Photo Title: Roadmaster © Bill Vaccaro PhotographyVisit his site to see additional photos.
The photographer lives in Chicago, Illinois and specializes in
black and white fine art photography.
Photo used with permission from Bill Vaccaro.
Photo used with permission from Bill Vaccaro.
3 comments:
Black and white
leaves the rust to be imagined
like a ghost town's peeling paint.
Sit here behind this frozen wheel,
if only these seats could
tell of love; new and old,
remade and broken forever.
Take time, hold my hand
as you brush virgin fingers
through my tangled hair,
carefully now whisper pleasure
into a stale night as this
cracked grill imprints
itself on my bent spine...
Trees will sway, leaves spiral
to the ground and around us
the vines will rise.
Water from the gray sky feeding
this marshy ground.
Bugs crawl across my leg
finding shelter from a full moon
as an owl swoops overhead
on wizened wings; I laugh
full and robust, without inhibition.
Could my life be more cliched?
Could I love you even less
as I will these headlights to light,
show me my mind and stop the screaming.
Stop this ringing in my head
as your breath cascades
over my stiff neck.
Last night I lay alone, but forgiveness
you draw from me with every kiss.
Here in black and white, we lie tonight.
Sarah
I am so impressed with your poetry. Your ability to use these prompts and bring out so much intensity from them and your words is quite something. You really inspire me to keep trying.
Faith
(cough, cough)
There once was a time when a soda cost a dime
At the drive-in on Fourth Street and Bay
We drove from LA to Atlanta to play
And we did it uphill all the way.
(cough)
You're too young to know when we had REAL snow -
Not like the snow of today
Times were tough. They were rough. And we di'n't take no guff.
And you know what? I liked things that way.
(hack)
But time motors on. Most of my friends are gone,
Sold to scrap heaps with little regard.
Now my time draws near and I'll not move from here.
Just some rusty old bones in a yard...
(wheeze)
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