Two Poems with a camera...

Depth of Field

The boy leans his right elbow on the handlebars
and looks at the viewer
of the digital camera in her hand.
He looks at her face and says something
that is lost in the distance.
She raises her eyes and looks at him
with what appears to be a question.

They are lying under light covers
in the morning, spoons.
His right palm lightly supports her breast,
the fingers of his left hand trace her belly,
tug at her innie.
Her breathing deepens slightly.
“She has great trust in me in this he thinks.”

The boy pushes off with his left foot
and pedals away
she watches his shoulders, dipping
with that familiar, steady tempo
- the way they move in the kayak
reach, pull, reach, pull.


He carves a strong measured turn,
the look of an skier
confident, he's in no hurry
feeling the point on the edge that takes
the first bite.


He slides up just a little
and lightly kisses her shoulder,
and then her neck
slightly below the hairline.
Her head turns - toward him
exposing her ear.
His tongue traces a line
from the last kiss to the well
under her earlobe,
his lips tug,
his breath a soft memory
as he releases her.

He stops to make sure she’s ready.
Waiting for a signal.
This time the camera is on a tripod,
she is kneeling behind it,
looking for the right angle.

She looks around the camera and nods.
He pushes off again.

This time the rhythm of his legs
is not steady,
his shoulders dip, pulling his chest
his abdomen.
The next stroke comes a little quicker,
not quite as dependent on his weight,
a little more drive from his thighs.

His palms slide down her torso,
patient, confident
- that firm pressure she recognizes as
his favourite hug.

If she were wearing jeans,
his hands would be in her deep front pockets.
He half pulls, half lifts her - up
back, half on top,
his tongue tracing the underside of her jaw.

The front wheel
rolls off the pavement,
into the gravel.
He picks a spot mid way
between himself and her.
The camera is incidental.


© David L. Potter

Muriel (at ninety-six years)

Together, with a thousand other women
nominated for the Nobel prize.

How many times have you
hand lettered signs, and when it rained...
you marched anyway. Holding
your message up for the camera.

This is important...

I am looking through this lens into your heart.
Look back at me,
into my heart
...it’s important.

Welcome the rain, let it remind us ALL
of the cold hard facts...
That it is the abuse of power - financial, physical
psychological, sexual - which disturbs our peace.

That World peace starts with each of us
saying no to the abusement of each and every person,
the environment,
the systems that should support, comfort
and protect us all.


© David L. Potter