Camera

 
Wispy tendrils of an earlier age
Caught in winter fog
Sparkly childish nail polish
Eyes that contain something much older
Hands cupped
Ready to receive
But they are already too laden with the invisible
Light through a half-drawn curtain
What lies beyond
A world ready for my mind to mold
 
Through a lens
The universe can be striking
In my own hands
The landscape is mine to shape
Leave the telephone wires out of the frame
Wait until the sun illuminates that particular tree
Brush your hair in the perfect windblown way
And my grandchildren will never guess
That my world wasn’t exactly this way
And nostalgia for something they never had
Will ensue

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14 thoughts on “Camera

    1. Hi Olivia –
      This poem was written by Gwenyth (a.k.a. entwinedprecipice). Carbon Noise Poetry now has three contributing poets. Check the bottom of the post, on the right, under author, if you’re not sure who’s it is. Thank you for reading, and I hope you stop by often.

      Much love,
      Shawn

      1. Yet I’m terribly flattered that someone thought it was Shawn’s poem, so if you feel like neglecting to look at the author, that is fine with me. Being mistaken for a real poet was one of the best compliments I’d received in a long time.

        Gwenyth

  1. Very clear visuals. I felt like I was looking through the lens of the camera. I love the art of composition but when I take the photos it never is quite the way I want it. Lovely poem.

  2. The thought of shaping natural sights with hands is so endearing. :-)Loved the imagery within your poem, created with skill and, what is more important, heart.

  3. Through a lens
    The universe can be striking
    In my own hands
    The landscape is mine to shape…

    yeah, a photo shot shapes our views in life, it depends how it is taken…thanks for the inspiration…

    A++
    🙂

  4. I really like the idea of creating constructive nostalgia. The very young do it just because it is fun. The middle aged give it up to get down to brass tacks. Sometimes the old come back to it, because everything else can be destroyed… Yr poem suggests this to me (without the cartoonification I enjoy) Reminds me of a tape I lost with this song http://youtu.be/Msz_H6pMWIk (the warble in a nearly worn out tape is a lovely sound)

      1. Ack, on third thought the idea of constructive nostalgia as something indestructible is faulty… but still the process is cheap, satisfying, and widely available, but then again so is a Quarter Pounder With Cheese. As stated earlier, the more round-about-pretty-poem-way of getting at this you have here is better than analysis.

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