Grotesque Abstracts

As he put on a perfect face

A demon growled beneath

And as his smile widened

You could see his gritting teeth

Behind human exteriors

Strange creatures lurk inside

There is a face we show the world

Another that we hide

Yet self is not an abstract

We can alter with our lies

The grotesque traits we cover-up

Remain uncivilized

This nagging constant irritant

Is there where e’er you go

Whose company you must endure

While putting on a show

And yet you can’t contain the beast

Its heart is truly wild

It leaps out of its burrow

In a schizophrenic style

When will we realize

That we cannot lead double lives

That truth and lies can’t coexist

For therein psyche rives

The soulscape is a work of art

That we ourselves create

The hand that wields the brush

Is the same hand that seals our fate

Self-Portrait

I painted a self-portrait

And showed it to my friends

But their response was puzzling

They tried not to offend

But when they asked the subject’s name

I said, “Of course--it’s me!”

“Is it an abstract of yourself?”

“Or how you wish to be?”

At first I did not understand

Then looked inside the mirror

My eyes had bags, my hair a mess

And teeth lacked sparkle clear

The dirt and grime had clogged my pores

Till blemishes had reared

I must have drawn the image

As I hoped that I appeared

I went back to the drawing board

But first I washed my face

I brush my teeth and combed my hair

And beauty slept for days

So now each time I face the mirror

I see me as I am

In which I found more beauty

Than the farce that I began

Whenever we deny the truth

Of what we are inside

The self-image that we create

Turns abstract in our pride

To achieve inner beauty

Ye must see the self thou art

Then cultivate the soul in love

On canvas of the heart

Soul Art

The canvas of a heart

Unique

Potential undefined

An infant’s spotless innocence

A surface primed with light

The spirit comes to distill

On the blank slate of a mind

Where conscience engaged

Holds unfettered promise

It’s not a paint by numbers

An abstract, nor still life

Its beauty is authentic

Our love not artifice

Though society coerces us

To color in the lines

A masterpiece above all must be honest

Across the frame of time

Is stretched the soulscape of a life

A transcendent self-portrait

Of interior design

Composed of will

Self is revealed

In that a Divine spark

A living, breathing medium

As our life becomes art

Chameleon on the Glass

There once lived in the mystic world

Chameleons with eyes of pearl

The scales and pattern of their skin

Could mimic all their eyes took in

The hue of rainbows they had caught

And changed at will by taking thought

Yet their true form and color lost

And origin at length forgot

Their instincts leaned towards blending in

Surroundings thus became their skin

Upon a rock their camouflage

Was so exact, it gave them pause

“We must be stones”, yet One resigned

“A stone does not my soul defined.”

“Perhaps our nature’s as the green,”

“Of grass and leaves.” and some agreed

And so they split from their own kind

For they were of a different mind

And thus became some reptiles green

Despising other color schemes

Yet still the One sensed something wrong

“I am not leaves, nor as a lawn.”

“I’ll find the truth as I am able.”

Then left the rest, and shook the label

And thus it searched both far and wide

Exotic tones wherein to hide

But found no home and became rash

“My true nature must be to clash.”

And so exposed its unique form

Then bore the brunt of fellow’s scorn

Yet knew its difference but a lie

And sought the water’s edge reply

Its surface stretched as if a mirror

Reflections bounce was crystal clear

And endless image it repelled

A vortex shape absorbed in self

Confusion reached its fever pitch

In who was what and which was which

Then closed its eyes all to subtract

The outer world--its skin turned black

The other lizards gasped in horror

“Its demon turns exterior!”

But essence journey must begin

Alone the search for self within

To flush from soul and shed the skin

That stains our hearts and minds therein

Invent we thus our genuine

For bounds are scribed as imagined

Just then its skin began to glow

Strange waves of hue, and tone did flow

As others awed, it stood dead still

Displaying colors stark surreal

Then into focus scenics true

A rising up from birds eye view

Above the pond, above the glade

Above the rocks its trek displayed

As soaring through a cloudy maze

Above the earth towards sun ablaze

Erupting in ethereal white

Its skin shed forth a brilliant light

That caught the gaze of all His kind

As six drew near with eyes aligned

To form a circle of the seven

As if a rite of prayer to heaven

Then waking from His vision saw

Twelve perfect pearls of retina

Which sent a tingling through their skin

And lit a fire of ware within

Then something happened far more strange

Their bleak surroundings morphed and changed

The deserts bloomed, the heavens swirled

T’was in their souls to shape their world

Now patterned in their flesh we see

The oneness lost to hell’s own Lethe

Empathic pearls sought of the wise

Fill up their souls now full of eyes

Mirror Mirror

“Mirror, mirror upon the wall. . . ?”

Petition all my willing thrall

With fevered minds and hearts a chill

I’ll never tell you how you feel

My backwards world I long to show

I’ll tell you not the things you know

Not right or wrong, nor black or white

With polished gray your souls benight

My empty frame you would consult

This shallow pane, a bridge-less gulf

Reach out to touch the self you see

A barrier to reality

Thus, from the soul I separate

Light from its source, self from its state

This riddle of identity

Lies in the I of lies eyes see

The vain, the poor, the insecure

Seek competition is as a cure

Seduced by looks, deranged by wealth

Forsaking truth, estranged from self

So round and round they chase the tail

To find themselves to no avail

This bitterness of tangled mind

Discards the fruit, and eats the rind

Reflections of the inner light

Arise in mind, and mine in sight

The lost, the sad, unwitting all

Bid, “Mirror, Mirror upon the wall . . . ?”