Poetry

Frozen Image

Just the opportunity to freeze an image of life for me is priceless.

Take the most unimportant look or just a flirting glance for example
and stop it in time.. What does it mean?
Who did you look at and how much passion was behind that glance?
.
All those questions left unanswered
But with the click of the shutter that image was frozen eternally
to be seen by those few eyes that would…

grace a coffee table book
glance through a periodical
or see a decorated wall.

I am a quiet man; funny in my own respect

and afraid of a lot.
Despite the tough exterior checkered with tattoos,
a shaved head and metal hardware through holes in unnatural places;
this gives me the edge to live my life;
one day at a time,
one moment at a time
and even one photo at a time.

I find that each day as I work a little bit more;
I shed a piece of that broken child whose view on life can overwhelm
the most confident of man.

With all the depth of a single moment as is.

I find peace
that moment in time can be left alone;
where I don’t ponder the what ifs or maybes about it..

I think it seems okay because it has already come and gone.
I walked through that captured cell of life leaving behind any questions
left with a memory exactly the way it is,
not how I remembered it
and not how someone else explained it;
just exactly the way it was supposed to be

That in its own respect is
more priceless than mastercard could ever promote.
.
.

Then there’s the hapless dreamer
riddled with self loathing that passionately wants a trophy
Something that says they’re sexy
Someone that quite possibly could grace the cover of Maxim or Vanity Fair
Would be sufficient enough to satisfy that lost soul pondering eternal grace.
Yet could or would that be enough?
What of the ex-model spending the last bit of a fortune to rekindle the image of a younger more beautiful day …
that will never be the same
But without the same amount of publicity, attention or in there own mind
(respect and admiration)
Will they ever be the same?

Because we could all look at times
come and gone and reminisce
But was it actually the way it was?
Only a photo could tell.
~

And what of the tranquil landscape?
That peaceful scenery hidden in a frame free from evolution
or even timeless deterioration.
Those isolated moments caught on film that are ravaged with clouds
that stand a 1000 ft tall and look of
an ever evolving comic strip of morphing bodies and trees and pirate ships.

Then back to a pillowy image of tranquil grace
what of that moment stolen from god
to bless the background of a writer’s computer stamped with

“Write What Matters”

What of them?
Those images help keep a creative dreamers head in the clouds
just by a glance
shoot for the stars and don’t hold back.
The impact of a photo like that stopped me long enough to remember that …
I
depending on who tells my tale
that rough untouchable cast iron man
or
the fearful boy built with shards of glass that could be broken
with the careless remark from a strangers thoughtless tongue;
Am An Artist
And was touched enough to search hard and long through so much input..
be it years of life abuse and a needle in my arm
so self righteous in the fact that they can’t tell me what to do
or
meager fleeting moments of healings that have blessed the short awakenings in my clouded judgment over humanities
iron fisted opinion of my contributions to life
And the inner boy frustrated scared and all but full of grace..

I was touched deep enough by that one image to find myself long enough to remember what about life that I do love.

Even if in life it took years for me to know and understand
it has helped me rekindle the fact that is what’s in store for me.
I have finally surrendered to life
and just in time
to reserve a prime time seat
in the transformation of an artist formally known to himself as broken.

Now can you see from a minute in my shoes
what an image
compounded
with an imagination
compounded
with years of insanity can do….

And with that
You see written on paper
what a picture is to me…

Is there truly a dollar amount for that?

~Rob

Poetry

Photography