She was always busy being a beauty,
and paused only from her self-regarding,
her purr and pouting,
to turn to a mirror
but if she had a slight pucker
at the corner of her mouth
she would dash the looking-glass down
and frown.
It was her work, her Calling.
Every second her appearance
must be perfectly recorded,
painted by a perfect lighting.
On the whole
she was quite a doll
and worth a long look.
Of course a low self-worth
was her secret
it spoke of her reality,
a reality she loathed.
Yet she was plucky marionet,
would dazzle and smile once more
for a lens to adore,
her ego once more fed
a lightbulb she screwed down tight
inside her pretty head.
Categories:
marionet, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Die Marionet
Daar voor op die verhoog
So ewe droog.
Die Marionet
Met die Meester se stem
So, asof getem.
Die Marionet
Geen wil van sy eie
Het hy ‘n getuie?
Die Marionet?
Hy dans darem en sing
Hy is ‘n snaakse ding.
Jy weet mos
Aan toutjie van gena’
Niks wat hom pla
Moet ek weer?
Met die meester se mag
Het almal gelag
Vir die pop
As die vertoning verby is
Opgesluit in ‘n kis...
DIE MARIONET
Categories:
marionet, emotions,
Form: I do not know?