camera

I capture immortality
in a flash and shutter
I, a small black box,
am not selective
I just size up what is before me
and show it faithfully
truthfully
I change as all things do
my ancestors caught time
a trait I inherited
and put in frame
they saw a world of color
but could only show it in black and white
after a flash and billow of smoke
thrown out in frustration
our style has changed
as much as the ones we capture
over time
a little preserved time
I am useful
and am proud the things I create
my children taken away from me
when they are developed
I feel a sadness
but that is all I'm for
I do have flaws
I turn my subjects to demons
with red eyes
what a skill to have
to catch time
or rather a time
I can catch the wind
it tosses the woman's hair
she takes out one of my children
a teenager of about fifteen
she smiles but not as she smiles
when I usually catch her
it is dimmer and her eyes strangely mist
I wish I could catch her now
but no one has asked
it is a shame
it may have been one of my best creations

© julie simonson 2009

the house

silence and loneliness
this house haunts me
and fills me with its empty rooms
and its cold air crawls under my skin
the furniture longs to be sat in
it is a living thing
breathing through the radiators
and its windows
tall eyes letting in light
with three almost Freudian
levels of consciousness
basement, main floor, and upstairs
yes, it has a personality
the chairs seem to shrink from me
the carpet creaks
it, too, tries to get away
and the doorknobs cower under my hands
alas I haunt this house
and fill its rooms with resounding silence

© julie simonson 2009