MY FACE

Ghislain

This is my face,
touched and toned by the sun.
It has earned its keep
and aged with grace.

A bit weathered and also base,
less than young and nearly done.
With consent it will end in sleep
I like my face. 
                                    -- Ghislain
                                  

Out of this face emerge banners and horses—O superb! I see what is coming;

I see the high pioneer-caps—I see the staves of runners clearing the way,

I hear victorious drums.

 

This face is a life-boat;

This is the face commanding and bearded, it asks no odds of the rest;

This face is flavor’d fruit, ready for eating;

This face of a healthy honest boy is the programme of all good.

                                                                                   -- excerpt from Walt Whitman, "Faces"        

Every day I put on this face.
It's never how I feel.
And every day brings me closer
To this pain that's all too real.
My life is strung together & these
pieces glued in place
& every single day I'm forced to put on another face.

                                                                      -- "Face" by popcarnes

Comments

[..]

That's my poem on the bottom! :O

[Ghislain]

Hey Mary...yes it is your poem and a damn fine one at that.  I can't remember where I picked it up now?  Hope it is ok with you that I have posted it?  You write very well.  15yo, wow?  Gonna be great someday.  I am Joh Danz on MySpace and Frankie Kitchen on Facebook, but mostly the real me is the Ghislain blog.  My real name is Dan and the Vox pictures are real. Unfortunately I'm very very old while you are young and beautiful. I like poetry though and will try to keep more track of yours.

[..]

did you pick it up from my allpoetry? i'm glad you posted it thanks.

[Ghislain]

Just a thought. A friend recently taught me about a poetry form called
Sestina. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sestina It would be difficult,
but good practice. Here is an example she wrote. Her name is Travis
Koplow and worth Googling, bright and talented.

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
                               by Robert Frost

        
I hold with those who favor fire
(Travis' Title)

Conor is making a film about happiness.
And so I know,
most people say shoes—or beaches or puppies or rain—
if you ask them to answer
“What makes you happy?” This is the truth;
Conor’s asked. And found the level of cliché in desire

depressing. Of course, the list goes on. Desire
is a big container. So much is fodder for happiness:
money, success, good friends, love that feels like truth.
Some people do not know
what to answer.
Some people hate the rain.

I am smoking under the eave out of the rain,
listening to Conor and thinking about desire
and my own answer—
strong coffee and solitude—my recipe for happiness
or maybe all I’m willing to let him know
so early on. Nascence is not the time for truth.

I think Conor always tries to tell the truth.
He is standing in the rain.
Watching him, I think I know
about desire
and happiness
and what he might answer.

But when he gives his answer
I’m not sure it’s the truth.
Not wanting anything is what brings him happiness,
he says. Being Irish, he does not mind the rain,
I realize, under my eave. And I think of the truth Buddhists know:
The root of all suffering is desire.

Most nights since then I am sleepless with desire.
The question is the problem, not the answer;
this much I think I know.
Because it feels like some kind of truth:
to lie awake listening to the roof thrumb with rain
imagining Dublin and what might be happiness.

By this full moon yearning, I know a fifth noble truth.
Nestled here below the hills’ green answer to the rain
it grows: the root of it all is desire—not happiness.

                                                        by Travis Koplow