Sculpture Exhibit (#24)
The smallest sculpture over
six feet tall, the largest
over ten and even in a small
photograph they look massive,
and many weigh over a ton, all
steel, and their prices match,
the bargain piece at $7,000,
the most expensive at $45,000.
Are any of them worth that? I'll
let you be the judge - I'm not
a critic, just the photographer
and the poet.

Another Twist?
Or Just Another Excuse?

Today, is the twenty-fourth day
Is there anything left to say?
I'm trying to figure it out,
This story of mystery and doubt.
Which way will it go?
I really don't know.
Just don't get in a stew, ma,
I'm figuring out a denouement!

His Picture

I see his picture
though he’s long gone
I remember so much
family times,
watching together
Sunday scripture
Turning on that tv
Watching the clock
Just to see
what this weeks story
would be
Man he rocked
his was a true family
He set the stage
for good parenting
though often enraged
he never took it out on his sons
when one had a fight
they all went to town
wearing their guns
to bad he’s no longer around
he gave so much to so many
his was always a fair fight
to the very end
rest in peace
Ben Cartwright
there’s no longer
a Ponderosa to defend. . .

©Rodney C. Walmer 4/24/08 Prompt #24, inspired by a look through the available new movies
on the net, and coming across a cover with Bonanza on it.

Peanut

I used to call you Peanut
At three, you could fit inside a
brown grocery bag
plopped in the middle of
Grandma’s kitchen.

You wore red Oshkosh overalls
and a dark blue plaid shirt
You peered out over the top
with that impish smile

God, I love this picture
It makes me sad for
the good ole days
when Grandpa was still alive
and I could still carry you.

I would pick you up
in my arms, and the two of us
would sway around the
living room to
‘La Isla Bonita’ by Madonna

You are a man now
and there’s no lifting you up
at least not physically
But I will be there for you
to help raise your spirits
or to offer words of encouragement

I know you hate when I say this
and I can see how it embarrasses you,
but……………….
You’ll always be my baby boy

In addition to my regular entry following my original plot, here is one on photographs.
I hope an extra entry won't hurt.

Faded faces in old photographs,
Black and white and shades of gray,
Not one of them seems to laugh,
I can’t find one of them who seems to say,
“You must know me. I am someone.”
And so I don’t know any of them at all,
They’re just shadows squinting at the sun
Unsmiling, staring through a pall
Of decades, not saying anything to me,
What they dream, they hope, they fear.
Blank stares are all I see.
All I can know is once they were here
As I am now to croak this song,
That here is short and gone is long.

Gloria

There she is
Beaming at me with that crooked smile
Brazen blue and red tourist visor,
Glasses covering half her face;
My chest clenches every time.
Hands in that familiar
Half-dainty longshoreman’s grip
Holding a stringer of bass
In front of the scrub brush,
Poles propped oh-so-carefully behind -
She’s had a good day.
I told her I loved her
A lot
But I miss her anyway.

Grip and Grin

One press of the button
and the moment is preserved.
It's one of those grip-and-grin shots
that fill college scrapbooks
but never win the Pulitzer.

What the pictures doesn't capture,
but my memory does: you and I
stand on the dormitory steps,
arm in arm, grinning like the
cat that ate the canary.

All semester, we'd been out of sync:
You'd have a good date; I'd have a bad day.
I'd have a breakout; you'd have a breakup.
Then one week before commencement
both our stars aligned.

We'd both slipped in just after curfew,
crawled into our bunkbeds, then we began
the late night ritual that lasted all that
summer long: but this time we both had
happy endings to our short short stories.

We decided that with the first light,
we'd pose for a photograph, snagging
the first reluctant volunteer to come
through the door to capture our
synchronized smiles. What irony:

My great date ended up a next-to-last
date, before graduation and job offers
called me away; The man of your dreams
stood at the front of the church a year
later--the best man, not the groom.

Her wedding day

Looking at my wife’s wedding photo
I try read her face
Little did she know
I would forever cherish that place
She stands there so beautiful
Wearing her wedding gown
Her life will change forever
So, dutiful
taking care of a husband
when he’s down
Have to be clever
want to keep him around
Just a hint of fear
shows in her eyes
She’s certain that’s clear
time to shed the disguise
You know,
the one we all wear
when were dating
Time to grow
the time is here
no more waiting. . .

©Rodney C. Walmer 4/24/08 Prompt #24, I took this from my wife’s wedding picture I keep in
my wallet. This was all from the look on her face, the truth is, I have no idea what she was
thinking that day.

Mr. Fluffy

She was eight and my
mirror image from a time
of a more innocent youth;

Enthralled as a butterfly
as big as her hand watched her
from its perch on her palm;

A stuffed rabbit lay perilously over
her lap, ready to pounce at her feet;
a gift from her aunt two Easters ago.

Its fur had been trimmed and then
colored with a pink marker,
she called it Mr. Fluffy.

Time Moves On

She was so innocent
and helpless back then
she would have to face a world
that was intent
on testing her again and again
She was just so small
how would she deal with it all
just a hint of a smile
betrays a fearless soul
in just little while
she will be growing old
these precious days gone
after all time moves on
will she remember
perhaps, just Christmas
all the toys, the cold December
If, I could have just
kept her this way
But, Time moves on
and we all grow up someday. . .

©Rodney C. Walmer 4/24/08 Prompt #24 Poem about my daughter from a picture taken while
she was only 2 days old.

At my graduation party
At open mic,
Kelly was using her
fancy new camera.
We were able
to talk you into
posing with me.
Looking at our faces
seeing our smiles,
I know I've never
been happier.

Chris and Matt
Behind the Townhouse in Bartlett, New Hampshire

“Make a scary face,” I said
on the last day in our vacation house
Mom and Dad are cleaning their
way out and into the car

I am waiting with the boys
we are kicking up rainbow colors of leaves
that have surrendered from their branches
revealing the white mountains in the distance

Matthew is in front stepping toward me
Christopher is hovering close behind
together they stick their fingers in their ears
and flap their fingers at me like antlers
they dance
with no fear
of the camera
or the future

One Man

He had three sons
all by a different wife
he raised them alone
as each wife had died
was he bitter about his life
no, he made a wonderful home
each day he tried
making certain love was shown
no one knows, if alone he cried
he always had a brave face
standing tall
He had to
no one could take his place
if he fell,
The Ponderosa would fall
He carried quite a load
If anyone could bear the burden
it was Ben Cartwright
It seemed that little could hurt him
no matter what the story
you always knew in the end
things would turn out alright
because on the Cartwrights
you could depend

©Rodney C. Walmer 4/24/08 Prompt #24 More on the same Picture of Ben Cartwright. Guess, you can tell I liked Bonanza. :-)

POEM FROM A PHOTO

Every day I see his face
smiling out at me
that dark hair falling across his face
so cool
that neat beard and moustache
framing those shiny white teeth
casual white shirt
sitting just slightly askew
and a background setting
of lovely green leaves.
You wouldn’t think
from looking at his photo
what a sadist he is
torturing us with almost impossible tasks
expecting the world from us
and all the time
he keeps on smiling.

© Maureen Sexton

The photo of Robert on Poetic Asides of course. I don’t really think you’re a sadist. :)

Don, I love the last line of your second poem, "That here is short and gone is long".

My Abbey Road

The fab four
With their mop tops
Walking across the road
An unforgettable image prop

My fab five
With their long hair
Running across the lawn
Cousins playing completely unaware

The photographer
Is sitting in her chair
Capturing memories
Of summer days and laughter in the air

April 24, 2008
© Michelle H.
This is too fun!! Photography is a minor hobby of mine! Thanks for the prompt!

My “Gerber” Baby

Baby
Big blue eyes
Long dark lashes
Lots of dark hair
Chubby cheeks
Smiley
Happy
Baby

April 24, 2008
© Michelle H.

Maureen, I should've (but didn't) guessed that someone would use my photo above. I would reserve judgement on whether I'm a sadist or not until after Day 28's prompt. Now, you have 4 days to worry what THAT prompt will be. ;)

Best,

Robert

Good one today...
I wrote this poem while comparing myself at thirteen and forty-three. I have thos two photo's of myself on classmates.com under Ashvill Highschool, Ashville Alabama if your are curious as to what I look like at thirteen.

So here is today's prompt about photo's:
Debra


Now and Then

I look at the photo,
is that really me
at thirteen...
it's can't be.

A young school girl,
bright eyed and full
of awe...

Fast forward thirty years....

I look at the photo
is that really me
at fourty-three...

I look old and worn,
like the picture
of thirteen...

Love it! Maureen

Prompt: A photograph.

I have taken the liberty of using quotation marks in lieu of italics.


My Best Friend


A photo sits upon my desk of
A beautiful young woman
Professionally taken, perfectly lit
A warming smile, happy eyes.
It shows “you” her face
It tells “me” the story of her soul

She was just seventeen
(If you know what I mean)
When we first met and one certain day
That I remember quite distinctly
She threw her arms around my neck
And kissed my cheek and said I love you.

I love you but I will never be “in love” with you
You are my best friend and I will always need you
So I can never be “in love” with you
And so it was and so it remains
Apart from a few lost years (my fault)
That I re-bridged with a simple call

I have always tried to be there for her as
She has been my rock. Her strength
Her steadiness a counter to my mania
We have been, I hope a balance
A constant that remains when all else
Fails. When life itself flounders

She tells me of her yearning, longing
Suffering, failing to become a Mother
Her heart is breaking, her sadness shatters
My computer screen into a thousand barbed
Shards splintering into my soul to remind me
Of my futility, of just what words “can’t” do

My “little sister” is so far away now
So distant but still I feel her pain
Her anguish reaching across the ether
To grip my heart and there is nothing
Absolutely nothing that I can do to help
Except to tell that I love her …



And that’s what I have done.



When I saw the prompt I instantly knew which photo to write about but then I got an upsetting email & so this is where I end up. A pile of soggy Kleenex surrounds the tear-stained keyboard. Thank god I’m not at work.

MAKE-UP

Putting makeup on never looked so sexy
He is captivated by her femininity
He eyes her neck as she dabs on scents of lavender and primrose
She applies her look for the evening in the most relaxed pose
She moves with such precision but her body language comes off aloof
He resists the urge to stop her mid lipstick application
but remembers they are already late for the dinner party
Upon completion of her master transformation
She stands up grandly to face him for his once over and praise
to only then ever so seductively exclaim
Honey, there is no dinner party

 Family Photo

There’s a family photo
that sits upon my wall
we’re all out in the yard
getting together these days
just seems so hard
We had just finished the shed
could have gone in
but sat out instead
there’s my wife, my child,
the family dog, and cousin Sam
and of course in the center
there I am
A big old hat blowing in the wind
a cold Molson’s in one hand
what a memory
one the likes of
I may never be a part of again
Though the photo was unplanned
just one look, makes me reminisce
about days gone by
And the fun, I miss

©Rodney C. Walmer 4/24/08 Prompt #24 Poem about a picture

Photography is my wife's hobby, I get copies of all of the pictures she does. So, you can imagine how many photo's I have. I have so many I can write about, but I will try to limit this, since I am not sure how much I am allowed to post.

Rod.

Serenity

Early morning sunshine
Lake as smooth as glass
Forrest all around the lake
Eagle soaring pass

No one else is up
Nature and you are one
Sitting still and breathing
Nothing to be done

Blue sky and white clouds
Reflected on the lake
Natures’ perfect stillness
Provides a double take

This is my perfect peace
Please God let it never cease

April 24, 2008
© Michelle H.

Wow, Iain, that really hits home. I once (age 16 or so) had a girl like that, though she was already pregnant with someone else's child(not mine, we never got that far). I think she was my first true love, but she did not feel the same. Your poem brings back memories. I had it all planned out, silly as it may sound, but at 16 these things sound realistic. I was going to run away with her, raise her child as my own, get a job doing anything, so that I could take care of her. Of course that dream shattered when she said the words to me "I love you, but I will never be in love with you!" I got over her, married, and was happy for a time, then divorced, remarried and now, I am very happy for the last 14 years. Why am I telling you all of this, well just to let you know, that it gets better brother, it truly does, the pain goes away, and all you have are the good memories. To be honest, I am thankful that she did not take me up on my plan, she ruined her life, and I would have ruined mine too. Every time, I hear Garth Brooks, "Unanswered Prayers" I am reminded of how lucky I was that she did not reciprocate my feelings. Then again hindsight is 20/20, and at 50 what makes sense, certainly did not at 16.

Michelle, that is so beautiful. I have to say, so far "Serenity" is one of the most beautiful poems I have read on here so far.

Rod.

My Gift

Sweet, cherub-like face
Housing eyes of brilliant blue
A pure and innocent heart
With a touch of mischief found in you.

My angel, my princess
Never far from my side
Sometimes my best friend
For to me you have not lied.

We’ve been through a lot together
Enduring heartache and pain
We’ve weathered many a storm
Without being caught out in the rain.

Our road ahead is sunny
Our path radiated in sunlight
The love we have for each other
Will keep our future bright.

You are my youngest daughter
Given to me from heaven above
My gift sent directly from God
A blessing for me to love.

The Shoe

There it is in all its glory
Dirty, scruffy sneaker
Amongst pictures of the Grand Teton
In all its glory.
Amongst the bubbling hot springs and
Steaming geysers of Yellowstone
The castle-like Mammoth Springs, Montana
The wild Columbian River
The frothy ocean path from a whale watching boat
The majestic Space Needle in Seattle
The other-worldly Salt Lake of Utah
The small plane wing over Flaming Gorge
There it is reminding me
Of the fun my grown daughter
And I had touring the northwest
Last summer, 3,000 miles in 10 days.
The shoe
The picture she took
When she dropped her camera
Hiking around Jenny Lake.

Survivors

It is hard to say
Who had the most faith that day for
We planted in hard ground ten bare sticks
Exchanged Christmas tree
Watered, waited, and giggled
At the hopelessness
Of what we were about
Yet today
Ten bushy red maples

©Jane Penland Hoover
April 9, 2008

Rod, thanks for the comment although I'm now sure that the poems doesn't work. I've always loved her as a sister, it was never any different even 27 years ago. Its her pain that pains me.

Okay I've posted three today - I will stop. I've actually written four but decided not to post the last one.
Maureen - good one on Robert!

Iain - very powerful poem. I'm sorry for your pain and hers.

Heather - Where are you? Did you find that snake?

Thank you very much Rodney! You've made my day!
Michelle

To the Nice Lady We Met September 29, 1995, at Lassen Volcanic National Park

At Manzanita Lake, you saw us snapping pictures of each other
and you stopped to ask, “Would you like me to take a picture
of the two of you together?”
We looked at each other and handed you the camera.
“Push here,” I indicated. We posed. You held your finger
over the button. Click!
You returned the camera to us and walked on down the trail.
As we called out our thanks, you replied cheerfully, “I hope it turns out okay!”

Here’s what you captured: the water’s still reflection of Lassen Peak, trees and sky … geese and coot bobbing among wind-blown grasses … a man and a woman smiling shyly for a stranger.

It did turn out okay — the picture, that is. And we — engaged for just a few hours when that picture was taken — turned out okay. We return each year to Lassen with our children, and take their pictures. Click.

The photos titled 'Solitude'
and peace is what it makes you feel
but while it's nice
it has its price
it's cold and lonley in there.

Abbie and Me

My freshly bronzed arms
Form a perfect “V”
Draped over your tiny little shoulders
What contrast the sun has created
Between you and me

My head atop yours
We cling endlessly
“Take the picture already!”

Sheepish eyes, perfect blue ice
Sweetest 8 year old smile
Refusing to show absence of teeth
Innocence, pure heart

Purple dance costume
Sequins reflect the light
“Flash”

We are captured
Forever in time

Abbie, you are my delight


So, about "Sammy" . . . he has not made another appearance. I would have loved to be able to say that he would be but had "lost his head" and would be unavailable. Sadly that is not the case. I will report, that to my dismay, when I arrived home last night, a disaster of sorts was revealed. My husband is TERRIFIED of snakes and he decided to "foam up" the area "Sammy" was last seen. (Of course, "Sammy" had the entire day to roam the house unnoticed so I am assuming he was no longer behind the cabinets.) My husband, bless him, made the biggest mess with the foam . . . all over the rug, walls, you name it, it's foamed.
Thanks everyone for your concern. We continue to keep an eye out . . . and we bought a hoe.
Cheers!!

Michelle, Thank you, I hope later to write the one I had first intended to do, if I can get the other one outta my system...

Memory Bank

Your both in my Memory Bank
not as money, something much greater—
YEARS filled with snapshots of better days.

This particular picture—of you and your
brother at the lake at the lake. How I love it!
Your arms wrapped around each other.
You were so close.

I treasure your smiles, always will
and what we had.
You’re both grown up now—disabled and ill.
It’s very sad.
Nevertheless I’ll remember you Still.

Mom

Photograph

In this photograph, the one in my
head, it looks like rain and the
skies are puffed up with atom
bomb-like clouds;

I keep running a song from my
sixteen year-old self, a song left
precariously on the shelves of memory;
shelves that are stacked high in
an abandoned house that is soon
to be swept up by the atom
bomb-like clouds;

Def Leppard at their peak, and the
only lyric I remember is “all I
want is a photograph;” a melody
plays, a melody from memory; and
the atom bomb-like clouds
in the photograph in my head
dance to the heavy beat and the
amped-up guitars;

My abandoned house soon collapses
under the weight of thump,
thump, thump in the air;
in the photograph in my head.

This one is yesterday's, on getting older.

The Buddists believe all time coexists.
I like to look at it that way.
A bluebird doesn’t know it’s age.
It simply sings its whole life long.
A grape doesn’t realize it can shrivel on the vine.
It grows gladly and takes radiance from the sun.
The clouds don’t know rain until it is within them.
Spirit means for everything to give it’s best.
Besides, there is no death.
That’s because there is no past, present, future.
Everything is NOW.

This is todays. Funny, but even tho it's about a photo, it's also about getting older.

Nancyjean



See us on the hotel staircase,
fourteen women who have
loved each other for more
than twenty-five years.
This is about you, Nancyjean,
You were the the first
of us to die, but it doesn’t
make us love you less.
We prearranged our
Christmas picture in your honor,
each of us in black, mourning your passing.
You were a fun and colorful person,
so around each arm a ribbon is tied,
each ribbon a different bright color. The wine
flows freely tonight. The stories. The love.
Your spirit lives on.
The lives you’ve touched
bear the imprint of your smile.

Different

Damn he was handsome
But nonetheless a lunatic
So I Thank God and him for my sick whit
So I can laugh at the irony of this old Polaroid pic
With him smiling, showing full teeth
And Holding me, like I meant something to him
And Maybe I did then
Or maybe, it was just the gin, nestled between his legs
Or maybe, like most people
He was just smiling for the camera
With no understanding of what true happiness is
Just a pretended bliss captured in a single shot
Thanks Dad, this is all I have got
To continuous remind me of what your not
What you will never be
But guess what
Today I am sending you a picture of me
With two beautiful daughters smiling genuinely
Just so you can see
So you can catch glimpse of what could’ve been
If you would’ve been
Different

Heather - have you thought about a gun? I say get it done!

A Moment in Time

The dress, jade, turquoise and gold
hangs off one shoulder, your dark
hair is coiled at the nape of your neck.
One arm lies across the back of
the leather banquette, the other
around your brother's shoulders.
Forever young and beautiful,
you smile into the camera.

Oh - and a thank you to all of my poet friends! I had a great day with my wonderful friend who made me feel so special. Hopefully the poem I write today will be a little lighter!

Santo Domingo Skyline

In the horizon a curtain of fog.
Looks like Los Angeles covered with smoke
from the Columbus Lighthouse the wide view...
To the left, clear with its red, white and blue,
the mighty flag flying from its thin pole.
The buildings in the distance are like ghosts
crawling up silently to the gray sky
here and there in a foggy broken line
within their own shadows standing alone.

Everywhere the green of the laurel's tree
like the flag nearby, beautiful and free.

My panoramic picture does not shows
but the end of the Ozama river,
though with that little part it delivers
its dark waters and bridges to my thought.
Pictures are a clue for your mind to glow
to bring up what the camera can't see
because in its mechanism you can't fit
the lines of nature with dynamic flow.
This picture is a sweet sap for my soul.

Heather, the words sweet'n'sour thai, spring to my mind!!

A SIMPLE PHOTOGRAPH

Gazing through photographs I pause and recall,
sweat droplets on your brow, running down your neck.
Arm muscles flexing, so intent on a job.
Shinning bright, sun, gleaming on water’s mist.
Bubbles and foam on hot concrete, I still smell them.
Green eyes that spot me,
watching.
Smiling lips whose memory warms mine, giving me tingles
even now.
Funny that a normal, mundane task of washing a truck
was snapped, leaving a priceless photograph,
captured by my mind.

Spring Photo

I can vividly imagine the perfume of the

Fresh wild flowers in my crystal clear

Spring photo, aroma therapy is only a

Partial description of my viewing.

All colors so deep but cautiously bright,

Any selected bunch would be perfect

For a cherishable date tonight.

Every stem and bloom is stretched

So far, strong and wide leaving no

Space for even the smallest bug to hide.

H. Michelle Cooper

“Time Delayed”

The jungle, lush and green
shrouds a still moment
eyes of only one had seen

A soldier, out of war’s foray
caught himself perfectly poised
with a three-second delay

It was a time I never knew him
the place may no longer be
a memory now grown dim

Welcome home, my soldier, from Vietnam

"This picture was framed!"
it's lawyer protested.
The jury was hung
like the art they arrested.

At Teotihuacan

There were twelve
compelled
to march
the Street of the Dead.
Hands bound.
Mouths stuffed with beads.
Buried alive
with
wolves
pumas
eagles
a falcon
and rattlesnakes,
their commingled
suffering muffled
by screaming
teeming thousands
around the Pyramid of the Moon.

Their faces
frozen
in poses of pain
for eternity,
they are now
poked and prodded
for fragments,
to be strung
into narrative.

He stood patiently
feet firm on the floor
red eyes rolled up, silky
ears drooped down as I

quickly snapped the photo
of poor Walter having to
endure the indignity of
a proud Basset in reindeer ears.

Iain, thank goodness your "little sister" has someone like you to help her through and care so much. I'm glad, too, that you're not at work, mainly because you had this opportunity to put down that wonderful poem and share it with us!

Nancy, I loved the subtle, non-judging way you captured how friendship can sometimes unintentionally waver and skew, like a bad signal, and then return to clarity in a moment that you luckily had captured in that photo. It reminded me of similar moments in the past and gave me a smile this morning.

Yay, Patti! Glad to hear that your birthday was done right and in the company of a good friend!!

Paige - you've hit on something that I find so charming about photos. They are the perfect cue for your mind to recall its own captured memories of that event, usually the utmost moment of emotion, which is evoked so well from seeing the photo again.

I'll post my poem ridiculously late, as usual, since all my photos are at home. Yesterday's was done with me at work late, burbling into a Kleenex and hoping no patients came wandering by, so I'll try to avoid that in the future - hehe!

those three children
don't look alike
and yet there is
something about them
that shows they are
related none of them
have the same colored eyes
hers are green
the middle child, one of the
boys, brown and the youngest
boy, blue. She wears a dress
tinted pink in the photo (yellow
in real life) with a sailor collar
looking elegant, as opposed to
the two males in the picture
who try very hard to look
as though they inhabit dress
shirts and that washed behind
the ears look but are sheepishly
unable. Freckles sprinkle across
two noses and missing front teeth
are evident in the smile of
the middle child

The picture was taken
on a hot summer afternoon
in the fifties
the photographer came to
the house and, sweating
through his shirt, unpacked
a large case full of
filters and umbrella shades
and other stuff that
young children found
intimidating

that may be why
we all have a
hint of desperation
in our for-the-camera
smiles, my two brothers
and me

If you wish to see the photo which inspired this piece, you may go to this link:
http://satia.blogspot.com/2008/04/april-24.html

The Game of Love

Tag! You’re IT!
I said I love you
Now it’s your turn
To say something
To fill this overfull silence
In which love becomes
A double dog dare
A game of hide and seek
A hot potato dropped

Photo taken in 1975 near Pozzuoli, Italy (Naples) along a path into the active volcanic bed at Solfatara.

Solfatara
By Bill Kirk

There they were—two souls.
They were oblivious, really,
About where they were
In that instant so many years ago;
An instant now frozen in time
By a single shutter snap—
Light waves captured on film.

So long ago, these two young compatriots
Strolled in common cadence
Down a cool, tree-shaded lane—
The dusty, bleached-white path,
Dappled by the mid-morning sun.

He, peering straight ahead,
Searches the horizon with each halting step.
She, older and wiser, places a
Confident yet consoling arm
Around shoulder and waist
With a knowing glance at the
Brave pioneer beside her,
She urges him onward
Down the cindered path before them—
A path with no apparent end.

Each step taken without caring,
Or I should say without knowing,
About the lurking, unseen dangers,
That had come before and
Might come again, even without warning.

Each step taken as if these two souls
Were supposed to be in this place
At precisely this time, with no regard
For the heat underfoot or the malodorous fumes
Arising like a poisonous mist around them.

He was two and she, but four.
Their journey thus begun
Still continues….

Word Count: 189

William

Gerber baby boy, you are
18 months old or so, a twinkle
of impish alertness in your blue lagoon eyes.
So engaged in life, the direct contact with the camera, knowing
your picture was being taken, so eager to entertain,
without self-consciousness.

That was before the veil of autism swept over you.
Over us all. Where are you, are you still there under that blanket?
We are blanketed too, in a world we never conceived of –
vocabulary, books, specialists, support groups, workshops,
all
with one goal: to snatch you back to the future we know is yours.


Sorry to Michelle H., for the Gerber baby thing, I wrote it before I read yours.

Iain, from kitties to snakes? Yikes!

Glad to hear you had a great birthday, Patti.

Robert, the 28th is a Monday, isn't that enough? :)

By the way, my poem captures feelings I had the first time I saw that photo after William (my godson) was diagnosed with autism (last summer). I'm happy to say that all of the effort is paying off and he is really beginning to thrive.

Corinne

The Holiday Photo Soiree

I see all three
staring back at me,
so beautiful and sweet.

My children, my joys,
one girl, two boys;
they are a delightful treat.

If you only knew
what pain we went through,
to get each smile, these three.

But we do it each year,
to send Christmas cheer,
in the holiday photo soiree.

Photograph: two kids and a mom

Holding soft crabs--four of them!
My son picked that candid shot for
His high school yearbook page
And I wondered whether he was
Just too lazy to look further (that
One has been posted on our kitchen
Glass front cabinet for years) or
Whether it had special meaning
For him. It did for me. All the
Summers I spent in my childhood
At the Chesapeake, catching crabs
For fun but soft crabs for my mom, who
Ate every one, right away--I remembered
Those summers when I took my kids
To the same house, same creek,
And taught them how to catch crabs.
And that wonderful afternoon when
We caught those four, well, it deserved
A photograph, which my sister took
Right before we decided, all of us,
To let them go.

Lyn Sedwick

Lovely,
She.
three years before my birth
spent part of a day at a studio for
the sake of the tradition.

Willingly complied with directions:
"Turn a little more to the left, good."
Waited for the adjustment of a light,
"Would you lower your chin just a bit, please?"
Faced the lens with calm intention,
"Now look up."

A steady gaze despite the flash.

Fifty years later, I hold framed
one of the black and white reasons
That I
who once played "dress-up" in that very cast-off formal gown
now actively avoid having my own photo taken,

Because I
Will Never
Measure up.

Ileana, thak you for your kind words.

I was standing on a corner…

I was standing on a corner
In Winslow, Arizona…
No, really! I was and I have the photo
To prove it. It wasn’t just any corner
It was THE corner. There was even a
Sign over my head that said “Takin’ it easy”
The previous night had been surreal
Dancing barefoot on a pool table with
Miss Flatbed Ford 1994 and around
3:30a.m. Little Bear Frederickson
A full blooded Hopi became the first
And only person to offer to become my
Blood brother. I was nearly drunk enough
To say “Yes”!
Winslow, Arizona (where I stood on the corner)
Is not a one horse town, it’s a two horse town
Shame that one horse left and the other was
Last seen coughing up blood on the wrong side of the tracks
(where I was warned not to go).
It was also abandoned by I40 leaving the remnants
Of Route 66 to wanderers like me and my red convertible.

There were 13 other days just as good!

Memories of Route 66, July 1994. L.A. to Chicago
in fourteen driving filled days and dance hall filled nights.
Don’t even ask about Elk City, Oklahoma but if you ever get there
check out Katy Junction. If there’s ladies underwear hanging from the ceiling fan…
It has nothing to do with me…. This time!

Ileana, thaNk you for your kind words.

I was standing on a corner…

I was standing on a corner
In Winslow, Arizona…
No, really! I was and I have the photo
To prove it. It wasn’t just any corner
It was THE corner. There was even a
Sign over my head that said “Takin’ it easy”
The previous night had been surreal
Dancing barefoot on a pool table with
Miss Flatbed Ford 1994 and around
3:30a.m. Little Bear Frederickson
A full blooded Hopi became the first
And only person to offer to become my
Blood brother. I was nearly drunk enough
To say “Yes”!
Winslow, Arizona (where I stood on the corner)
Is not a one horse town, it’s a two horse town
Shame that one horse left and the other was
Last seen coughing up blood on the wrong side of the tracks
(where I was warned not to go).
It was also abandoned by I40 leaving the remnants
Of Route 66 to wanderers like me and my red convertible.

There were 13 other days just as good!

Memories of Route 66, July 1994. L.A. to Chicago
in fourteen driving filled days and dance hall filled nights.
Don’t even ask about Elk City, Oklahoma but if you ever get there
check out Katy Junction. If there’s ladies underwear hanging from the ceiling fan…
It has nothing to do with me…. This time!

Sorry about the double, having trouble posting.

Mary

At six years old
her wide dark eyes stare out
from a grainy black and white.
In her young life
she has already known
the uncertainty
of being whisked from home
the clatter of a non-stop train
the delivery into hope of sanctuary
holding her mother’s hand.

Webster

A Polaroid transfer
noble cat
sitting majestically
on an maroon afghan

The second great cat
that I have had in my life.
Self assured, confident.
Grateful to have been
salvaged by a human.

Even as you lay
across the urban sidewalk
covered with ants
pretty darn thin
you did not beg.
you just waited.

Even as your teeth fell out
your T cell count dwindled
to nothing
you strolled our home
until the day
you walked out the door
into the woods
your ninth life
over.

The Gift that Keeps On Giving

The picture my mother
gave to my lady
to remind her of me
features me as a tot
in a diaper.
My face is obscured
by snorkel and mask
with the face of a frog.
"Her frog prince"
she might say.
She just laughs.

Three Wishes

A
What is the essence of this Man
sitting between his lightning white
horse and sleek, dark dog, the sky
low and sifting, the water moody,
rolling into the shore, into this
gravely edge of the continent?

B
The Man and horse lean together
in silent communication, while the dog
patiently waits at the Man’s feet.
Horses ran wild here once, storming
the surf with reckless passion—
Every horse remembers.

C
Grant me three wishes:
1)To be a powerful horse, now tamed by love.
2)To be a devoted dog, eager to play and please.
3)To be the one who loves them both.

Elizabeth K. Keggi



I dislike using photographs as prompts because the photographs that interest me speak for themselves. This poem is awful by comparison to the portrait!!!

See link below for slightly cropped version: www.geocities.com/kenwatanabe13o/Print_ad_01_large.jpg

"Jim Lee's Batman"

All graceful movement and just a little unease,
black and gray liquid movement captured
with edges blurred slightly with
sulfurous, vaguely yellow tinted pollution that creeps
slowly, slowly, slowly up your cape and thighs.

You're stuck in my frame now,
cloaked in your darkness backlit
by a full moon that illuminates the very ends
of that harsh line of your mouth -
the ever pleasant displeasure evident even
in the hastily snapped picture.

Such a strong figure, holding the society
of degenerates and elite on kevlar covered shoulders...
an effigy of hope wrapped in a transluscent sticky
candy wrapper that crinkles yet never makes a sound
but only tarnishes with blood of enemies
and hopefully my own, your love's, as well.

Such pride you exude in your very stance,
even as you stand stock still, chest
puffed and prominent as you make good on your promise
to pose, silent, before leaping at me - aiming
to take me out, knock me down - you know
how good you are at what you do,
and I'm just thankful I have this eternal reminder
to show me this little bit of painless heaven.

I smile,
in my chocolate
brown dress, holding a bouquet
of lilac roses, facing the bride, but
looking back at him, thinking how much
I love this man about to take my picture. I know
he’s not thinking ‘Always a bridesmaid, never a bride’
And neither am I, not yet. But he will later tell my niece
That maybe I can do something about her becoming a flower girl.

Corinne, snakes good! some taste like chicken, some like rabbit

Okay...this prompt ROCKS!! Mostly because my husband is a photographer, and my Dad was a photographer when I was growing up. I have wonderful memories in the pictures he made. And I was inspired to write a series of poems on several of the pictures my Dad took. So, just ignore my three poems I'm going to post if you need to (ha!).

"photos from Dad"

a photographer and small-town editor,
Dad took thousands of pictures
when I was a child.
mostly black and white,
with us
standing in front of old barns,
old churches,
anything that reeked of "architecture."

we'd play in the leaves,
then illustrate an article about
autumn in rural America.

we'd romp in the drive-in playground,
then appear in the essay about
the demise of the golden age of
movies and community.

but my favorites remain...
and now live on my hall walls..
the ones of

me and
my newborn brother
my doll
my dog
Mom
Pa
family

images that never made the newspaper,
but live even now in the frames of my
heart.

Based on this photo ...
http://mindofmalloy.com/images/site7/means_to_end_home.jpg

Desperate Measures

Strength of will is not enough,
I should be made of stronger stuff.
Keep it under lock and key,
lest it get the best of me.
I've tried before and always failed
to escape the coffin nailed,
but this approach may be the one
to see this dread addiction done.

And a few poems about individual pictures that Dad took...

"Susie"

she holds tightly onto Susie,
the doll with the wild, blonde, 70s-toy-story hairstyle,
with a look of sadness in her eyes.

But she's me and I don't recall being sad.

perhaps I was frustrated at Dad for taking
another
picture.

or feeling ugly because I had that
perpetual
scrape
on my nose.

whatever I felt then I don't know,
but what I feel Now is
affection for that doll
(now in my daughter's toy box),
and
an abiding love
for my childhood.

A third one (of my brother and I, right after he's home from the hospital. Sheesh...35 years ago!)

"Newborn Brother"

he came home,
tiny and wriggling and slippery and loud,
and she was fascinated with him,
loved him from the get-go

And a final one (sorry for there being so many)...

"the favorite"

This one would have to be
my favorite
of the thousands he took.

Partly because of the composition;
more because of the illumination in the lighting;
but most-of-all because of
the moment captured
(never to come again)

of a granddaughter with a wispy look, a sly smile;
a grandfather with a weathered look,
and a mouth that's half-opened
saying something.

saying something during this moment in the sun,
saying something that's forgotten all these years later,

but saying something that sounded something like,
"I love you."


(and, because I'm self-indulgent and I think the words work best with the photos, I'm going to post the pics sometime tonight on my blog. www.lifewithcherylwray.blogspot.com)

Now I'm off to read everyone else's creations! I'm already anticipating their beauty!!

Snapshot

I took a photo
You left me
I snapped
another
of someone
else

It turned out
Much better
Warmer
Funnier
A keeper

Ten Most Wanted

Every year
They make a list
Of ten fugitives
By name

Infamous
Hard-nosed criminals
All masters
At their game

Their photographs
Stain the walls
The vicious and insane
Shouting out for all to hear
The words
“I’ve been framed”

"Divine Order" - a painting by W.A.K

He's my rhythm, I'm his flow
like sarah to her abraham
Where u go, I go
Foot step follower to remain at yr side
And be the one in which u confide
Not losing myself or forgetting my identity
Just setting myself aside
All while exuding
Individuality
Finding freedom in doing for you
Providing to my hearts content
Considering you because you're considering me
And making decisions to benefit the whole family
Making haste to be your compliment
Your second in command
Always available with a helping hand
Embracing you while you embrace me
I live and die for Family

I'm her rhythm, she's my flow...
i cant believe she wants to go where i go
a rare flower she is indeed
and her strong voice i humbly take heed
her stance at my side adds strength to my back
and the depth of my love for her i never lose track
my queen she is
the mother of my children
my wife
and the strength of her heart envelopes my family
filling my home beyond capacity
she accepts her role in the scheme of this life
and devotes herself
mind
body
soul
with the power of an unyeilding warrior
my own Queen Nefertari
she's my compliment
my second in command
My protector, my shield
My guide
and without her
there is no me

lvg

Patti, no gun for me. I like to get my hands on things . . .

Snake pate is sounding better and better. Lain, care to join me?

Baby Swallows

I don’t know who, Bill or I,
took the photo that hangs in our hall.
We were passing the camera
back and forth that day.
I’m the better birder,
but he shoots much better pictures.

Drinking our morning coffee
on a lovely summer morning,
we were interrupted by baby swallows
as they lined up on the electrical wire
just 50 feet in front of us.
We could tell when the mama was near;
They’d all start chattering and chirping,
‘My turn!’ ‘Me next!’

We watched for about an hour
as she brought the bugs
that she caught on the fly
for her babies breakfasts.

Then suddenly she began
swooping back and forth
past the wire.
She gently nudged each child.
‘Time to fly kids!’

View

The girl is five in a pink and purple rain
coat with a bright yellow hood, her back
to the camera. One of those rare occasions
when she allowed her mom to fuss with her
hair. A single blonde braid, anchored with
pink elastic top and bottom, hangs past her
shoulders. She stands on her porch, the same
porch where her great grandmother sat on hot
summer evenings, and gazes across the green
grass into the wet street beyond. Half the picket
fence is gone.

Carol Brian