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  • The Canvas

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    Natascha Melanie Jaeger Maciejewski
    49 views1 page
    The poem describes a blank human face as a canvas waiting to be painted by an artist. Over multiple stanzas, the artist applies various colors and shades to bring the face to life, painting cheeks, eyes, hair, and lips to complete the portrait. In the end, the observer sees their own reflection staring back from the finished canvas.

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    The poem describes a blank human face as a canvas waiting to be painted by an artist. Over multiple stanzas, the artist applies various colors and shades to bring the face to life, painting cheeks, eyes, hair, and lips to complete the portrait. In the end, the observer sees their own reflection staring back from the finished canvas.

    Copyright:

    Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
    Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    49 views1 page

    The Canvas

    Uploaded by

    Natascha Melanie Jaeger Maciejewski
    The poem describes a blank human face as a canvas waiting to be painted by an artist. Over multiple stanzas, the artist applies various colors and shades to bring the face to life, painting cheeks, eyes, hair, and lips to complete the portrait. In the end, the observer sees their own reflection staring back from the finished canvas.

    Copyright:

    Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
    Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    of 1

    The Canvas – by Natascha Maciejewski

    The face stares back at me;


    Expressionless, plain – a blank canvas
    Ready for the artist’s brush

    Beige creamy liquid


    Coats the battle-scarred landscape,
    Like the great Sahara’s shifting sands

    Calm after a sandstorm.


    The deepest craters are painted away,
    Cloaked in velvet ivory.

    Cheekbones are tickled into a quiet blush.


    Like spring flowers on soft hills.
    With a large full brush,

    The artist dusts the canvas golden


    Like summer’s early evening sunlight,
    Before turning to the eyes.

    Translucent lashes turn jet-black,


    Circling the blue-green pools of truth,
    Sketching depth and sparkle.

    Baby-blonde hair upon the brow,


    Drawn over in fawn-brown
    Revealing haughty quizzical arches.

    Travelling down the terrain, two lips


    Licked pink. Small rosebud mouth,
    Glossed over in sticky dew.

    The face stares back at me,


    Now I see – there I am.
    The artist’s work is done.

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