Still In The Picture Poem by Glenn Bagshaw

Some often wonder, what's the hidden past?
As when a guest will view a friend's new room,
and here a photo: one has stood steadfast
but next to him a moon of space in bloom
in lieu of paper flower cut away-
that sheared, now taken face-but it's still there!
The gap so torn remains, for equal share
to each who stood. The whole of facts must stay.
The point remains in everything that's viewed.
The old had mothers (damn, still dear! still dear!) .
Mice need cats; institutions- the subdued.
The Marxists without Marx are more unclear.
The truth's so social. Single terms have lied
and widened ragged holes that we're beside.










Some often wonder, what's the hidden past?
As when a guest will view a friend's new room,
and here a photo: one has stood steadfast
but next to him a moon of space in bloom
in lieu of paper flower cut away-
that sheared, now taken face-but it's still there!
The gap so torn remains, for equal share
to each who stood. The whole of facts must stay.
The point remains in everything that's viewed.
The old had mothers (damn, still dear! still dear!) .
Mice need cats; institutions- the subdued.
The Marxists without Marx are more unclear.
The truth's so social. Single terms have lied
and widened ragged holes that we're beside.