Out of the photograph
the family group stare with static pride
into my present which is inextricably linked.
My father, his father
cousin and her father
all in a sepia dream.l
Everyone dies of something, they seem to say
in their noble upright famililal way
and I smile back
finding a tiny chink in the armour of isolation.
There will be other times I know;
as yet the stigma of a cross on the door
a shadow gathering force.
I love seeing old photos of my past relatives when they were young. It came as a surprise to me when I realized their world had color too even though the photos did not.
The gathering shadow at the end... I really like the tone it sets. What a beautiful poem. BTW your family seem to face death nobly...mine just scream and yell a lot.
Thanks so much Graham and in the same comment vein Jennifer. It made me reflect on the fact of how uplifting family photos can be and how near to a poetic feeling that gets us , a sort of reflection. It also reveals how comments can serve a purpose in reaffirming the intended thoughts of the writer.
Ray
Liked this one as always Ray. Looking at old photographs is always comforting somehow, even if the message is everyone has to die some time. I agree with Greg.
Jennifer
Really like this Ray. The way we all seem to smile when inspecting old photographs as if we can elicit a return acknowledgement. We all do it without thinking
Thanks for the likes Rich, Kevin, Branwell and Stephen, much appreciated.
Well Greg, it's hard to rise above the present situation, so that was a real compliment . All this limitation needs an outlet...
Thanks Po. Indeed we are . Stay safe.
Thanks for fleshing out the theme Mark. The call to arms was a matter of pride for many and maybe it shows in photos. What a wake up call, however. I worked with an impressionist years ago called Tony Venner - no relation I doubt. He was a boxer from the east end.
Thanks again folks.
Ray
The reality is combined with the poetical to fine effect in these lines.
Close by as I write is a photograph of my maternal uncle Ernest
Valentine Venner - in shirtsleeves, hands thrust in the pockets of
riding breeches, gazing steadfastly at the early 20th century camera lens with all the seriousness of youthful military maturity....soon to die
in combat in WW1. He is that reminder that we are all due to die in
one way or another.
'Everyone dies of something, they seem to say': don't know why I find that line comforting, Ray, but I do. Stay well. Keep writing.
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raypool
Thu 30th Apr 2020 14:06
Thanks Michael for your warming words, and coming late to this poem. It's nice to know readers are looking back at one's work! Poetry has to be fresh in the mind and re reading this does seem to bring comfort in the present situation. I try to be philosophical, and back in the day, death was more often faced by families, not having the same backups we have today and the expectations of that service. I'm glad you liked it...
Ray