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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,
Then again the one with wings had been in quite a hurry.
Couldn't be me - I contemplated, eyeing up the settings,
A pro am I there is no doubt - from nature shots to weddings.

Aperture, shutter, manual and that trusty Dummy Mode,
Yes indeed - I've mastered them all, the entire mother load.

Next I took a photo of a hawk, but somehow it proved quite dark,
As did the three geese, the bright sun overhead and the meadowlark.
I fumbled with my numbers, bumped up the old F-stop,
And then I clicked until I'd shot a totally different crop.

But now the photos are too light, compliments of the sun,
This imperfect lighting is ruining my photographic fun.

Cranking up the ISO I aimed and shot again,
A barn, an owl, a goat - and then a few pans.
An hour later my computer held the shots from the day,
I gasped out loud in shock, my nerves in a horrible fray,
For not a single shot was sharp, or nice - or even good.
Then in a twinkling, it was that I suddenly understood....

This goof was not my goof in any way I can declare,
Blame it on the camera, for that is only fair....

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....

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