But then why do I upset you so much?
My relationship to your soul
Has always been clear and deep.
If only I could reconjure
The lifetimes that made it so.
I did not ask you to come to me
You came on your own accord.
78 lifetimes together
Says a whisper
But then why can't we
Level up now?
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
I see you in a sari made from satin on safari with a Nikon up the Yukon and I picture this while waiting so,
waiting for the yes or no,
follow me and I will show you quality,
don't confuse with quantity.
I have this nagging suspicion
that wishful thinking will
sink me,
but
I see you as the ripples that spread happiness in water which runs slowly through the countryside
where dragonflies and butterflies ride gentle on the gentler breezes
and time slips soft as petals on the falling meadow blossom.
Then I wake to stare out there at the harshness of reality where quantity not quality is the order of the day.
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 10:59 AM UTC