Literary photography

A few years back when I was still living in Ohio, I had this idea-- Literary "photography", a series of short well written vignettes with pictures to accompany them. I never got around to the photography portion of this project but below are the results of the literary portion I was working on:

First Kiss

Standing on a curb she kisses him deeply. Their tongues mingle and dance with each other. In that single moment they are the only two people on Earth. Everyone else disappears into the periphery. You stand off to the side, glancing over at them occasionally. A part of you is jealous; remembering your own moments of total happiness that never lasted, but while they were there, nothing else compared. You walk away, not interrupting. This is their time.

You remember your first kiss. You had never met her before, you knew from the moment you saw her… you knew it was her. While the elation passed, it put you on cloud 9 briefly. You felt you could surf through her long red locks, swim in the soothing blues of her eyes. That feeling slipped away in the ensuing months. But at that moment, the cars rushing by behind the two of you, the street lamp reflecting in her eyes, eyes that closed slowly as you leaned in to kiss her. Her fragrance lost in the filing cabinet of your memory until it’s rifled out by another woman with the same scent at some, as yet, undetermined moment. The taste of her lips on yours with the sound of passing cars and errant conversations you weren’t a part of fading deeper and deeper into the background.

I believe this was written late in the summer of 2000. I witnessed 2 people kissing after work one night. I was in a rather unhappy relationship at the time and seeing 2 people in a happy relationship made me smile and remember when I had once experienced the emotions I'm guessing they were feeling some semblance of.

Summer Campfire

They had the fragrance of vacation on them; the subtle perfumes and colognes of bug spray, sun-block, and campfire. With just one whiff you were taken back on a magic carpet of memories. You remember talking over the pale orange glow of the fire and the soft white from the pin pricks in the sky, the local classic rock station playing Blue Oyster Cult in the background as you reminisced about times past and played the all too familiar game of “catch-up” with brothers and sisters who’d become more like strangers passing on the street with the passage of time.

I wrote this either in the summer of 2000 or 2001. I had stopped at a convenience store to buy a pop and these 2 young girls and their dad came into the store. I could smell both the insect repellent and suntan lotion on them. Those scents hit me with a wave of nostalgia so I wrote it down.

Sunset on the Bay

"Where did you go just now?" she looked at you with that look located somewhere between concern and curiousity.

Come again?" not quite understanding what she means, you reflect her curiousity back at her.

"You got that distant look in your eyes again."

"Oh." She's right but a part of you just wants to stay in that place alone. The sun setting as the waves gently lap the shore, the occassional call of a seagull or splash of a fish coming up to figure out what the rest of us are looking at. The sun slowly turning from its afternoon yellows to its evening reds and crimsons as it dips into the water. Sailboats pass by, massaging your calm serene mood... This is your sanctuary. A sanctuary you enjoy sharing with the special people in your life but can't wait to enjoy alone... to get lost in the peace and to drown yourself in the sunset's embrace.

"Yea, I s'pose you're right." You smile at her with a look that says that's all she's getting from you.

This was written in the summer of 2002. My then girlfriend (later fiancee and now wife) had come to visit me in Ohio. We'd driven from my home in Elyria to Sandusky where I'd lived for 2 years before moving to Elyria. We went to a park overlooking Sandusky Bay and had a conversation similar to the one above.

Crimson Love

The flicker of the strobe, the soft glow of black lights as your hands are clasped with hers. Your lips dance together as your bare skin feels the electricity of hundreds of lightning bolts with each caress. The soothing and dark tones of King Crimson syncopate every kiss, every caress, every moan from her lips and yours. Your bodies crashing into each other like waves against the rocks. The smell of her perfume and shampoo fills you just as your musk overwhelms her. Your bodies are beyond thought, pleasure echoes through you. Every synapse; taste, touch, smell, and even the sight of your own eyelids clenched tight in exquisite pleasure is amplified. Your nerves short circuit as the music crescendoes and your bodies reverberate, shudder, and shake. As quickly as it hits, it's over. The music fades in the background as you lie next to each other. Aftershocks of pleasure course through your bodies as the soft flutes and vocals lull you both to sleep, smiling in each others arms-- your heartbeats in sync with each other, a metronome to the soft music dancing you into your dreams.

Given the nature of this one, I'd rather not go into specifics. I'll just say that King Crimson (thus the title) isn't normally a band one would think to listen to during life's more amorous moments; but somehow the song Starless from their Red album fit this particular experience quite beautifully.

Awake at Sunrise

The sun pierces the blinds and your eyelids as you journey back to reality. One by one morning invades your five senses. The soft glow of dawn, the smell of the morning dew hanging on the grass, the sound of morning traffic rumbling softly at first, growing with intensity with each passing moment.

A foul dryness penetrates your tongue, jarring it awake, and the feel of her bare skin against yours and the light weight of the bed sheet resting over you pulls you back from the journey of your dreams. You feel her stir in your arms, the morning overcoming her as well. You look into each others eyes and smile.

I could be wrong but I believe this last one is actually in reference to the subsequent morning (where the previous piece left off).

Hot Summer Day

The shrill hum of the cicadas creating a sonic backdrop, a soundtrack of a summer. The stale air latches on to you, hugging tightly, bogging you down and caressing you with a soft sheen of sweat. You attempt to play hide-n-seek with the sun but you're at a loss with no clouds to hide behind and few healthy trees to find respite under. The songs of summer play out in your head, a seductive reverie of times and people past, lost smiles, forgotten punchlines to lost jokes told on a chaise lounge with the erotic sensual application of sunscreen. The joke and punchline were irrelevant, she had laughed anyway. Your heart took a snapshot of the moment for posterity. Unfortunately, the curse of time has faded the photograph leaving its edges yellowed and her laugh muted and fading slowly.

And unfortunately the curse of time has faded this "photograph" to the point where I no longer recognize it.

Misplaced Opportunity

She smiled at you with her eyes as if to ask you your name. Your heart answered her eyes with a flush of the cheeks and a nervous laugh. Your faces continued the dance of non-verbal flirtation. There was something about her, the light freckles on her nose, her sun-bleached hair, and lightly burnt and peeling skin. Or maybe it was her dimples, or the way she was able to laugh without actually laughing.

You remember your first date with her; she was in a floral print sun-dress and sandals. She was blushing nervously at you. You had a bottle of wine, a box of crackers-- Triscuits, and brie in the picnic basket in your left hand; a pair of empty wine glasses and a single perfect pink rose in your right hand. You fed each other cheese & crackers as you laughed away the afternoon under the soft warmth of the sun.

The date only happened in your imagination. Too shy to actually talk to her, every word, every joke, every flirtation stuck in the back of your throat without a road map to her ears. A missed opportunity-- an almost perfect relationship that got lost between fantasy and reality in the land of regret known as "Shoulda."

No, she really got up and walked away before any words were exchanged, leaving you only with the memory of the single perfect moments you shared with her and a sly flirtatious smile you never answered as she left.

This one was one of my favorites. I believe it was written either in April or May 2001 or possibly sometime between February and March 2002. I don't recall exactly other than to say I was between relationships when I wrote it.

Hangover

Sunlight blinding at the crack of dawn
Jackhammer pounding from the inside out
Gastro-Intestinal Gymnastics scoring a perfect ten
Last night's drinking binge, a work of art
Painted on a canvas of porcelain

This one was written from memory and largely for fun. I'm not a heavy drinker for the most part. And I can count on one hand the number of times I've reached the state of inebriation that would have led to the above poem and all of those ocassions ocurred at least 2-3 years before I wrote the above poem.

I hope you've enjoyed these.