Old Photograph

[ton321]

He had a babe in arms, his grand child,
- that black and white thing,
as heavy as lead you seemed to feel his bones
Metal mickey they called him.

Now the same baby, grown up into a man,
feeds his Grandparent who once held him in his arms
orange juice, tips the flask in increments of love
back towards the warmth

while we’re watching, taking snapshots
behind our eyes, no camera shot will make it true
except our own of grief,
and those who we thought we knew.









Old Photograph.

Revision 1

He had a baby in his arms, proud of his grand -child,
as heavy as lead you seemed to feel his bones-
Metal mickey they called him.

Now the same baby, grown up into a man,
makes confident jokes, but sees the same thing,
feeds his Grandparent
orange juice, tips the flask in increments of love
back towards his trembling lips warmth.

[jisbell00]

Hi Tony,

Yes, this is pretty much lovely. I don't think you need the word who in the last line.

It took me a moment to get the black and white thing, until I glanced back at the title.

Cheers,
John

[Macavity]

Particularly like the 'Metal Mickey', and the lead.

[jisbell00]

I tend to prefer V1 to the revision.

Cheers,
John

[Macavity]

He had a babe in arms, his grand child,
- that black and white thing,
as heavy as lead you seemed to feel his bones
Metal mickey they called him.

Now the same baby, grown up into a man,
feeds his Grandparent who once held him in his arms
orange juice, tips the flask in increments of love
back towards the warmth.

That feels like the poem for me.

[jisbell00]

Leaving out S3 works for me as well.

Cheers,
John

[jisbell00]

I like the babe in arms! I missed it in the edit and regretted that. The lead I am less attached to myself.

Cheers,
John

[ton321]

He had a babe in arms, his grand child,
- that black and white thing,
as heavy as lead you seemed to feel his bones
Metal mickey they called him.

Now the same baby, grown up into a man,
feeds his Grandparent who once held him in his arms
orange juice, tips the flask in increments of love
back towards the warmth.

That feels like the poem for me.

thanks mac for the lead