Fourth June Blog.


Fourth June Blog

Snaps in Time.

I see your faces, some smiling gazes,
Others more stern, how they used to be.
In infancy, movement disallowed,
Images on glass, wonders in an age
Of new inventions.

Steam driven, electricity, paved roads.
Victorians usherng new eras,
Wonderment, faces awe-filled,
Lighting dark streets, safer than in pitch night.
Great Exhibition, Darwin, evolutionary.

New plants sought in far off places,
Beginnings, now everywhere, from
Far East, Himalayas, Japan,
Latin names, ending in Chinensis,
From far Cathay.

Tarmacadam, smooth roads,
Cameras, pictures of every day life.
Caught in motion, ladies in large gowns.
Horse drawn buses, Handsome Cabs,
Horseflesh ( and manure) everywhere.

Those stiff upper lip faces,
Flashed; dangerously jso.
Set pieces, unmoving for many seconds.
But history has now recorded
People of the day.

Recording time, events, worlds moving on.
First flights, aviators,
Native peoples, sadly almost eradicated.
Dresses thinner, easier to wear,
Getting shorter, lighter.
Women Joining The Movement.
Emily Pankhurst.

Camera film. Photography,
Unavailable centuries past.
What would we discern?
Toiling faces? Specialists,
Armourers, liveries.

Come forward, recalling battles.
Bleriot. War action.
Snapshot in time.
Faces caught incidental,
Sad, detemined,
Surprised, dirty children,
Mongrel faces.

But technology grows slow.
More killing, wars,
From sepia, glass,
To black and white,
Colours bursting forth,
Digital. What will be next?

Some electronic code,
Stored in our memories,
Accessible to any decoder?
Our brains able to
Project on any surface,
Small as a stamp,
Big as a building.
When will that day be?

Copyright Evelyn J. Steward. June, 2015.

Hello everyone, I am writing more poetry just now. I feel these are more feasible at present. I can adapt anything into a poem, easier to open thoughts, exoress feelings.
Nothing Cocoon.

Black clouds hang heavy,
Glutinous, they seem to drip,
Like treacle, dark custard,
Enveloping all around.
Cloying, no cutting through
With blade or hachet.
Weighed down,
Pushed from above.
Unlighted, seeping endlessly.
Where is that soulful purpose?
That kindly word
That splits the void?

Copyright Evelyn J. Steward. June, 2015

Please bear with me my friends. Take care.



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