The Photographer’s Portrait

He snapped away at beautiful things –
He was one of the best;
Able to capture momentary bliss.
His life in stills would be momentous;
Memories and moments of making smiles.
It’s easy to capture the outside;
It’s a gift to capture the inside.
But he did it – every time,
Maybe it was in his finger…

But as he snapped he got older,
Until one day his arthritis finger hurt to push.
That’s the day he had his portrait painted.
I painted it.
You should have seen his smile;
It radiated.
It made me smile.

That’s rare.

Now it hangs above his rocking chair
Next to the fire place.
His smile is eternal now:
To match his photographs.

Tide of Truth

She walks onto the sandy beach
With a smile on her warm face.
She picks up a stick which is drowning
In the sunlight and begins to draw.
The end of the stick shifts sand
Into a loving heart.
Inside a giant
Letter for him
Letter for her.
She smiles as he looks onward
And chases her along the beach
Into the shallow waters where
They embrace:
Teenage lovers.

The wind blows her hair
Into her eyes as she stares at
The flat horizon of the sea.
She thinks – deeply – and glances
At him walking slowly towards
Her and a tear leaks from her eye
And makes the water saltier.
As he sits next to her
She just puts her hand on her stomach
And he realises what he has done.
As a wave crashes she realises
That’s not the only thing that
Has just crashed.

The overcast weather matches
The grey threads emerging from her scalp.
She walks slowly along the shore
Allowing the water to softly lick
Her journeyed feet.
She passes a young child and
Wonders whether her child
Will ever return her calls she
Has left for several years.
She comes across a heart drawn
In the sand with
Letter for him
Letter for her.
The water quickly envelops the meaning
And retreats leaving behind
A blankness; a truth.

She: sea water.
Child: shaped sand.
Truth: given up forever.