In Camera

Click, clunk, clonk, snap,

the cheesy smile and the

flicker and flash,

of the eyesore splash of



Sometimes I feel like a fisherman,

quietly waiting for the light to bite,

or just the shadow of my prey to

take up the bait of my camera.


I set out like an elephant hunter,

armed with lenses as

large as their trunks,

or macro to magnify a mating midge,

always hoping for that

moment when a scene

seen a hundred times,

is caught napping in unusual light,

or covered with snow;

every object rounded off,

or puffed up like a

perfect meringue.


Then there is the blasted

temperamental sea,

with its sharp shore and

expletive waves

frothed into a furious foam

by an out of sight storm,

it can’t fit in my camera


I print my family in six by four,

they lie flat and obedient,

their age stuck and

glossed over.


Occasionally I am printed.

The colour of my hair

changes like the seasons,

and wrinkles edge  in like

crevices in tree trunks.


The negative film’s sons and daughters,

and deceased relatives,

are cropped and edited;

red-eyed pixies deleted,

before they multiply like mating frogs.

Nature has a clear picture of me.