Photographs Poem by Barbara Guest

Photographs

Rating: 5.0


In the past we listened to photographs. They heard our voice speak.
Alive, active. What had been distance was memory. Dusk came,
Pushed us forward, emptying the laboratory each night undisturbed by
Erasure.

In the city of X, they lived together. Always morose, her lips
soothed him. The piano was arranged in the old manner, light entered the
window, street lamps at the single tree.

Emotion evoked by a single light on a subject is not transferable to
photographs of the improved city. The camera, once
commented freely amid rivering and lost gutters of treeless parks or avenue.
The old camera refused to penetrate the unknown. Its heart was soft,
unreliable.

Now distributed is photography of new government building. We are
forbidden to observe despair silent in old photographs.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Denna 24 September 2021

Oh how our minds are photographs, snapshots of emotion at the time and space of "then."

0 0 Reply
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Barbara Guest

Barbara Guest

Wilmington, North Carolina, United States
Close
Error Success