Photography

"Photography"
by The Starting Line

I've never been so happy
to see a photograph of me
then when graced with your company.

You're making a small change to the way
that you wear your heart.
I like it better...I like it... I like it better now

I'll swing from a streetlight
as I will sing oh, oh, oh
I'm stuck in the meantime
but we're so oh, oh, oh close

The sunlight's overwhelming the scene
that's composed of you and me in our finest moment.
An amazing illusion was made with trick photography
it seems like you're really...you're really...
it seems like you're really here.

I'll swing from a streetlight
as I will sing oh, oh, oh
And I'm stuck in the meantime
but we're so oh, oh, oh close

I'm grilled by a spotlight
And sing oh, oh, oh
we're still in the meantime
but we're oh so, oh so close.

I'll swing from a streetlight
and sing oh, oh, oh
And I'm stuck in the meantime
but we're so oh, oh, oh close
we're so close.
we're so close.

REVISION!

Hey everyone. I revised swimming clothes for my english class. The revision is below this post. Please check it out. THERE ARE MAJOR CHANGES!!!!!

good ones though

GOOD PROVIDENCE

Soaked

LIKE I SAID. IT'S REVISED! TELL ME IF YOU LIKE THE CHANGES OR HOW THEY AFFECTED YOUR THOUGHTS.


Swimming Clothes



Missing the point…

An empty aisle,
as far as you could see.
A golden carpet highway
to the beach of my insides.
A street of gold
paved in Berber,
the fibers tainted
the result of the heavy traffic
of unwashed feet.

So, I wasn’t driving, right?
(Immaturity enhanced by a lack of depth perception
and a crippling amnesia always means the same thing.)
Passenger side,
front seat,
brand new eyes absorbing
brand new sites
and the faces of
the rest of
the Body
of drivers.

Little did I know,
that the highway gets lonely,
exits look appealing,
and the next thing you know,
you’re at a gas station
in Memphis
asking directions
from someone born thousands of miles away
from here.

Or anywhere that you’re going for that matter.

That’s why carpooling makes sense.

(Tangents will be the life of me.)

With signs in sight,
(billboards supporting the driver's decision...)
my mother gets excited,
and assures my Father,
they’re happy tears.

Everyone wanted them to leave me at home.

“He can’t even swim.
What if he hates the water, or
drowns?
You’ll never forgive yourself.
He’ll be
more guilty of not swimming than if
he had never gotten wet.”

Smiling,
Dad replies,
“Well, we like the water. It’s a risk we’re willing to make.”



Looking snazzy…

My brand new swimming clothes adorned,
I’m foreshadowing in the flesh;
dressed in the water’s hopeful effect.

Wish I could see my feet.

My dad parks the car the same way he always does.
from the Right.
NOT THE lEFT.
From the car I see the beach.
I am in awe.
My parents don't take notice
because
I
"always have that look on my face."

Finding the end of the
black
pavement's grip
that quickens my parents' steps,
I notice their feet being invaded by
white.
It appears to be
dirt,
but the substance is much
too clean to be
dirt.

I resolve that what It is,
is what I have been missing.

The water’s edge approaches
and as the echoing waves’
song of visibility
rings clearer and clearer,

everything stops.

No one is talking and
(except for the occasional excited whisper)
all have left the cool of the water
to witness me shiver for the first time.

And they’re smiling.

Clutching to my mother’s summer dress,
I am overtaken by a sudden
wariness of my new surroundings.
Tears begin to form behind my
ignorant eyes,
drenching my ever-moistened eye lashes
and streaking my cheeks
with a
Rose-
red embarrassment.

Feeling the shake of reluctance in my mother's arms
I find myself pushed toward a new face.

I notice his swimming clothes.

Faded black
from his constant immersion
in the salty,
and the drying warmth of the beach’s
direct sunlight,
they hang loosely around
his weathered but chisled
swimmer's frame.

He gathers me in,
holds me as his own,
and speaks to my embarrassment
in a low whisper.

One that no one but he and I can hear.
The kind of whisper that makes you feel guilty for not listening more.

“I swim Here all the time.
You’re going to love It.”

Leading me down to the water’s edge,
His grip is firm.

The current doesn’t have a chance against him.
Waiting to drown,
waiting to be taken into the
depths
of the abyss,
I, unable to control myself,
find a way,
in this safest of places,
to let my ignorance outweigh his
experience and ability
Cupping his right hand,
he dips it shallowly
and brings up a palm full
of quickly fleeting water.
He smiles softly
and runs his steady hand over my head.

Still sobbing,
I feel the ocean’s saline as it sprints,
like a friend with Good News,
down my forehead,
meeting with my tears
on a pale,
fleshy dance floor.

As husband and bride,
They dance.

The waltz marks completion.
......


Looking snazzy…
My brand new engagement ring
shines with a luster
that echoes its price.



Engaged.
With no knowledge of love.


So there you have it. Let me know what you think.

.epoHoNevahllitsew
Good Providence

For Myself

Here's the new poem. Think of this as a sequel for the last one. This poem also has a second part which I have the concept for drawn out but I haven't inked but a few of the first lines yet. Anyway, here it is.

Granted For Taken

Thirsty whores.

With bodies free
from the briuses of stones.

Dressed in white.
With veils
that mask empty eyes,
obtuse noses,
and snarling,
cherry-red lipstick smeared,
lips,
with tongues bent around the sharpest of lies.

Bleeding through the grin of crooked teeth.

Blood-stained gowns.

The result of unsuccessful attempts at
dry
cleaning
and nervous hands;
Pushing down the tide of guilt,
Scraping clean the palms
that placed knives
into the new homes and warmth
of innocent chest cavities.

Scraping...

Acting as if they had never bathed.

As if they had never been bathed.

Born again
strangers
to bath tubs and bakeries;
filled with a self consciousness
which fuels a hostile
bulemia.

(They all think you're fat.)

Losing pounds and gaining weight...

The results are taste buds
well acquainted with the flavor
of stomach acid
and unfamiliar with water's texture.

Sour,
tearing away at the esophogus
with each fruitful heave,
half-digested grape juice and crackers
exit through the mouths they entered
spurned on by gluttonous hands
which now profane
the blood of a promise
with two fingers down
infected throats
that have professed guilt,
which have sung,
"Once was blind,
now I see."

See
the timing with which
they step.
A beat disguised by the
Christmas Gift
of new shoes.

They put them on every
Sunday morning.

But through the week,
they wear bare feet,
collecting the dirt
that lies between the fibers of carpet
covering the bedroom floors of their many lovers.

The only layer they never remove.

Bearers of an old disease,
passed on for generations,
they constantly ingest a drug
to which they were given a perscription
with unlimited refills.

These pills they swallow
are stored in a bottle
with a sticker bearing instructions:

TAKE (WITH WATER)
ONLY WHEN NEEDED

and a warning:

CONSISTENT USE
MIGHT CAUSE ADDICTION

With this in mind
they surround themselves with bacteria
and,
with the aid of cheap wine,
turn what was meant to be a medication,
into an Immunity Cocktail.

Strengthening sickness with the antidote...

Strung out,
rising from the bloody pools
that have consumed their bathroom floors,
they stand
(somehow)
to meet their reflections in
drug cabinets.

Doing their best
to rub out mascara streeks
from moistened cheeks,
the make-up is removed.

An ugly face remains.

A life that can no longer be
painted by
nail polish and hairbrushes
is revealed.

There is nothing left.

Falling
to recieve their deserved destiny,
their bodies never touch
the cold tiles of the floor.

Instead,
unmarked arms wrap around their torsos,
lifting them so they might carry on.

The Husband
gently strokes his wife's unclean hair
and kisses her softly on her cheek.
(as she had done when walking out the door.)

He says:

"I know where you've been.
You've been running again.
Let's get you cleaned up,
put your shoes on,
(we'll double knot them this time)
and go out for dinner.
I bought you a beautiful white dress.
It's similar to the one you used to have.
Do you remember?"


.epoHenOevahllitsew
Good Providence