The Camera Smiled on Her Face

You craved for fame, 

To be loved by all.

Craved for -

By red-blooded males.

But no-one saw,

The talent within, 

'til the camera smiled on her face.

A woman in a child,

Then a child in a woman,

To be exploited by those 'in the know'.

Pose naked for fame,

Just an image of lust,

To be used by controllers of doors.

To bed for a scene,

Just utter a few lines,

She's only that figure to use.

No substance - no brain,

No talent to see,

'til the camera smiled on her face.

Just a moth in the night,

Circling a light,

Fame gave no comfort, Norma Jean.

The pills and the dope,

Provided no hope,

The price fame demanded be paid.

She died all alone,

And never found love,

Only, the camera that smiled on her face.


(December 2005)

The Scream

The Scream

When I first saw'  The Scream': I froze,

Being numbed and transfixed,

At the sight of greatness.

Captured in bold strokes:

-The painter's inner demons?

-The torment of the worlds' psyche?

-Nature's recoil at man's destructive force?

-God's disbelief at his creation's callousness to others?

My thoughts were stunned by such imagery.

An image to haunt one's spirit!

Whatever it meant,

It held me spellbound.

Here is pain and suffering personified.

A scream that cannot be pacified.

Agony beyond compare!

Shaken, I bow my head, 

At Edvard Munch's masterpiece.


(June 2002)