Dare to portray me?
by Anna M
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Rated "PG" by the Author.
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She painted his portrait dutifully,
Renowned for capturing essence,
And having risen to his servants challenge,
Painted dawn till dusk for completion of his image.
Carefully he had set the pose,
Reclining on a velvet sofa,
Brazenly displaying expensive heirlooms,
And smiling assuredly.
First glimpse brought horror to the master,
For rather too acurately,
Was the cold malice in his eyes conveyed,
Brush strokes accounting for every line of guilt etched on his face,
No amount of glue,
Could piece back the shattered lives of his country men,
Or bring back loved ones
Taken on a whim,
Round cheeks reflecting an expensive appetite,
Earned on the backs of skeletons.
Glaring back from the canvas,
He saw his own childish fears driving the nightmare,
Mounting behind pursed lips.
From inside the smooth exterior,
Ordering her to the chambers,
The artist let out a bewildered and innocent moan.
Easle crashing to the floor, the crowd remained silent,
And looking around the hall, teeth clenched,
He roared " Is there another artist among us?"
Copyright Anna Marshall 13/01/07
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|Reviewed by Rose Rideout
|Another wonderful write, you do have a way with words, this pulled me into it. Thankes.
|Reviewed by Taylor Ryan
|Powerful one Anna. I muse at the thought of seeing myself through someone else's eyes in hopes of goodness coming through...but I am so aware of the type of man who cannot accept the view. This transported me to another time imagerically. Beautifully written, Anna. I look forward to more.
|Reviewed by Regis Auffray
|He could not bare to see his true self reflected back at him. This is powerful, Anna. Thank you. Love and peace to you,
|Reviewed by Tinka Boukes
|There is power in this message/poem!!
Thanks for sharing!!
|Reviewed by Victor Buhagiar (Reader)
|A tue artist sees the soul of the person he/she is painting. Which is often a portrait different from his own aspirations. A very wonderful poem. Victor|
|Reviewed by Approximately Naive
|This is excellent. A strong period feel to the tense drama.
The second stanza sees the pompous sack-cloth character wrap himself in silk. He luxuriats himself upon a vain, velvet canvas. Then the artist, momentarily invited into his carefully cultured social space, commits the crime of stripping him bare of all conceit.
Reminds me of a portrait I was asked to do. The man gave me a picture of his wife. He asked me to alter the nose, the hair, and remove a slight blemish from her chin. I took the finished portrait to their house. A woman answered the door. I had to look twice to recognise her. She was older looking than I anticipated. She did not look like the photo, nor did she look like the finished portrait, but she was thrilled with it.
I guess we have an idealised portrait of ourselves that we imagine everyone can see and appreciate.
'Is there another artist among us?' is as good an insight into our psyche of vanities as we'll get.
|Reviewed by Felix Perry
|They say a true portrait artist will capture not just the physical characteristics of a person but the very essence of the being, this poem shows the artist has done just that in the pettiness of how he rejected the work.
|Reviewed by Butch Howard
|Seeing into the true nature of oneself can be a sobering and frightening experience. How many of us would be repulsed by seeing our own actual graphic image? I remember the Who song Andy refers to ...
"Can you see the real me, doctor...doctor?" -Roger Daltry/Peter Townsend
This is a well composed view into the psyche of one who wields power while leaving human destruction in his wake. -a fantastic write Anna!
|Reviewed by Andy Turner (Reader)
|Vanity, vanity all of him is vanity... OOOO, this is a rather good ekphrastic story in prosetry, the blighter could not bare seeing the real self, the real me as The Who would say, but your way to young to now that one.. Wanting someone to show him his self deception rather than the truth of the real him..
|Reviewed by J M
|This one has a powerful message. Thank you for sharing.......|