Friday, 3 June 2011

Random Pebbles

As photographers
we walk, trudge and skip
through life randomly
picking up images
Like a naughty boy
Picks up pebbles
For his shelf or catapult.
Sometimes we step on a mine
or land on our butts
in the personal space
of a dazzling damsel
or a putrified politician
The Photographer
Is a solitary spider
Often lurking in boring spaces
Seeking preys or praise
Or a little significance.
The camera is an amazing
Wall to hide behind
When nothing makes sense.
It’s definitely easier to shoot war
Than share a roof with a termagant.

How Do You Uproot 500 Years of Racism?