The Painted and the Painter

The Painted and the Painter

Put risk on the scales

Weighed against safety ....

This time

It 's not attractive.

Hawks and creeps surround me

Waiting for my weakness

To swoop like jackdaws

On my perceived 'jewels'.

What does he see this artist?

Unknit  my  forehead,

Remain bland, in control.

Relaxed, he will see

My status

My riches

My red gown,

Not my dilemma,

The monkey knot of possibilities.

My mask is in place

I'm still now, even smile

This man will see me not.

I will look at my outward self and see

What the world sees.

How futile my false face was

This man has glimpsed my soul.

He has shown my care,

Seen my uncertainty:

my hands betray me.

Artists should not be trusted

He has found my hidden skin

And wormed his way inside.

My contradictions are exposed.

He's begun to watch me

His eyes flickering from 'the pose'.

Seeing his portrait has disturbed,

His air has changed.

Have I been too bold?

My task is to flatter -

To paint rainbows on puddles

BUT butterflies are not worms.

I like this man

I don' t want lies to be his epitaph.

He's been gentle with me;

I'm a fly to his spider

But he's not tried

To trap me in his wishes,

He has given me freedom,

I'll give him, sincerity.

Inspired by Pontormo 's Portrait of Cosimo (Medici) the Elder