The Poetry Marathon

Autobiography of a Face/Poem 10

Looking at his face one would miss
the sensitivity hidden behind
its mask
The hardness of his face
covers his internal pain
his brow, forged with angry lines, imply
a man of mean-ness, of intimidation
His eyes droop at the outside corners
matching the eternal frown of his mouth
Sometimes a shy boyish grin emerges
I call it the smile of innocence
It’s his most genuine smile, so only glimpses of it are seen
His original smile is dazzling
sunlight reflects off the gold surrounding seven teeth
as he smiles, his face brightens and the frown lines disappear
to be replaced by a handsomeness unlike any other
a carefree spirit resides inside
that face of anger, that face of frowns

Autobiography of a Face (hour 10)

A – luring you are as the beauty shines

U – unthinkable you are, flattering everyone you come in contact with

T – Trust worthy is your countenance as it shows outward

O – Over powering is your look its like a magnet

B – Boisterous are your words that flows from your lips

I – Intelligence is your way its just the action that plays

O – Outstanding are the features on your face the beauty spots and freckles are glowing in the dark

G – Gigantic is your stature it’s very rare

R – Robust is your voice it echoes every where

A – ambitious are your poise it captivates the wise

P – pretentious are your ways, it cannot hide

H – Happy you seems on a cold winters day

Y – Young and vibrant you are always ready to go

O – Often seen as a ghost roaming around

F – Full of energy yet conservative

A – Always about getting what you want

F – faultless and with out blame you grace the world

A – Affirmative and bold not withstanding fame

C – Careful as can be always safe

E – Enjoy the life you have been blessed with daily, in grace and humor.

Hour 10

Cursed

It is said of those soaring high
They’ve been cursed up to the sky
‘What curse?’ I wondered
‘How so?’ I pondered
Freedom is too erroneous a desire
That poet, his prophet is a liar
They said the answer was one
And questions none
It is justified, the way of life here below
However, my understanding was rather slow
‘How long below?’ I wondered
‘Why below?’ I pondered
Satisfaction was what my mind knew not
Their suspicions grew at my mind wrought
They instilled fear as I stared above
And those up high looked down with love
‘Looked down!’ the dignified cried
‘They are cursed, not to be envied’ they lied

Get Off the Top of My Head!

My stomach hurts!
Head foggy with sedentary gloom.
I need a walk.

It’s beautiful out.
Cloudy, chilly, hot,
With birds chirping,
and breeze blowing

I haven’t walked in my forest for weeks,
And weeks and weeks,
Too busy escaping the drum and drone of
For next, until if then.

Oh My God, how I hate
An hour and a half
To and fro.

Last night I escaped a DUI check.
Not drunk, just nerve wracking
After three hours in construction traffic.
Miles of red lights.

I need a job closer to my forest.
I need a job within my forest.
I need my forest.

It sucks being smart and female.
Let me bitch just a little here.
Smart, female, pretty, talented, creative,
And as a result, largely unemployable
Outside the scope of women’s work.

How strange that men are so strange.
Truly strange.
We are told we need one,
Like a fireplace needs a match.
But now I am convinced they need us far more.

I cannot pretend I need a match,
So, I am un-weddably large
For all practical purposes.

I cannot belong,
So I cannot belong. Sigh.
If only they had the staying power
Of masking tape on a wet surface.
I have so little patience.
If only I had more time.

More money and more time.
Money is the key to it all.
Money to pay the bills,
To live,
To exist,
To eat,
Too much.
To be.

Money coming in like waves.

Autobiography Of A Face

It was the eyebrows
And the eagle eyes that lie just under them

Kind and wise
Intimidating when the need arose
Always when my cousin’s and I were rife with potential mischief

But always kind
Tired, maybe?

You could never tell.
You could try and stare the truth out of him
But he would always win that contest

Especially when he wasn’t wearing his glasses.
Which was almost always

It’s hard to say what I miss the most
I recall so fondly, but only as a faded memory

Strange, that I can recall his eyes with full clarity.

I recall also, the look of pain
As his body waged war on him during the summer of ’96
Multiple tours in two continents; including Normandy and the Ardennes
And his body became his worst enemy

He died on a Thursday

 

#10 Autobiography of a Face

My skin now starting to sag and droop
Hides the truth of young resiliance
The wrinkles playing at my eyes and mouth
Tell the tale of laughter always getting me through the tough times
The grey hair tumbling about my face
Still surprises me, where did the time go?
My forehead all speckled with sun spots
Tell the tale of great times spent outside
Teeth, once white, now starting to yellow
Says good food and much red wine enjoyed
Blue eyes that sparkle and shine
Tell the tale of life still laughing and living

Love is a Slow Dance

Love is like a slow dance, a slow dance for two,
Sweet romance lingers in the air
A promise of true love nothing else can compare.

When you look at me intently with your loving brown eyes,
I get lost in my own world as if everything turned magical
You who captivated my heart and left me mesmerized!

Come and take my hand as we will slowly dance,
Fly in space, drowning in the warmth of your embrace
In this sacred haven even angels above get amazed!

Author/Poet Elizabeth E. Castillo

The Autobiography of A Face (Prompt 10)

An accessory

A life story

Unforgiven

Painted

Overlooked

and Underappreciated

One’s face is

Carried around like a makeup bag

Accented and accessorized

taken for granted

valued mostly when beauty is lost

and age comes in

it greets you somewhere

at sometime

and eventually

drapes down

Everything you once thought about it

doesn’t matter anymore

and at that time

your only wish

is to be seen.

Autobiography of These Hands of Mine (10th hour of half marathon)

Autobiography of These Hands of Mine

These hands have nurtured young, caressed lovers, washed uncounted dishes and pots and pans, hung laundry, washed the body of my deceased mother, held hands of friends, and strangers too, in support during joy and tragedy and they have welcomed and received comfort.

These are the unmanicured hands of a gardener, unafraid to place my hands in the dirt to pull up unwanted plants (you may call them weeds if you prefer, I do not.)

These hands are signs of an individual who lives, works, loves. And, at 67 years, my hands show their age with (a few, only a few!) age spots.

These hands, well lived and reaching out for more life, love, work and joy!

 

Autobiography of a Face

Translations of ancient beauty,
Erotic eye sensations and duty
Unique, as a solid
Piece of gold
Places hold
Molds
Elegance unfold
The truth
And
Honor
Within this face