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The photograph hangs on the wall by the window
Three judges appear (one carries a folder),
A tarot card reader, embalmer, engraver
Without much to say and not much of it said
About the boot in the crib and the tire in the bed,
The round faced man and the *** on his head
Painted with flowers and chipped on its edge.
And the cat near the door with its collar and bell
Flailing and airborne and mid caterwaul.
And the three-legged dog with her leash on
And sweater, jubilant, leaping— Mon Dieu! Grand jeté!
And the crow— O the crow! In its cage cawing “Fire!”
The crow crowing “Mayhem!” and “****** most foul!”
The dog and the cat and the crow and the tire,
The cage and the crib, the *** painted in flowers;
All in a frame with a sign alongside—
“Self portrait. Around the Ides of July.”
A ribbon is clipped and then hung for its owner.
It bears the word “Mention” and then the engraver
Makes a note on a form he hands to the embalmer.
The tarot card reader turns— She and her hat,
And addresses the room, “Ain't no card made for that.”

.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
patty m Mar 2015
The lake reflects the blueness of your eyes,
my hands tremble as I hold the photgraph
feeling depths of emotion,
wishing your hands would touch me now.

Summer's warmth floats in heated halos
easy feelings basking in saturated glow.
I melt in the reflection of love's golden rays.
Photographs of picnics beneath cool trees,
shaded smiles, you waving one frame.
In that moment you stand where
my feet are submerged,
drops of water hanging mid-air.
I hold my hand out in the dry July sun,
prisms of love reflecting everywhere,
but you're not here.
K Wolff Aug 2018
Here you are -
frozen in time.
Here i have captured
The warmth of your smile

Lines speak experience,
Framing ageless eyes.
Your infectious radiance
Tells me no lies.

No joy is contained,
No emotion forced.
There is no need for restraint -
No need for remorse.

This moment will survive,
Unspoiled by time and wear.
Even after death arrives,
You'll always be there.
Felt compelled to write something after flicking through the pictures on my phone. I have very few pictures of the important people of my life. I also realised that my favourite pictures were the worst ones.
Cathyy Jan 2016
Libras love hard..
Oh you know us Libras love hard sometimes.. And we are quite sensual,
artistic, sentimental..

Just let this time heal,
Let 2016 fix your heart
Oh I know its hard sometimes
But you deserve more days out of the dark..

We started a friendship through a group chat
This time last year who could've ever imagined that?
Well since then; we've been tipsy in a park and in a *** club
& then I crashed your bike into your skateboard..
And I don't normally sleep early or take photos with people, but now I do

So I want to thank you,
For all the impact you've had
'Hope I made you feel the same, too
You've seen me cry when I'm sad
And laugh with all my heart, you..
Always make it hard for me to stay mad..
Whenever you look at me like that

And when you've hurt me, thats okay baby; you could've done worse things..
Just make up for that, by holding me
Until I stop hurting..
And never, let this connection go
I'll wait for you to move on

Oh on every Sunday..
Whether i'm uploading on Youtube or singing on the pavement;
I will remember turnpike lane station,
And to be honest i just used that because it kinda rhymed (****)
As cheesy and dramatic as i may be
I'll always remain by your side.
Paul Hansford Sep 2018
I have an album
where I keep photos
of places I have lived
places I have visited
people I have known
people I have loved
I keep films
of things I have done
things I have seen
things I even think I have forgotten
but they are all there

you who read this
may not have known the people
not been to the places
not seen what happened
but I can tell you about them

those photos
those films
are not in a book
not in a computer
not even on a memory stick
I keep them wirelessly
in my mind
and I call them up at will
or they come to me
happy or sad
without my wishing it

but the difficult part is
that the drive can be corrupted
memories can be lost
and the day will come
when they will all be erased
unless I can recreate the photos
in your mind
remake the films
by telling you about them

then if you read what I have written
you may make your own pictures
from my thoughts
my words
my memories
and maybe some of them
can live on

I hope they will
Sachiko Jul 2018
He looked at his object with an eye.
So, he came closer to clarify.
An angle that will compliment for each element.
A product that can make a statement.
He chose the bright colors to incorporate.
Because her smile suited a great light.
He focused the subject, and suddenly it was fading.
She was started running.
Running, from the picture perfect life that he created.
She was a medium of unrealistic bliss.
And found herself out of nowhere.
People envied her but they didn’t know the  truth.
She was missing the unfiltered life.
She spaced out, and her heart was bruised.
He was definitely imaginative.
And fooled by unreachable perspective.
He looked at his object with an eye.
Thinking, with her was a root of a great life.
I wrote this during the fall season, and at the same time my brother and his girlfriend broke up. And that situation was my inspiration to just write as I see him every single day trying to figure out all the answers to all his questions.
Esther Dec 2018
They say photographs are precious
Because they remind you that once upon a time
Even just for a heartbeat
Everything was perfect
Looking through my phone
I don't have any pictures
From some of the best days of my life
Because i was too busy dancing in the sunset
Pressing lips against the people i loved the most
To remember to pull out my phone
And snap a picture

Those moments are engraved in my brain
Locked inside my heart's deepest chamber
Melted into every ounce of my soul
Replaying in my wildest dreams every night

I guess the best place to be alive
Is in each other's memories
It's the warmest feeling
An eternal smile on our face
Fingers intertwined
Heartbeats synchronised
Under the stars
On the beach
In the sunset
At the mall
In your bedroom with too little space
With the air on
Cuddling to "The Notebook"

I guess
We are immortal in each other's memories.
I live in your memories.

@3:18am
11/10/18
John Glenn Jun 7
is this how we fix bad photographs?
saturate the focus, craft the perfect banner,
grain enough to feel the gloom
in between the curved lines.
then before our eyes -- perfection
of disgust & delight
if so, then i am just a bunch of
bad photographs
loading
unloading
still
load
- ing
to be curated, and
to create its own color corrections.
-all from Karen
Emma Dec 2018
I took a photo of you
When you didn’t know
You were laughing loudly
And your dimples were in show
Your hands were folded properly
you were looking to your right
Your hair was light and messy
And your eyes sparkled with delight
I hold on to your photograph
As you hold on to her hand
A tear rolls down my flushed cheeks
And on your printed face it lands
I close my eyes and make a wish
A selfish one indeed
My heart is filled with love for you
But my mind is clouded greed
-I’m not usually like this x
Here in this room is the coal scuttle. Sitting precariously close to the fire is the photograph. In the photograph is a shadow on a wall.

In this wall resides a mind which never sleeps. It never rests. Nor does it permit me to rest. Time passes and each time I place the image in the fire I hear a startled scream. The edges of the Polaroid curl up and burst into blue flame. The edges of my mind are plastic; malleable neurons that have been distorted by that shadow.

In exhaustion, I have collapsed for what seems minutes and awake each time to the rustle in the scuttle. The sound of a cornered rat ready to lunge at my throat? No, the photograph has survived every time. It is always there;  waiting, watching, listening, eager to continue it's burrowing into my mind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The shadow has emerged from the background and seeped into my room. It wants me. It lies on my skin and enters my pores.
It is pulling me into the photograph and I am no longer myself.

A stranger enters my room. She looks curiously at the photograph.

I look back from the shadows of which I am a part. A hand discards me into the fire. I scream in terror and cry out. Soon it is over and I look at the room. In my bed that young girl sleeps. She is restless and as her eyes open she looks disturbed. I have become what she will become. Terror leaks from her lungs and she screams! Her screams resonate with my own. The photograph is hurled into the fire again in unsedated shock. My mind explodes with fear and it is then I notice the shadows are a crowd of shadows. A multitude of collected tenants.

The girl collapses once again. The fire flickers. The coals remain unstoked. A scuttle rests beside the fireplace. I stare out from the photograph.
Pyrrha Aug 2018
It took looking at your pictures today
To remind me why I deteste your name
Taking them before I didn't know they'd linger with pain
Curse the digital world
Where I can't watch you turn to ash in a radiant flame
Captured moments in time
Nestled between my fingers
A treasured piece of that time
Past feelings tend to linger
Back to when you were mine
Caught within a frame
I hold this piece of you
The only piece unchanged
Unlike my love for you
People tend to fade
Into something unrecognizable
Familiarity ceases to remain
When I say I love you
Tis a lie that holds some truth
Reserved for the person you once were
My beloved that you outgrew
Saudia R May 26
You ever just look at an old photograph

One where you were bright eyed

Toothy grin from ear to ear

And you just stare at it

Really stare at it

and can't help but think

God




How the hell

Were you ever that young
Couldn't believe the way I used to think. The things I would say to myself. I really wish I could go back in time, not even to change anything, but to give younger me a glimpse of why she has to go through all her hardships and why it was the best thing to ever happen. #strongerforit #thankfulformysupport
Mystic Ink Plus Aug 2018
They said
Picture speaks
A thousand words

To be true
Nobody ever heard
What it speaks

Though all of us
Assume something
Though all of us
Make some sense
Though all of us
Feel something special
Though all of us
Have something to say
Though all of us
Try to understand more

Probably
Picture speaks
Through the eyes
Without a voice
Genre: Observational
Donall Dempsey Aug 2018
A GHAOTH ANEAS!
( O SOUTH WIND! )

My six year old father
stares from a photograph

splendid in  his sailor suit
standing outside time.

He will not survive
Ypres.

There is no photograph to show
him as a soldier.

Mother couldn't bear them.
Burned them.

She forever talking to
him in her head

loving his Devonshire
accent.

A thrush is singing from behind
enemy lines.

Spring can't understand
humans and their ways

dresses the trees
in their freshest  green.

"Jack...Jack Jack!" she cries
to the wind from the south.

A Ghaoth Aneas!
( O South Wind )

"Sin chugaibh mo phóg ar rith ins an ród
Leigim le seol gaoithe í."

( Here goes my kiss to you rushing along the road
I send it on the wings of the wind.)
South Wind was written in the 1700s by Domhnall Meir-geach Mac Con Mara( "Freckled Donal Macnamara" )in homesickness for his homeland( after he was banished for some 'misdoings' )in County Mayo. This sublime melody has a very Carolan-ish air about it...essence of my Irish childhood. I used to hum it to myself for comfort when my sister Junie was killed in a bus crash back in the world of '67.

A Ghaoth Aneas!

A Ghaoth Aneas na mbraon mbog glas
A ní gach faiche féarmhar
Bheir iasc ar eas is grian i dteas
Is líon is meas ar ghéagaibh

Más síos ar fad mar mbínn féin seal
Is mianach leat-sa séide
Cuirim Rí na bhFeart dhod chaomhaint ar neart
‘S túir don tír sin blas mo bhéil-se!

Sínim aneas ag díonamh cleas
Nach ndíonann neach san saol so
Mar íslím gaimh is scaoilim leac
Is díbrim sneachta as sléibhte

Ó taoi tú ar lear go bhfuí tú mo neart
‘S gur mian liom do leas a dhéanamh
Go bhfúigfe mé mo bheannacht ins gach aon tslí ar mhaith leat
Is choíche i gCathair Éamoinn!

A Chonnachta an tseoid, an tsuilt ‘s an spóirt
I n-imirt ‘s i n-ól an fhíona
Sin chugaibh mo phóg ar rith ins an ród
Leigim le seol gaoithe í

Tá mise beo i mboige na seod
Mar a mbrúitear gach sórt bídh dhom
Ach is mian liom fós tarraing d’bhur gcomhair
Muna gcluine mé ach ceól píopa!

O South Wind!

O South Wind with the soft clear drops
You that make every sword grassy
Bring the fish to the waterfall, give heat to the sun
And abundance of fruit to the branches

If it is far to the north where I once lived
That you are minded to blow
May the King of Power preserve your strength
And give the taste of my mouth to that country!

I blow from the south, performing feats
Which no one else on earth can do
For I lay winter low and scatter the ice
And banish the snow from the mountains

Since you are in need you shall have my strength
And I want nothing more than to help you
I shall leave my blessing in every place you choose
And always in Cathair Éamoinn!

O blissful, joyous, sporting Connacht
Home of gaming and of wine-drinking
Here goes my kiss to you rushing along the road
I send it on the wings of the wind

I am living in splendid luxury
Where every kind of food is dressed for me
But yet I am fain to draw towards you
If I should hear but the music of the pipes!
thelemonpolice Jul 2018
This love is a scab on my skin
What once was coursing through my veins
Lies flat atop my skin
I keep picking at the edges
I give into the itch
no wonder it won't heal
When everyday it splits
It leaks onto my clothing
It spills from underneath
It stains all that I'm wearing
and makes me grit my teeth
a shower couldn't help me
it stings, I don't feel clean
I wish I could stop picking
But now it's just routine
I wish I would stop scratching
Reopening the wound
Itching just to look at one more
Photograph of you
Itching just to pick up
My phone and speak again
Itching because this skin
wasn't good enough for him.
I have made a song based on this poem, check it out! >>>>> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CkpvmFH3n44
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