Member-only story
Poetry
On the camera, that artful liar
The shutter eye makes its clicking blink
in a solitary moment’s wink
so in that instant what’s recorded
is what the iris might have hoarded
in shades of purple, blue and yellow
refined, developed, now in sorry
from which some future years will borrow
The calendar shows a certain day
which with its passing will have its say
how many candles, and how much breath
will put past wishes to a new test
and with what joyful exhalation
will watchers make their exultation
voicing their notes of celebration
Yet quiet moments bring reflection
on this photographic deception
and coyly serve up misdirection
hiding the truth in sliced confection
This moment dawns a new age of self
previous years get stored on the shelf
What’s in a number, anyway?
What change lies in a single day?
Who puts down the curtain on our play?
