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Poems About Photography by Willow Windsong
The Photographer's Quest
Took a photo of a bird in flight, but it appeared to be all blurry,
Aperture, shutter, manual and that trusty Dummy Mode,
Next I took a photo of a hawk, but somehow it proved quite dark,
But now the photos are too light, compliments of the sun,
Cranking up the ISO I aimed and shot again,
This goof was not my goof in any way I can declare,
The Texas Photographer
August sunrise, camera by his side, Finger on the trigger & ready to ride,
To photographic adventure, blazing shots - Of streams, of Texas plains & what-not's.
Four hours pass, he's drenched in sweat, As he straddles a fallen log to take a sit,
To ponder his current state, more misery than joy, The heavy bag, the pack of gnats, the things that annoy.
The streams had vanished - dried up into ruts, The towering hills had shriveled, the trees all cut.
The plains lay empty, not even one rattlesnake, No critters sitting out for a long sun bake.
Texas. Hell in summer, no winter at all, Cedar breaks, grasslands - color void in fall.
Spring wildflowers could be quite nice, But rain was iffy, like the toss of a dice.
Wyoming had bears and Yellowstone Park, Skies black as night when it got dark.
Virginia had mountains, Colorado clear streams; Those were the states of a photographer's dreams.
Yep, he was stuck in Texas with an anxious trigger finger, To realize such was a real humdinger
Decided the Texas photographer, rising to stand, The rush of leaves? Nope, just sand....