Picture Book
Picture Book
By Annmarie Lockhart
All this about a picture
being worth a thousand words,
I don't know.
I can usually tell that story
in far less than a thousand words.
But every now and then
I come across a photo (or two)
that screams the hidden aloud
and imprints it on skin like a bruise
and writes it across the sky indelibly
so that it can't be untold again.
I have seen an image (or two)
that rips off the mask
and folds back the skin
and strips to the bone
so the skeleton can't be costumed again.
I look from time to time
at a certain picture (or two)
that crystallizes the
unspoken/unrealized/unthought
and leaves me breathless
at my own blindness
and sets me to writing again.
By Annmarie Lockhart
All this about a picture
being worth a thousand words,
I don't know.
I can usually tell that story
in far less than a thousand words.
But every now and then
I come across a photo (or two)
that screams the hidden aloud
and imprints it on skin like a bruise
and writes it across the sky indelibly
so that it can't be untold again.
I have seen an image (or two)
that rips off the mask
and folds back the skin
and strips to the bone
so the skeleton can't be costumed again.
I look from time to time
at a certain picture (or two)
that crystallizes the
unspoken/unrealized/unthought
and leaves me breathless
at my own blindness
and sets me to writing again.
Posted by Annmarie at 9/1/2009 11:08 PM 
Categories: today's words, vox poetica originals
Tags: Annmarie Lockhart pictures free verse words truth
Categories: today's words, vox poetica originals
Tags: Annmarie Lockhart pictures free verse words truth
Ah, Annmarie, the verbs make this poem shout its pain and give it power: SCREAMS (the hidden, aloud), RIPS (off the mask), STRIPS (to the skin.
Thank goodness, the pain serves the purpose of setting you writing again.
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This poem is superb and exciting, ti teard all the wrapping from an old canard and leave us breathless at the end. So well executed.
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Makes me think of images of war, like that Vietnamese girl, clothes burned off by napalm, fleeing the village. Of course, photos or memories from our personal lives can leave us feeling flayed, too.
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Wow, Annmarie, this poem is awesome! This is the first time I checked out this part of the website. Looks like you wrote everything here!
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