Best Self Portrait Poems
Behold, oh my beloved!
Is there a hidden care
you would like to share,
with your not so gentle gaze?
Repudiating caducity,
your eyes portray
sustained excitement ~
still and restrained
whilst behind you
an arabesque of phantasmagorical
make-believe.
Behold, oh my beloved
the vortex of colours
surrounding you
entwine a paradigm
of that starry night~
and as i look into its cosmic glow
I fall in love with you.
22 May 2022
A Briand Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
6th Place
Notes:
Like Rembrandt and Goya, Vincent van Gogh often used himself as a model; he produced over forty-three self-portraits, paintings or drawings in ten years. Like the old masters, he observed himself critically in a mirror. Painting oneself is not an innocuous act: it is a questioning which often leads to an identity crisis.
( Credits: Google Arts and Culture)
Categories:
self portrait, appreciation, art,
Form:
Ekphrasis
I am one breathtaking moment
I am one who is lost or alone
I am one raindrop, or one flowering rose
I am a distant star or a meadow lark
Or one dark cloud that hovers on the horizon
I am many memories from a long ago childhood
I am many tears and many sorrows
I am many rainbows and many seasons
I am many reasons to sing a love song
Or tell a story, or share the laughter, or feel the glory
I am all the colors of our world
I am all races, all creeds, the scattering of seeds
I am all words unfurled into the light
I am all the broken hearts and hopes lost in the night
I am all the hurt, all the anger, all the joy, all the love
I am all who believe in God above
I am all who doubt, thereof
I am all who laugh, and sing, and wail and shout
I am unleashed with wild emotion
I am heartbreak, and devotion
I am humble, I am proud
Soft as a whisper, the shape of a cloud
I am the stepping stone to healing
I renew by sharing feelings
I am a few unbroken rules, a few enchanting jewels
I am the ember, I am the spark
----------- the poet in "me" who dreams in the dark
~
----------- but this is the real "me" who schemes in the dark
I am the neighbor, who brings you soup
I am a tomboy, I am a friend
I'll lend an ear if you are troubled
My favorite food might be ice cream
A double scoop, I beg you please?
I'll bathe the dog, I give good hugs
I rub their backs when they are ill
Good music fills my eyes with tears
Love hula hoops. Loops in my ears
Toss a ball into a hoop and ride a horse, (I have for years)
I like to wear my denim jeans, occasionally I'll wear my lace
Brunette, of hair, my mother's face
I make mistakes....... I won't forsake you
Don't buy me a crown, I'm not a queen
But I am keen on my clean house
I'll not judge you...don't hold a grudge
My husband declares that I'll not budge
But I can make some awesome fudge
I'm small in size......my eyes are blue
I'm not a prize..I'll blow a fuse
I thrive on loving, I'll love you too
And I can fix most things with glue
I can stretch a dime, make old things new
I love antiques and have a few
I've paid my dues.....with ups and downs
One ordinary girl........from one small town
This may be more than you want to know
But that's scoop, ..... I'll say adieu ....!
______________________________________
For Frank's Contest: Self-Portrait
Categories:
self portrait, self,
Form:
Bio
A man with a creative dream
On an arid afternoon
Admiring God's creation
Relaxing in the sunlight
With his cowboy hat
Giving him a little shade
Watching the cumulus clouds
Shading the desert wasteland
Captured all by the artistic eyes
Of a man named T. C. Cannon
Inspired by Abe's
Native American Ekphrasis
Categories:
self portrait, art, native american, nature
Form:
Free verse
Do you feel an ache from your virgin breasts,
as you paint the Madonna whom God blessed?
Your eyes present an almost haunted glow,
hands delicate barely hold onto brush.
Insanity almost seems within your reach.
You barely smile as you look my way.
I'm left to wonder where I should gaze.
Mother leans forward baby speaks in ear.
Are you cultured woman able to hear?
Has the Christ child left you in darkness?
Will light ever shine beneath your cloak of black?
Perhaps downturned lips will rise in ecstacy!
A child to love who suckles at your breast.
Secret joyful sounds a heart caressed.
Attempt at an inverted Sonnet for the renaisance
woman-- 2nd in the series contest.
Sponsor Cyndi Macmillan
Self portrait with her painting a picture
of Christ child wispering in Mary's ear.
Categories:
self portrait,
Form:
Sonnet
I Am…
Woman – give me life to nurture
Wife – give me two lives made one
Singer – give me arias of symphonies
Poet – give me words to move the heart
Dancer – give me waltzes and tap shoes
Joker – give me whimsy born of laughter
Dreamer – give me bright visions to follow
Worker – give my hands tasks every morning
Leader – give me visions to plan
Athlete – give me grace to soar over hurdles
Explorer – give me unmarked roads to ponder
Artist - give me scenes to remember
Gardener – give me seeds for future harvests
Crafter – give me scraps of life to weave together
Seeker – give me puzzles to solve
Lover – give me a heart that reaches out
Mother – give me lives to encourage
Child of God – give me brothers and sisters to cherish
Believer – give me the joy of Heaven’s prayer
Prophet - give me sight through the fog
I am…. Made of yesterday, today - maybe tomorrow.
I am not I AM but long to see this face.
Categories:
self portrait, me,
Form:
Bio
He is wizened, shackled to the horde,
Trifle deaf, he would loiter use mordacious words,
Owned cartridge of film that would elicit laughter.
06/04/2017
Contest: eight word contest.
Categories:
self portrait, anger, identity,
Form:
Verse
With cloak removed...
I'm as liable to get lost in a daydream
as I am to scream with delight
when a chrysalis releases a Monarch.
I find nights enchanting when stars are agleam,
and feel like dancing in the light of moonbeams.
I wake at the edge of dawn to hear songbirds sing.
It's then, as the world lies hushed and still,
I drop the tethered reins of my imagination,
allowing it to run free and wild at will.
My hazel eyes deepen to a somber shade of green
when I see the look of desire in my loved one's eyes.
There's no way I could disguise what's in my heart,
or sadness brooding in them when we're apart.
I love Autumn's chill, holding hands on walks
and talking about many things...
Angel wings, honeybee stings,
the way silk clings in soft candlelight,
and loving arms that hold me tight.
Faith gets me through heartaches and sorrows.
I try not to look at mistakes from my past.
It does no good to look behind, so I'd rather look ahead,
dreaming of what I may find in my tomorrows.
Give me canvas and paint, a pen and pad to write.
The arts are my passions.
I'm comfortable hanging out in denim,
but mixing leather and lace is the fashion
if the mood is right.
I'll hide in shadowed darkness if love is taken away
and spread my arms to a puppy who wants to play.
Sometimes I wear a smile on my lips
to distract people from seeing my grief
when I can't hide it in my eyes anymore.
Some things should remain a mystery, so I'll stop
here before exposing more of myself
through this partially open door.
Categories:
self portrait, self,
Form:
Rhyme
Who have I painted this for
This reflection of my core
My introspection wonders back
An injection of epiphany
It drifts from me like smoke
Suddenly aware I see
Nothing that looks like clarity
In the shadows I am pondering
A stillness caught by candlelight
If I stop watching you paint me
Will myself in frame then cease to be
The quiet trickles down like falling ash
From a cigarette only just lit
As my eyes play tricks
And test my wits
I ask myself which side I'm on
And who is watching who
Categories:
self portrait, self,
Form:
Ekphrasis
How may we describe the fragrance of our soul,
which dwells within this earth vessel we adorn,
as we shape shift, hoping one day to feel whole,
noticing that we are with each breath reborn,
whilst enacting playfully, our ordained role,
nonchalant in tempests of both praise and scorn?
Transcending opposites, we’ve reclaimed soul’s light,
with love drenched heart pulsating with bliss delight.
Categories:
self portrait, self, spiritual,
Form:
Ottava rima
In the looking glass, a reflection pained,
A self-portrait, a visage marred and strained,
Unrecognizable, sight hard to bear,
Time-stamped emotions etched, lines of despair.
Pain and loneliness, from the eyes do peep,
A mirror's truth, emotions buried deep,
Over times, I seek my personal gaze,
Expecting joy, yet dust distorts the maze.
Compassion and kindness, I dream to find,
Yet the mirror reflects a world unkind,
The time's toll, a transformation untold,
Once admired, now a story of the old.
In mirrored self, I find both truth and art,
A portrait painted by the soul's own heart.
Categories:
self portrait, image, self,
Form:
Sonnet
My hair is as the chestnut,
My eyes are china blue.
To a radish I am ancient;
To a tree I'm scarcely new.
I am tall and I am slender,
Both intelligent and nice--
Till I affix a picture fair,
May this portrait well suffice.
Categories:
self portrait, mirror,
Form:
Bio
I will start with using my hand as a guide
And in the end I will open my eyes that I will decide
I consider to do this with one thing in mind
I will close my eyes and will imagine it blind
With no colors or fractionation of the light
Just plain me and a vision with my hand as my sight
My hair is very coarse and some what fine
What I just described is so benign
I twirl my hair and make it bend
And I will say its very clean not oily on the ends
As I press on my forehead I simply feel a distinct part
I notice from hair to skin it is very different from the start
The simple partings from hair not like skin
I am going to feel with my other hand and begin
The smoothness of my skin like years of water eroding a rough rock surface smooth
Not just that my skin is like home to years of stories like scars and attitude
And when I raise my eyebrows the wrinkles it makes is more so for expression
I did not notice it with certain ideas, thoughts, and emotions
I run my hands down to my eyelids I feel movement of my eyes trying to peek
Eyelids that I have, vibrates with some kind of fear, Why?, that I will seek
Just now as I thought about it a sensation ran through my brain
My eyes is the world to me and that is true and not insane
Myself portrait of me is through my touch for now
But to finish it I will have to open my eyes soon and how
I been in a trance full of so many ideas just with my eyes closed
I run my hand on my nose and lips and I smile who could apposed
The feelings in the tip of my fingers rub on my chin and jaw with care
I do notice roughness of unshaved velcro gripping hair
I skip my ears so I will sneak a feel with my fingers I chose
I notice it is like my nose with cartilage, so I don't suppose
I will now open my eyes that I will use a mirror to see myself
My head is oval shape and my neck is like a stump, please help
My skin is very tan and my eyes are brown with my eyes I see
With all the description with my hands, one sure thing is the same and key
It is the description of measurements that is what my hands and eyes can see me
With a smile I am looking into the mirror and I can describe that I am happy
Myself portrait of me is such a way to get to know myself once more
I will never think it was a waste of time or a bore
Categories:
self portrait, basketball, beautiful, beauty, confusion,
Form:
Free verse
The sweet fragrance of spices
Fruits ripened lush from mountain gardens
The bouquets of flowers scenting the air
Vivid memories of yesterday
Now the flowers are black petals of death
The souk reeks of burned flesh
As fires from hell fell from above
Those who tilled have become the earth
Scorched and soiled souls, color ceases to exist
In the dream world of eternal fires
Hope is sucked out of you, the dead whom still walk
The nomads with no eyes, lost inside timeless nightmares
I am an artist, who paints with tears
For those whom stories have been buried in hell fires
They lay, facing the heavens, raped of their smiles
Leaving Infants to cry in the night, lamenting in a sea of blood
A child wanders past me, rented and soulless
I take my brush and prey someone will save that one
I am the invisible artist
As I stab myself, my final portrait to the world
Categories:
self portrait, children, sad, war,
Form:
Light Verse
As I draw my eyes I think about what I have seen, what I have witnessed, what I have turned my eyes away from with but a blind stare, and all those special moments I missed that done passed and gone, but above all I think about what I have yet to see when I die.
As I draw my face and hair I think about I think about how the "Great One Above" has made me what color skin that I am and how he has shaped my attitude into what my life has become and what society and environment I was placed and grew up in around which culture or cultures I have become or unknowingly integrated.
As I draw my ears I think about what I have heard, what I am still hearing and what I choose not to hear among the many noises surrounded within ones hearing, but above all I think about what death has sounded like not in just one but many different loud but yet still very silent noises around one.
As I draw my body I think about what my body has endured, what it has failed to do so many times but also what it has finally conquered and still yet to conquer in a world of complete competition with sports so violent and unforgiving for winning does not forgive losers in a world striving to be winners.
As I draw my hands I think about how they have created so much but also trying not to think about how much they too have destroyed. I think about how I can easily create bad more than the good like an addiction that cannot be stopped among an addicted world full of fiends waiting to get their fix….but above all as I draw these words of life I think about how the heck I am still here today writing about it…..how I am still here enduring it and how I am still here even to share it…Thank You “Great One Above”…..
Categories:
self portrait, adventure, death, fear, imagination,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
As a writer, people are my vocation.
As for humanity, men, women
And other abstractions,
Their interests constitute little more
Than my hobby; I can only deal in people.
As soon as I start dealing in sects
And sections, I am either an insider
Or an outsider, and I feel lost as either
And as soon as I feel lost,
I make no attempt to find myself,
But simply retrace my steps
And return to the people.
You can call me detached if you like,
But you see, the only way
I can remain sane as a person
With such an all-consuming instinct
For attachment, is to be detached.
The world of subjectivity
Holds no sway over me,
Because it is paradoxically impersonal,
Being affiliated to partisanship,
Sentimental causes and other such abstractions.
I couldn't possibly belong
To a school of orthodox thought
That accepted me as a member.
I don't believe in myself
Other than as a crystal clear container
For the freshest cream of human individualism.
When I was younger,
I ached to be famous for the sake of it,
But now it occurs to me
That anyone can be famous
Provided they are sufficiently audacious
And thick-skinned, and I desire fame
Not so much for the vain satisfaction
Of being seen and known and heard,
But in order to guide others
Towards a happier way of being,
The only precept for celebrity,
Indeed for being in general, as far as I can see.
Adversity seems to be my fate,
As well as fortune.
The meek ones gravitate to me.
I'm the prince of the hurt ones,
The damaged ones.
I resent all success and authority.
I'm so affectionate one moment,
So icy and evasive the next.
I'm in love with many people at present.
I over-accentuate my individuality,
Because sometimes I look at myself
In the mirror and I say:
"Who's that pathetic wreck?"
The more complex you are,
The less you like yourself,
Because you frighten yourself.
The more I find myself liking someone,
The more I doubt us both.
Liking someone negates them for me.
("An Aphoristic Self-Portrait" was based on a series of teeming informal diary entries made in various receptacles in the late 1980s. "The Compensatory Man Par Excellence" originally formed part of a novel written - at an estimate - around 1987. Its fate remains a mystery. "Self-Portrait" may also once have been part of it.)
Categories:
self portrait, celebrity, me, mirror, people,
Form:
Free verse