The photographer

[eclipse]

In a graveyard the wind skims

my bald head and I am led

to a robin handling a caterpillar

in its mouth much better than my body

copes with an unwanted guest with as

many legs- that has a lease. The

robin seems drawn to my camera

and proud of his breast as he

perches on a gravestone-if I

could only make a parachute from

his red feathers and land in

his dreams. Later I take pictures

in the park of a vagrant opening

his arms to embrace the thunder and

rain and a fire-eater sheltering

under an archway trying not to show

the strain of eating too many flames.

Somehow the vagrant manages to ignite

the fire-eater's wet stick and swallows

fire in torrential rain. On my wall at

night, the robin's red and vagrant's flame

tame and devour darkness. A fiery moon

became my medicine like a tablet- I swallowed

it whole as treatment for my soul, its flames

following a distant call from somewhere within

and a clear tumbling of my unwanted guest.

In time, my red hair regrows and is snipped- and

moments in time are snapped and ultimately,

like the hair, they are lost. Each memory is as

fragile as a hair and hair is easier to shape

than those moments in time.

[Larsen M. Callirhoe]

this is a very smooth tempo paced poem to go thru reviewing and it is always pleasant an thoughtful to see a tribute write for an acquaintence. this type of written poetry is usually filled with melanchony lines but this was actually more upbeat then i suspected.

 

 

i found i really enjoyed induling in this writing for a couple of reasons as i scanned thru it. their was around a dozen lines or maybe more in this i found that were very exceptional and most of the lines in this are very well placed while skimming thru this. i would have high-lighted them if not for the sake it woulf be like a third of the poem . those said lines stood out being well used rhythm diction wise.

 

victor

[tonyv]

A very fluid and thought provoking read.

 

Tony