No Images
They simply record a fragment
Of an instant
But fail to notice
The fierceness of life
Sparking in her eyes.
What can a matrix of print do
To capture What she expressed
Beyond any artificial recording?
Her life was
EdgedLike the blade of a sword
Was passionate
Like the mother of a cub
Was extreme
Like torrents of rain
But was also
Exceedingly gentle
With a feather touch
A tender tear
And a whispered pledge.
No image can compete
With the memory of a womanWhose presence lives
Beyond the technology of time.
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2 comments:
...Her life was edged like the blade of a sword...
Man, where do you come up with these? From your own life memories? I mean did you actually find an old photograph?
I love that imagery. It's hauntingly sad. I have those old photos myself. Tucked away, you know? On some dusty page of an ancient photo album from the days of instamatics and Polaroids. It's hurts to go back to them, but still I am drawn from time to time. To see those eyes, that enigmatic smile. John Prine. Know him? I think he's from up in your neck of the woods. From ALL NIGHT BLUE...
Still I wonder how you look and
Who looks at you every morning
I can still feel your warm breath
You kissing me on the chest
I'm just dreaming
Thanks for your words Tim. You asked about from where some of those images rise. I have a vivid memory of her face gazing into mine on a summer afternoon, as I was reading to her. I thought she was listening...but it turned out she was listening to an altogether different matter. When I looked above my open book and saw those amazing eyes, I fell into them. No photo could possibly have captured that moment...it would have been tasteless to try. If I knew where she was now...but I do not. Perhaps it is for the best. My heart couldn't take it. She was a Corvette and I am a Studebaker. I must check out Prine. He sounds like my kinda guy.
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