"photographed" poems
you were the photographer
that never photographed me.
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 8:29 PM UTC
I was really born with green eyes
They resemble emeralds
But it seems the biggest green eye I have
is the eye of jealousy
I see beautiful people doing beautiful things
Making art, making jewelry, getting photographed
All while getting paid to do what they love
Half of me wants to be happy for them
but the darker half gets glowing green eyes
My biggest dream is to do what I love while supporting myself and my loved ones
Yet people as young as my age are already doing it, and have been for all of their life
Makes my soul wary and weak and just want to sleep
I'm so jealous of all of you
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
Sometimes I wonder
About all these screens
Reality captured and controlled
Designed and refined
Groomed to an idealistic state of too good to be true
Making it a bit too easy to day dream
Sometimes I wonder
About all those moments
Those times so clearly photographed
With a piercing sting behind the camera
Fantasy proposing the changes that can't be made
For those moments that you can't forget
Sometimes I wonder
About all I haven't seen
Billions upon billions of molecular possibilities
Shown through animals, forests, seas, circumstances
All going on beyond the length of my perceptions
Giving me a yearning for more than before
But...
Sometimes I know
Despite all the anxieties of self perception
The hindsight consumption pressuring pointlessly
And the necessary humility in a world that is small itself
That there's a lot I can do to find contentment in life
And plenty of time to do it
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
In an old...
wallet
box
attic
was an old faded photograph of a photographer.
Meant to be...
left alone
put to rest
forgotten
it was since then brought back by nostalgia and the impossible life that was now to be lived without you.
You liked to be...
behind
smiling through
holding the camera
as you were the photographer but not this time, as you were the photographed...
In front of
smiling at
holding a pose
while I became the photographer, photographing you, the freshly captured photographer in the faded photograph.
In an old...
dream
heart
memory
you never faded but remained the still whole of a perfect silhouette.
The perfect photographer preserved in the perfectly faded photograph for...
love
life
forever.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC
"...a frozen memory, like any photo,
where nothing is missing, not even,
and especially, nothingness..."
-- Julio Cortázar, "Blow Up"
Mirror-mad,
he photographed reflections:
sunstorms in puddles,
cities in canals,
double portraits framed
in sunglasses,
the fat phantoms who dance
on the flanks of cars.
Nothing caught his eye
unless it bent
or glistered
over something else.
He trapped clouds in bottles
the way kids
trap grasshoppers.
Then one misty day
he was stopped
by the windshield.
Behind him,
an avenue of trees,
before him,
the mirror of that scene.
He seemed to enter
what, in fact, he left.
5.8k
*****
Abused.
Photographed in the ****
or even,
had a sextual comment told too.
Doesn't label you,
anything less than how you see you.
So stop **** shaming your victimized chicks,
who didn't seem to like you from your un puberized ****
No one asked for this ****
so do not blame them for it,**
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC
Pretty girl
I want to see you smile
I'm going to use that line
like it's going out of style
You're cute, wonderful and beautiful, it's true.
There is nobody else as amazing as you.
You brighten up the day with your smile
Don't hesitate to keep on shining
Because of this little miss,
Take some time to see
There is something special deep inside yourself
Nobody is quite like you
There is nobody else that smiles
The way you do
I want the spotlight upon you
Every time you're smiling
It lights up the night
like neon signs
It's brighter than starry skies
Just like the moonbeams
It ignites the soul
Every time I see you smiling
It brings the joy I've never felt before
Just smile, like you're getting photographed
There is nothing better than that
Smile, let the whole world shine
Love can be felt all around the world
Right after you smile, so smile.
Just like the sun that shines
the dark clouds away
That grin that perfectly fits your lips
Your beautifully lit up face
Through your eyes
All the darkness in me
Fades to light
You're the image of perfection
Inside of this mind
You're the only exception
So keep burning bright
Like city lights
Keep bringing happiness to all
that surrounds you
Because you're infectious
In all the best ways
And I pray, you'll always remain the same
I want the spotlight upon you
Every time you're smiling
It lights up the night
like neon signs
It's brighter than starry skies
Just like the moonbeams
It ignites the soul
Every time I see you smiling
It brings the joy I've never felt before
Just smile, like you're getting photographed
There is nothing better than that
Smile, let the whole world shine
Love can be felt all around the world
Right after you smile, so smile.
Hey honey,
Let your energy
guide your way
Hearts on your sleeve
inspiring me each and every day
When I'm around you
Feels like there is nothing I can't do
Don't need another pick me up...
Princess, I've got you.
You're turning me around
With your outlook on life
Always remaining optimistic
through the hardest times
through grace and positivity
You always manage to smile
I want the spotlight upon you
Every time you're smiling
It lights up the night
like neon signs
It's brighter than starry skies
Just like the moonbeams
It ignites the soul
Every time I see you smiling
It brings the joy I've never felt before
Just smile, like you're getting photographed
There is nothing better than that
Smile, let the whole world shine
Love can be felt all around the world
Right after you smile, so smile.
©2019 Written By Benji James
Jun 16, 2019
Jun 16, 2019 at 8:33 AM UTC
I. you don't even know who you are yet, but you still have to stand on top of buildings and scream what you stand for. people won't hear your values unless you write it on their skin and tattoo it into their minds, so that’s what you’ll do.
II. you aren't vain or stupid for idolizing singers with blonde hair and blue eyes, because they look like you, and yet they’re strong and beautiful. it’s okay when you connect to their music then you connect to your favorite boy band. they’ll teach you how your resident ******* means nothing compared to you. they’ll teach you how to winged eyeliner, and how to put your hair in a messy bun. they’ll teach you a new love for songwriting and you’ll probably want to start playing guitar, but the biggest thing is that you relate to them and they give you confidence.
III. wear your ******* choker and straighten your hair (or leave it wavy if you’d rather). wear your dark eyeliner and cover your eyelashes with mascara. if you want to wear blue knee high socks, please do. keep your hipster shoes untied if you want. ignore the ******* who thinks you look nice but not in the right way, and go buy that dark lipstick you've been wanting for weeks.
IV. don’t trust the people that tell you Taylor Swift has too many boyfriends, and that Beyonce dances too ****** they are the people that will criticize you for wearing a crop top and ripped jeans. they’ll pull you out of math class to change out of your short shorts, and you’ll be forced to watch as the boys you were ‘distracting’ succeed in class while you’re crying in the middle of the night trying to catch up.
V. take more pictures of the scenery. those pink clouds you thought were pretty deserve to be photographed, so do it. they won’t always be around and you have to follow your instincts sometimes. stop taking so many pictures at concerts. they don’t really mean anything to you, and it’s more important to listen to the music that helps you breathe. cry when they sing your favorite song, and feel your dreams expanding as you watch.
VI. please take care of yourself. when you need help, ask for help, or everything will spiral out of control too quickly. get enough sleep and stick up for yourself when you’re being pushed down. stop caring what other people think, because you’re really the only one that matters. when you’re sad go do what makes you happy, because even if it doesn't make you grin from ear to ear it will help. always remember to love yourself before you let someone else love you.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
None but the cobbled Hackney will accept
Their Postcards sign this Doveling Bond, betwixt
So both decide a Limo; And dated Theft
Of many Soul-Chasers which do not Exist
From there both Virgins took a Scandal-Plate,
Wrapped in Hookahs only the Wise could see
Goodbye, First Perfume! Not from what will sate
The Photographed Script of what they should be
From this a Problem looms. In such Stone-Bowl
We become the very Thing we disgust
Hearts still cry out for the Thunder they stole
And baste their Image on the Throne they must.
Realise, just now, the Name of this Theme
From Enlightenment whose Founder they blaspheme.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 6:50 PM UTC
Through the lens of your naked mind
a universe is photographed;
The photo retains its lucid life
when mine is the eye looking
Within the reflecting walls
of our multiverse gallery
a picture is worth a thousand worlds.
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 12:28 AM UTC
One day Professor George Knox
Sunbathed on some Greek rocks;
He saw something rude:
A girl swimming ****
So he photographed Pandora's box.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
The old fishing boat shiny, worn yet proud
Had many an old fish bone scraped across its deck
Heard stories that would make your hair curl
and had seen weather at its worst but what the heck.
Had seen all the fish available from all the seas
nothing would surprise this old girl anymore.
Had the strength to carry on whatever the gale
Grin and bear it or go as you have gone before.
Its engine, had seen some time in its old life
struggling through seas as high as waves could get
Through ice as thick as an island so as to speak
and the new fishing boats wince if they get wet.
They would not last five seconds in conditions
like my fishermen have served thought the boat
Well if it could think that is what it would think
They look delicate and I dare say they would float.
But now the old fishing boat was being admired
stroked lovingly by tourists with cameras and tales.
Ice cream accidentally smeared on the deck
With its worn polished look and ragged sails.
But it was proud, and so it should be
For the fish it has fed folk, fishermen it had sailed
But now it had a place in tourist's heart, the town
It was admired, photographed and now emailed.
A buyer with plenty of money and hope in his heart
had bargained and won his bid. It was now his dream
to sail the boat with children on board and parents
sightseeing on board complete with a holiday team
Dressed in navy and white striped with straw hat
No fishing lines, nets, poles just an orange float.
With a sign that indicated the price of the trip
A retirement, a nice little trip for the fishing boat.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 12:42 AM UTC
She was always a chameleon soul
Black Orchid
Eyes, shadows, vulnerabilities
Of heroine chic,
Juxtaposed with an embracing
Self
Of mutual
weirdness
Meshing voices from
The past
Nostalgic memories for
Behind the camera
A lady photographed
A younger self,
Mirrored reflections of
The lady she had graced
Into through the
Ages,
Where contemplative deliberations
Iconic wonders, flashed through
Her mind
With each click the metamorphosis
Click;
one
two
three
Twiggy, Edie, Kate
Transformations; a sorcerers magic,
Contradictions;
body
mind
soul
Mirages amidst reincarnations
Never a remnant of the same
For, the lady behind the lens
Unseen
A ghost veiled in black;
The Black Orchid.
© Sia Jane
Dedicated & written for my darling friend Cara <3
For she shall know love <3
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
In My Sole
It was just a normal day that we happened to be together. Your hand in mine-us side by side, and then you broke away. You broke away to stare at something from far away so it wouldn't be self conscious of you peering into its soul. You stood there looking so intently at something I couldn't see. I couldn't see what you perceived for I couldn't believe that there was something you saw that I couldn't conceive. So I stopped...I smiled and I took a picture. I took this picture of you staring in the distance with this half acquired smile... a moment in time that I would be sure to keep with me forever. The moment penetrated my soul ever so deeply that I decided to keep the picture somewhere it could affect even the ground I walk on. I keep the picture in my sole... In the sole of my shoe so no matter where I go I'm walking with you.
Faded Photograph of a Photographer
In an old...
wallet
box
attic
was an old faded photograph of a photographer.
Meant to be...
left alone
put to rest
forgotten
it was since then brought back by nostalgia and the impossible life that was now to be lived without you.
You liked to be...
behind
smiling through
holding the camera
as you were the photographer but not this time, as you were the photographed...
In front of
smiling at
holding a pose
while I became the photographer, photographing you, the freshly captured photographer in the faded photograph.
In an old...
dream
heart
memory
you never faded but remained the still whole of a perfect silhouette.
The perfect photographer preserved in the perfectly faded photograph for...
love
life
forever.
The Imprint
I just stood there watching from feet away floating in a time that was once my own, and watching a moment form before me that I burned into my memory. I watched a much younger version of myself sitting with you in all of your perfect imperfections. I wanted to talk to you again, to hear your voice be directed toward me for one last time, but I knew that was something that I could not do for I had already had my moment. If I intervened everything could change, and I would be stealing away precious time from a younger me that would never be ready for anything shorter than forever with you. Instead, I kept my safe distance and watched as the two of you got up from our bench that we spent hours on talking or just sitting in silence. The look on his face-the look on my face was a priceless glance as the two of you walked with interlocked hands in a silence as perfect as a symphony. You then seemed to notice something out of the corner of your eye as you began to glance toward my direction. I drew back at first before remembering that I was not something that could be seen by you, but merely a ghost in time. You broke away from his hand and you continued toward where I floated, and you just stared right at me as if you could see me-as if you could feel me. With your half acquired smile I finally felt like I was home again, and I watched the younger version of me capture a perfect picture of you. With that I was once again in our old attic, holding that old photo, that was taken that old day, imprinting a forever timeless love. A love that would live on in my soul for...
love
life
forever.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 3:35 AM UTC
I arose
I was rich
I was robbed
I won the lottery
I went to bed.
I arose
I was married
I had a passionate affair
I had a divorce
I lost the house
I kept the kids
I went to bed.
I arose
I got into college
I went to a party
I drank
I lost my virginity
I was photographed
I had my acceptance reneged
I won't have any student loans
I went to bed.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 2:17 PM UTC
kleptomaniac wearing thin
boots of ice and maggot flesh,
young in mind and old in body,
young in mind and old in *****
old in mind and young in *****
-body.. no boddhisatva, just a
***** to the whistle. not so much
as if a choice, only something notified
on the newsfeed amongst a horde of
cleavage photographed by paid
professionals as breast-feeding has
no sex-appeal. whoever I think I am,
thank you.
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 4:47 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
Figuratively speaking
You are the smoke on
My wind
Empty from Promise
And Eager
To be
Photographed
With The title
Underneath
' The One Left Behind'
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 2:15 PM UTC
past wavering lights
B. Serrano and Bagong Ilog
love struck us down — sees no votive
clearing of the fog or a word sharper than any blade wrought from frays.
i have a photograph of you
somewhere in the ken of my silence
and on it paints lightsome hue
and sometimes pale when it rains.
KM 24 on a blue alloy and underneath,
a Baguio — some memories we keep
almost left by the last carriage homeward
from too much fire in our hands
only tremors could extinguish both
striking a balance and counterbalance;
the frequency of the electric and the
immense decibel of lions drowning
the disquiet. some places or some
looking back makes you want
to lose yourself in slight wonder and when
a memory comes back with the dreary
weight of its forgetfulness,
we fall asleep traipsing the steeples
of our dreams of each other
all-telling, still dizzy with the pirouette
of some distant longing bracing
the fall, triggering our darkness
and shooting out
ourselves, small,
love striking us down. arraying a triplicate
of hazy trails forking all roads
and we cannot find each other again;
throwing stones rippling
multiplied waves by the sea arriving
at separate mornings beneath
our feet,
bends on the bludgeoned curves
of love and hate ascertaining something
so unsure as a door agape and swiveling
in tense wind, tender is the night
and love continues
to smite us down, locking in, predatory precision,
running away, and away, and away
from the ache of it all.
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 7:11 AM UTC
Ingredients:
suitcases
photo albums
quick wit
a new space that is comfortable to breathe in, raise other beings in, and nurture pets and your spirit in.
Sprinklings of humor to shake on it all when it gets to be too much. Mason jars of self-appreciation and worth to open in an emergency, if these qualities are forgotten and old patterns resurrected.
Preparation:
First, sit quietly with yourself.
Breathe deeply, as many times as you need.
Fill as many soul cups as you can with confidence,
and pour them on yourself, until they sink into the
soapstone of your pores.
If needed, tip back your head and open your mouth,
in order to have a more direct inflow.
After that, take just as many cups of calm
and pour them in, slowly and with generosity.
It is okay if you overflow; you may need extra serenity
later, when you are in the midst of action.
Let the two ingredients mix, slowly, until colors as yet unnamed
are formed in your solar plexus, spilling
throughout the entirety
of your body.
Take a break and blow bubbles, for lightness.
Yes, you may laugh like a loon.
Marinade:
After the laughter has subsided, take a big dose of self- love and rub it all over yourself, drizzled like fine coconut-scented oil. Do not miss a spot, even on the parts that you have a problem with. In fact, give those extra love.
And now, for the rub: This has been simmering for a while. It is time to push it all into the oven and bake it. The heat is rising, so be quick.
Take all precious memories and sew them into the pockets of your coat. The ugly ones, burn, quickly and thoroughly. Scatter the ashes into the wind.
Hang new pictures on the wall. Splashes of nature you have photographed. Mandalas created by a precious daughter. A platypus wishing you goodnight by your little flower imp. A cheeky photo of your boy, to remind you of inner sauciness.
All of these strengthen with love.
Finally, rest your head upon the new pillow and inhale the scent of freshly laundered springtime. For now, the ordeal of your winter has ended.
Time for a long, languid, luxurious dessert.
A new life!
Bon appetite!
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
Black and white photograph
lives lived
A whole lifetime ago ago
in a forgotten time forgotten life
Nanna Flynn and Uncle Clarence
live on the wall photographed
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
Do you remember the day we bought our beers, packed our bags and made our own party on the hill beside our building? It was just you and me and the sun. We were celebrating the first warm day of spring, but you still insisted on stouts, and they quickly lost their cool in the sunlight but I didn't mind. I brought my camera and photographed the wind curling through that blue and green sundress you loved, and you danced as if you were a leaf in autumn.
Until you spilled your beer, to which I reacted only with regrettable anger. You stopped dancing.
That lead us inside, away from the sunlight, to end the memory. You never wore that sundress again, and didn't enjoy those stouts the same way. We never celebrated another change of season, and I never again photographed you in the wind.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC
please don't move a muscle
don't mutter, don't breathe
like a photographed creature
I know you hate being confined
but I don't trust those mischievous
fingers of time and earth
as they dabble with our very beings
pocket a penny of your boundless worth
this us is not celestial
nor a flawless perfect scene
but it's chaos, it's inked lyrics on skin
and somehow there's space for you and me
between the endless open road ideas
born in this cardboard ghost town
and our opinions too fierce for them to hear
honesty never pleases the crowd
alone I know I don't belong here
but with you it's not just ok
we accept we're in no way superior
just speaking a different language
how did I find you as you are?
this ideal second set of eyes
to view this vast expanse of maps
like you cut through the undergrowth of lies
a world of black and white laid out
before us, car bonnets as the beach sun sets
and our colours bleed into the monochrome
I'm rich if this dream is all I have left
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
She stands at the wall reflecting
on those who were lost at sea
names and poems and words connecting
her to those poor souls and to me.
Beyond those memorial walls
the mighty Columbia into the Pacific spills
whose depth and wealth have called
so many to sail from Oregon's green hills.
From the safety of their home
they left for the great unknown
where writers and poets travel
every time they pen their spirit in word
to explore what God and life has unraveled
what pain, sorrow and joy have stirred.
Her kindness and her reflection move me to write
my poems of wandering from a safe and tidy home
to regions of imagination’s heights
shadows, sorrows, or oceans’ foam.
She reads and lives life’s poetry
knows its canyons and desert sands
she yearns only to be free
of the noise and anger of badlands
to smell the freshness of a cool and gentle breeze
feel the air brushing her arms
to look up and see the greenness of trees
to be free from crushing and brutal harm.
I see her standing and watch her reflection there
with seafarers, poets and lovers at peace
where God’s creative breath stirs air
and torments, terrors, and quarrels cease.
Author’s Note: My sister Genie who lives in a large urban area visited Astoria, Oregon where the Columbia river ends in the Pacific Ocean and local citizens have erected a memorial park with several walls of polished black granite that display the names of mariners lost at sea. There are also sentiments and poems about those lost souls one of which Genie photographed and sent to me. As I examined the photo I could see her reflection on the wall as kind of a background for the poem. That photo and my sister who loves nature and trees inspired this writing. I wish I could post the pic here for you to see why and how it inspired me.
Below is the untitled poem on the memorial wall photographed by my sister.
Weep not for me that I go to sea.
I shan’t be lonely, though vastness surround me.
The brotherhood of the sea shall be my family.
The kinship of the deep my company.
Weep not for me, nor worry over harm.
My heart stays with you, still and warm.
In sunrise and starlight my hearth and home
I carry you with me wherever I roam.
Weep not for me, whether bad luck or good.
Tossed about in a shell of steel and wood.
An ancient salt sea sails within my blood –
I but follow its tide through ebb and flood.
Weep not for me that I go to sea:
in the limitless ocean I am free.
Jun 14, 2019
Jun 14, 2019 at 10:40 AM UTC