"photography" 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
I want to surround myself with photographs at my feet.
I want to explore and have adventures with my camera in hand.
I want to get up early in the morning to see the sun rise and see drops of dew on the grass.
I want to walk around at night and see the city lights shine.
I want to count the stars as I lie down on a field of grass and play Us Against the World.
I want to write in a leather notebook all my thoughts.
I want to have a bonfire and watch all my memories burn in the flames.
I want to curl up on the couch and read as the sun warms my skin.
I want to sleep at 2 am and wake up to the birds chirping outside my window.
I want to remind myself of why I fell in love with photography and writing.
I want to go back to makes me me.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
Borderline Personality Disorder.
1. The other day I woke up and thought I knew who I was
I fell asleep and somewhere in between I lost myself
I lost the feeling in my stomach too
but we're still talking about how much we have in common.
2. My sweater got stuck on the hanger this morning
I started to rip it down
eventually I broke plastic and skin.
I haven't been back in my room since.
3. 12:06 PM Today my best friend came home and took most of our makeup
12:07 PM I messaged her and mocked our friendship.
12:07 PM She was in trouble with her grandma and had to hurry. She didn't know.
12:08 PM I broke down crying.
4. I woke up at 7:32 AM and took 4 shots
drank 2 beers
smoked four bowls
drank half a bottle of NyQuil and woke up the next day.
I have yet to figure out why.
5. I wanted to be a horse trainer for 9 years
then I decided I wanted to be an artist
worked on becoming a tattoo artist
matured into a writer
fell in love with photography
now I'm not even sure if I like school.
6. First scars appeared at 9
worst scars at 15.
First attempt at 10
almost wasn't an attempt at 14.
7. I've been happy the past few days
but I still want to **** myself
because soon I'll be drowning in depression
and succumbing to anxiety.
9. Once I got so bored
I thought myself into sorrow.
I didn't come out for a few hours
but by dinner I was laughing.
10. I used to be in love with a boy
but I didn't know
so I used whatever I could get
and now I'm alone.
I don't blame him.
11. I've mentally lost myself
as I screamed into the mirror
and it wasn't me talking to myself.
I don't really remember being there
but I was.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 5:50 AM UTC
A photo may say a thousand words but they lack as much meaning.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 12:42 AM UTC
I saw someone taking your picture today.
You looked amazing.
I'm glad someone saw your beauty and captured it,
because I've tried countless times in my words
and in my art,
but nothing I do can truly show how special you are.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 7:09 PM UTC
My Obsessive Compulsive Disorder causes me severe anxiety.
It's hard. To have it my way. It's hard. I overthink it. The images of the little things replay in my mind.
I can't seem to hide.
Why do I have this fear? Just make it all disappear. It's not reasonable yet it feels so intense.
I feel tense. I am not satisfied with my presence. I feel uncomfortable.
Why am I not content with my surroundings.
My disorder involves both obsessions and compulsions that take up lot of time and get in the way of important activities that I value.
So many mistakes that I need to fix.
So hard to perfect everything.
The line I drew isn't straight, I have to start all over.
I need to wash my hands again. It's been 5 minutes since I haven't.
Don't bite the Kit Kat, break off each stick and eat it.
The clothes in my closet should be hung up and organized by color.
My picture frame isn't hung up in the middle of the wall.
My food should not be mixed with the side dishes or I refuse to eat.
My apps aren't on the right page of my phone.
Twitter should be under social and instagram should be under photography and if it's not, it's wrong, it's all wrong!
I need to wash my hands again it's been 10 minutes since I haven't.
The tv volume should only be an even number or a multiple of five.
Why is my seatbelt twisted?
My mind is twisted.
All these errors are persistent.
So hard to resist it.
I am not leaving my house until my phone is 100%, 97% and I can't stand it (will not do. )
Mother tells me it'll be alright after i take my pills...I agree to as long as the pills are sorted by color
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 7:11 PM UTC
Eyes like massive clanks- gazes morphed to lanced boils, lungs ache and the tumour of hopeless alien weird melts an old painting we used to call 'existence.'
Ankles dry, calloused thoughts, skin peels to reveal oozing flesh. **** sinks in and swallows floating zinc; immune. Consuming ex-cadavers in mall parking lots and pushing the crippled in shopping carts, an ankle twisted, a mother swallowed monetary ***** the stock market became the shelf market, and creation wondered if we were okay with frozen pizza for dinner.
Life dragged on and on, the world swirled on twitter feeds and Facebook statuses, the streets completed laps around our better judgements and our better lives, we sank to scheduled escapism and believed that one day we would find the light despite our never left-look.
Massive intention swelled to disjointed shark search. A witch-hunt to burn unhappiness in it's own angry passion. Bones; cost efficient at the least and designed in the weirdness of erosion-return. Miniature intention swelled to grabs solidarity. A manhunt to freeze stillness in it's own endless silence.
What complete? What shatter-tastic ******
Eyes like massive clanks- gazes morphed to lanced boils, lungs ache and the tumour of hopeless alien weird melts an old painting we used to call 'existence.'
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 1:50 PM UTC
I miss our long walks
I miss tasty food
I miss empty roads
I miss the right time
I miss the wrong time
I miss that I couldn't
make it right!
I miss late night photography
I miss sharing
every bite of food
With you
I miss holding your hands
I miss your tight hugs
I miss your romantic kisses
I miss our long drives
I miss our long fast rides
I miss sleeping next to you
I miss our love-nights
I miss our laughter
I miss every bit of you
I miss our craziness
I miss the sunrise
I miss the sunset
I miss the moon
shining above us
I miss the sea
I miss the hills
I miss flowers
I miss your essence
I miss the comfort
I miss your
face to face anger
I miss everything
Without you
I miss you...
I miss me...
I miss all of it!
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 5:23 PM UTC
Eighth grade
i texted the suicide hotline
in band class
Hoping for something to hold on to
while i considered going home,
and just slipping away.
Three years later
i sit in photography
messaging an eating disorder hotline
and praying i won't slip further
than i already have.
Strange,
how history repeats itself.
Oct 5, 2021
Oct 5, 2021 at 3:47 PM UTC
Some days we are but noise
beneath a silent sky,
Waiting and wanting to be heard,
The creek of an old machine still proving it's worth,
The light of a dying star illuminating the faces of people we love,
Framed, perpetually, by the world.
(Inspired by the Photography of Clive Roughley)
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 4:13 PM UTC
Photography last
Need you to be here
But your not
You’re working
Having a good time
While I’m here in school
Stuck in boredom
I need you to be here
To be my photography model
But you’re not
Well…
****
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
poetry is photography:
the photography of your soul
it begins as an observation captured in stuttering syntax:
the lens of your soul pointing towards a subject, a metaphor, a line
within you, within the world, within the two.
if vague and smudgy this image at first,
the lines rearrange themselves, the grammar settles,
and the image comes into focus - sharp and still.
as you would a camera, approach things at angles,
you flood your poetry with perspective, with self, with distance,
stamp yourself onto it, and you know it belongs as yours.
and you know you have captured that pearl in an oyster,
those millions of dying stars exploding within you,
an image of yourself.
yet, sometimes, you're out of film and however you click the shutter,
your words fall off the lines, burst into dissonance, or finds itself unwritten.
like photography, you do not expect a stable yield of inspiration.
then, with the years, you lay your poetry on a wall -
chronologically, alphabetically, thematically, or anything -
and you will step back to see a montage of your life in eloquent snapshots.
if poetry should ever be photography - then -
it would be the photography of one's soul.
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 10:05 PM UTC
“You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, and find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land; there is no other life but this.”
― Henry David Thoreau
Nalulungkot ako dahil nasayang ang buhay mo. Huli na ang lahat nasa dapit hapon kana, palubog na ang araw mo, wala na itong umagang darating pa. Nalulungkot ako dahil nagpadaig ka, tinalo ka ng lungkot at kinain ka ng sistema. Pati tuloy ang sining (photography) na iyong minahal ay tinalikuran mo. Nalulungkot ako dahil alam kong kahit nagkaganyan ka ay marunong kang magmahal, na kahit kelan hindi mo ako sinaktan, na lagi kang nand’yan kapag kailangan kita. Bakit kaba kasi nagkaganyan?
Nalulungkot ako dahil sinayang mo ang panahon para lang alagaan ang galit na nakatanim d’yan sa dibdib mo. Niyakap mo na parang unan ang kalungkutan, sana ay itinakwil mo ito. Nalulungkot ako dahil naging rebelde ka hindi lang sa iyong sarili kundi pati dun sa mga taong nagmamahal at nagmamalasakit sa’yo. Sinaktan mo sila na handang umagapay sayo. Nalulungkot ako dahil lumikha ka ng sarili **** bangin, isang malalim na hukay kung saan ikaw ngayon ay nakabaon.
Nalulungkot ako dahil hindi pinakinggan ng diyos ang mga dasal ko para iligtas ka, ang mapagmahal at mahabagin na diyos ay walang awang pinabayaan ka. Nasayang lang ang aking mga pagsamo sa kanya. Paano ka n’ya aagawin sa apoy ng Impeyerno kung dito pa lang sa lupa ay pinabayaan kana? Nalulungkot ako dahil kapos ang aking pang-unawa at pagmamahal. Nalulungkot ako dahil wala akong nagawa para suklian ang mga kabutihan mo sakin.
Nalulungkot ako at pumapatak ang luha ko habang sinusulat ko ang tulang ito. Nalulungkot ako dahil hindi na maibabalik ang nakaraan, dahil wala ng bukas na darating para sa’yo at sa ating dalawa. Nalulungkot ako dahil dahil pareho tayong nabigo. Oo, kapwa tayo talunan. Pareho tayong pinagtaksilan ng ating mga paniniwala at mga pangarap. Nalulungkot ako dahil patuloy kang naghihirap noon magpahanggang ngayon.
Nalululungkot ako pero alam ko na ang lahat ay may katapusan, lahat ay magwawakas pati na ang mga paghihirap. Kaunting panahon na lang matatapos din ang lahat ng dusa at sakit mo. At pag dumating ang araw na ‘yon hindi kana nila kailanman masasaktan. May kakaibang katahimikan at hindi maipaliwanag na kapayapaan na makikita sa mukha ng isang bangkay.
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 3:56 AM UTC
Go to an art museum
Pretend you understand
Nod along with what others are saying
Because otherwise you'll look bland
Though the colors on canvas means nothing to you
Everyone else seems to get it
Your legs grow sore from standing around
You decide to rest for a bit
Oh **** that bench was actually art!
What a mistake you've made
The staff tensely continue to glare
You wonder how much they get paid
Naked women adorn the walls
And prepubescents giggle
That one creepy painting is definitely staring at you
Uncomfortably, away you wriggle
Though the art museum is a cultured place to go
By the end you're always miserable
At least next time you'll know not to buy 15 dollar coffee
And remember that flash photography is unforgivable
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
Hidden Weapon
By: James Desire
See me walking on the vacant street
What’s your first thought?
Black kid up to no good
See me- surrounded by others, my brothers
What is your second thought?
Black kid in some gang
Must be tattooed and tough
Discrimination- Hidden Weapon
See the clothes I am wearing
Big baggy pants, dark Du-Rag and Ripped shirt
What is your final thought?
Poor old ****** living in a ghetto
Discrimination- Hidden Weapon
Now Listen,
You see me jetting through the silent streets
What would you assume then?
Arrest!
Call the cops
Must have been a ****** a robbery,
Another black boy crime
Discrimination- Hidden Weapon
I am just a black boy trying to survive
Trying to enjoy-just to stay alive
On the street
People judging me cause
The blackness of my skin
The types of clothes I’m in
Discrimination- Hidden Weapon
Unsuspecting black child taunted, haunted…
Fearing that one word-nigga
Should I be blamed for crimes committed in the past?
Choice-less decisions made
Pressure reaches ******
Everything seems lost
At the end
I feel blamed
Nevertheless, I blame you
Whites
Rejecting
Hurting
Me- hopeful
Pride-earned-not given
Defending
Defending my dignity
Discrimination- Hidden Weapon
Should I be judged/blamed for past generations?
Then, blame me for…
The jazz of Louis Armstrong
The voice of Billie Holiday
The poetry of Langston Hughes
The photography of Gordon Parks
The character of Martin Luther King Jr.
The power of Coretta Scott King
The dignity of Fredrick Douglas
Finally, the individuality of James Desire
You seek evil in blacks
The past has also proven a positive…
A positive outcome
That helped the development…
OF OUR WORLD!
Sep 24, 2010
Sep 24, 2010 at 11:07 AM UTC
if i were you
i wouldn't fall for a poet
they may be good at making you feel overwhelmed
they can make you fall through their actions
but they'll make you fall even harder with their words
falling for a poet is quite easy
they say,
they're gonna be spending a whole day
pouring their heart out
while tapping their pens rhythmically
with trembling hands
as they write about
your date nights,
movie marathons
and play fights
it will all be written on a piece of paper
i am a poet
i can make you experience life
in comparison to a rollercoaster ride
through poetry
i'm a woman of many emotions
you'll sometimes get confused
about how my brain ticks
i'll write about
the car rides under the stars
and under the city lights
i'll give you the sun,
the moon,
the universe
name it
i'd offer a blank page
and every stanzas
only for you
word per word
line per line
will be spoken with emotion
in photography
every moment was being captured
by the photographer
as well as in poetry
your actions towards a poet
could mean a lot
you'll be surprised
i write
even the heartaches
you have caused
so i wouldn't forget
the pain you inflicted
but i'd still thank you, eventually
for it wasn't for you,
i wouldn't be able to write this
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 8:54 AM UTC
Has anyone heard about her?
This magnificent girl,
my fangirl parter,
the other half to the
photography duo?
If so, please contact me.
Todays her birthday,
and yes I'm a few hours late,
but I'd like to say a very
Happy Birthday
to my dear friend.
She has helped me through tough times,
and has been through a lot herself,
but she's a survivor.
She's MIA,
and I need my friend back...
Well, I hope she is doing well,
she's finally becoming a teenager
(but totally not a normal stereotypical one, who needs normal anyways?)
and I'm so proud. -tear-
She's come a long way and I've had the privilege of knowing her personally.
Hope you're okay and that you see this,
Maha.
Tata for now ;)
-Creep
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC
While yes, I have a résumé
It does no justice describing mé
So I'll leave this here for all to see
All I ask is please hire me
I'm great with sales
and communication
I can create tales
with no hesitation
Been fixing PCs since '99
Right after I broke all of mine
I don't do drugs
I don't cause fights
I won't give shrugs
to new insights
I can Photoshop best selling ads
and tell corny jokes just like most dads
I write HTML
and CSS
I can kinda spell
At least try my best
Started my first business in 5th grade
Profiting from the paper airplane trade
I'm a fast learner,
a problem solver,
a trust earner,
an idea causer,
a spreadsheet slayer,
a real team player
While I'm no photography guru
I've actually had a paid gig or two
Dove into video editing
way back when MySpace was a thing
Oh yeah. Plus I'm proficient with Microsoft Office.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 2:17 AM UTC
Howard Dully was twelve years old
when Dr. Freeman felt so bold
to dig around inside his head
a wonder that he isn't dead.
The year was 1963,
when Howard had his lobotomy.
He never even had a clue,
of what his parents planned to do.
ORBITOCLASTS
The name Freeman gave to his personally designed
lobotomy knives.
They went under Howard's eyelids 3 centimeters
from the mid line and parallel with the nose.
Driven to a depth of 5 centimeters he pulled the handles
laterally, returned them halfway, and drove 2 centimeters
deeper. He touched the handles over the nose, seperated
them 45 degrees, elevated them 50 degrees, and at this point
he probably
smiled to himself.
For now they were parallel,
and ready for photography before removal.
An angry stepmom arranged it all,
she made the final judgement call.
They labeled Howard as insane....
opened him up, and juggled his brain.
Howard survived because he was still growing.
Not fully developed,
his brain would keep going....
off in directions he couldn't control
but never condeming
the depths of his soul.
Not long ago I read his book.
I felt intrigued to take a look.
I hope, dear reader, you do the same.
Remember his story,
remember his name.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 6:05 PM UTC
I will contemplate my boredom today, it's terrible,
I must dedicate my actions to something ethical,
So I'll go agitate all the photo chemicals,
It won't automate, it's not a technical miracle,
I will be the chaser of an adventure to set out,
To steal a stack of photo paper someone had left out,
Took it from "The Enticing Taylor", stole his photo clout,
I'm no hater but you better remember to take out,
Your **** when you are done in the dark room...
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
Gold glitter
Only stays on the ceiling
When the upholstery is gray.
Church gyms are suddenly
Piggy banks to play
Basketball upon.
I will draw a city on
The bulletin board
And owl pushpins will inhabit it.
My mind is no longer in a
Casing of gray rick-rack
And suppositions I do not feel.
It is a precarious thing to
Play a solar piano
Under the midday sky.
Have you ever heard
A pumpkin-flavored
Volkswagen van?
It happened suddenly
That everything I could possibly
See became a photography contest.
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
The Milk-and-Water School
Alas! she would not hear my prayer!
Yet it were rash to tear my hair;
Disfigured, I should be less fair.
She was unwise, I may say blind;
Once she was lovingly inclined;
Some circumstance has changed her mind.
The Strong-Minded or Matter-of-Fact School
Well! so my offer was no go!
She might do worse, I told her so;
She was a fool to answer "No".
However, things are as they stood;
Nor would I have her if I could,
For there are plenty more as good.
The Spasmodic or German School
Firebrands and Daggers! hope hath fled!
To atoms dash the doubly dead!
My brain is fire--my heart is lead!
Her soul is flint, and what am I?
Scorch'd by her fierce, relentless eye,
Nothingness is my destiny!
5.4k
Words
that constantly run through my mind and fill my vision
I can't get enough
Canisters and bottles
that bring me peace when I'm done dealing
His hands
that make me shake with desire and terror
Hello Poetry
-- now I have somewhere to put everything
Connor Jessup and Finnick Odair
because I'm a fangirl
Pain
and it follows me everywhere
Sunsets and starry nights
that I can't stop drawing
Photography
-- always
My religion and beliefs
-- I'll never sell out
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 3:43 PM UTC