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
“Autobiography of a Face”
The wrinkles of time crease her face.
Every line leaves a trace.
Her ruby red lips seem out of place.
Her nose a tiny button.
Her blue almond shaped eyes peer from a brow of snow.
Sparkling with delight.
Sparking a secret wisdom.
A deluge of knowledge.
Threatnening to boil over.
The wrinkles of time crease her face.
Ninth poem
Boring people,
boring lives,
boring dates,
the city.
Superficial cares,
and superficial stares.
Do you have an original thought?
Wearing a mask,
playing a part,
dinner, dessert, goodnight.
“You’re cute,”
“You’re hot,”
I’d rather be shot.
I know what I want, you’re not.
Depth, care,
Wisdom, and sass.
Motivation, desire for more.
Spirit Wolf
She is twilight and guardian Mother.
Her medicine scatters the dark.
She is Teacher; lone, alone, loyal.
Her honor is the energy of the ages.
She is the path inward; governor of intuition.
Her raven will fly for you, if you trust the full moon.
BE KIND AND LOVE
HOUR TEN
POEM # 10
24 HOUR
POEM
MARATHON
BE KIND AND LOVE
Four winds laying calm in the sky,
Marshmallow like clouds drift by.
Don’t anger the wind of the south,
It will muzzle, repress your mouth.
Watch the stormy wind of the west,
Wound your heart within your breast.
The twisted hurricane wind of the east,
Will demolish, destroy, ruin as a beast.
Only the gentle wind out of the north,
Can remain calm and thrust him forth.
Kind and love the four winds that be,
For they may turn and be cruel to thee.
Written by Carl Mann
The kurlman
6-13-2015
The Autobiography of a Face
Hider of secrets
Betraying myself only
to those that know my heart
My heart is the key to my face
Yet to the eye of the
beholder
My face is the only
way to see me
A mask
I wear one 95%
of my days
It’s what they want
It reflects what others
want to see
Happiness, beauty
My face, my face
Truly reflects
what’s within me:
Strength
Pain
Joy
Conflict
Determination
Ambition
Love
Passion
Beauty
My face is a gate
Furtive
Playful
Intelligent
Open the gate
and you’ll win
But until then
I’ll give them what
they want
What they’re comfortable with
I’ll don a mask
only taking it off
to let the most
Exclusive in
hour 10
In your eyes I gaze to see your soul
My heart is racing I must keep control
I see through the watery haze that covers them like a morning dew as the fog gently lifts
So deep in your eyes I see our future a love story so passionate so rewarding so much better than monetary gifts
In your eyes there is a home you have built with plenty of rooms
One of which is ours my pillow beside yours and a vase full of fresh blooms
I see you gazing at me with that georgous smile aimed at me it simply makes me grin
In your eyes I see the passion, the love I can’t resist I must lean in
Im in heaven your kiss tells no lies and all this came from that cute little look in your eyes
Poetry Prompt Ten: Autobiography Of A Face
I look deep into your eyes, reflecting a sadness carried often by many, understood by few. The oceanic blue twinkles in the light, reminding me of starlight, moonlight, shifting repetitions of light and dark in immeasurable amounts. I know those eyes, so well, the skeptical glance, the way you try to hide the deep secrets flowing and ebbing out from the windows to your soul. You try to catch it back before it reaches me, but I am too quick for you, too smart to not notice. You know, I see the soul you believe doesn’t exist. Those eyes have looked at me for my entire life, they can see my entire being sketched upon that non-existent soul. I am distracted by the bags you carry underneath the piercing blue, you have learned to hold your head at a certain angle so they appear as ghosts of themselves. But I can always imagine you, laying tossing in bed, visions of ex-friends and former boyfriends dancing through your head. You seem to be tortured in some way. They come to you in the night, your mistakes, and take from you the sleep you need to let them go and forget. That emotional baggage is etched into your face. Your round, moonlike face, the one you inherited from your matriarch. A spectacular mirror image of her, 30 years later, but every groove, every softness just the same, like a clone, a carbon copy. Except you scowl more often than smile. Whereas she smiles more often than scowls. Deep inside, your fear lurks, spilling out in a crashing panic of dark emotion, on the surface your deep brown/black eyebrows knit together and the eyes I see every time I look up are lost in clouds of flashing, envious green. You are framed ironically by yellow, golden hair, falling so elegantly around my most well known face. Layers of blonde around a dark, stormy pair of eyebrows which scream detrimentally. The panic is only hinted at by this subtle change in eye colour, you control all else, you sport what you can only describe as ‘resting bitch face’, but you know you just want people to believe in the tough exterior you put on display, they can never see the frightened, lost little girl you hide beneath that mask of silence, only blasé emoting from it. You sport facial piercing scars, fading to quiet nothingness, a small mark of the parts of the anger you have let go, removing them slowly, allowing a short, glimmering glimpse into what I can see is your true self. Finally less afraid to let go, maybe let others in, to see the beauty you hid behind those piercings. Letting the persona fall away as you gained confidence in your own appearance. The flow of your soft, rounded cheeks would never show tear tracks making their shiny way across your face to anyone but me, I am the only one who judges your acne scars, your blemishes, your crows feet. As you push further into your thirties I will be the one who first notices all the changes in the landscape that is your beautiful face. I see because you allow me to, there’s nothing you can do to change the fact that I am not blinded by your masks, your face will always give you away to me, you can’t hide from the girl reflecting into the mirror.
Poem 9- Poetry Half Marathon 2015.
Poem 9- Poetry Half Marathon 2015.
Random Thoughts……
My fingers fly over the keyboard. I hear the sing song of the sparrow, one of my songbirds in the background. The songbirds are more hushed today.The weather is warm…the sun is climbing the sky and casting down bright light and bathing us in brilliant light. Summer is here-at last.
#10bis – Our colours are matched
Our colours are matched
So different
So changing
And still matching
Through the changes
Our colours speak for us
We proudly wear them
Beyond all ups-and-downs
Our colours are matched
Beyond all situations
That pass by