Poemerania

I've decided to start a new tradition of Friday poetry on B, beginning with one of my favorites, Photograph by the English poet D.F. LePard.

I first committed these stanzas to memory as a child many years ago during the hour bus ride to and from school. I would recite the poem to myself, and sometimes to others, until it stuck in all our brains like mental bubblegum. Many years later when I became interested in photography, the words gained added meaning. Hopefully they will be familiar to at least some readers of a certain age.

I'm outa luck, outa love.
Gotta photograph, picture of

Passion killer. You're too much.
You're the only one I wanna touch.

I see your face every time I dream,
on every page, every magazine.

So wild and free, so far from me.
You're all I want, my fantasy.

Oh, look what you've done to this rock 'n' roll clown.
Oh oh, look what you've done.

Photograph. I don't want your photograph.
I don't need your photograph.
All I've got is a photograph.
But it's not enough.

I'd be your lover, if you were there.
Put your hurt on me, if you dare.

Such a woman, you got style.
You make every man feel like a child, oh.

You got some kinda hold on me.
You're all wrapped up in mystery.

So wild and free, so far from me.
You're all I want, my fantasy.

Oh, look what you've done to this rock 'n' roll clown.
Oh oh, look what you've done.

Photograph. I don't want your photograph.
I don't need your photograph.
All I've got is a photograph.
You've gone straight to my head

Oh, look what you've done to this rock 'n' roll clown.
Oh Oh, look what you've done.

I gotta have you!

Photograph. I don't want your photograph.
I don't need your photograph.
All I've got is a photograph.

I wanna touch you!

Photograph. Photograph.
Your photograph.
Photograph. Photograph. I need only
your photograph. I'm outa love.
Photograph. I'm outa love.
Photograph. You're the only one.
Photograph. I wanna touch.