Skip to main content

I Like My Face (a poem)

 


I like my face.

It will not win a beauty prize,

And none will fall upon their knees,

And none will praise it to the skies,

Nor measure it in fine degrees.

 

But still, I like my face:

I like my honest, laughing eyes,

My largish nose, my impish grin.

It may not win a beauty prize,

But I’m happy with the face I’m in.

 

-          Catherine, May 29, 2021


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Origins of Guilt

  The Origins of Guilt a fable by Catherine Maven Copyright © 2009   Once upon a time, the creators created a blue-green world of incredible beauty. They populated it with life of all kinds, from the microscopic to the stupendous. They gave whales and dolphins all the great oceans to play in, and otters and people wonderful lands and rivers to play in. They bestowed rainbows and butterflies, flowers and bird-songs, and billions of other miracles upon their creation. To protect the perfection of their design, however, they knew there needed to be some controls. So it was that every animal on the planet knew its place in the cycle of life and death, and operated from instincts too powerful to deny, instincts which protected not only each species’ existence, but the existence of all other species around them. But because they had created the world out of the pure joy of their being, the creators desired that at least one intelligence on the planet should be free from ...
Post a Comment
Read more

On the Wind

  The wind on her face and bare arms was a delicious caress, just that temperature between hot and cold that left her skin tingling with anticipation. The sun was just beginning to peak over the mountains across the bay, causing a band of sunlight to sear the cliffs above her as she climbed silently in the quickly-thinning morning fog. The pale sand on the path was cool against her bare feet, and she pushed down harder to wiggle her toes playfully while she walked. The wind pushed the soft fabric of her sleeveless green tunic teasingly against her hips and breasts. She felt her hair lifted and tossed casually about, and reached back absently to stroke it down, thinking she must remember to tie it back before class began. There had been moments, on days not as inviting as this one, when she had regretted her decision to live isolated in the stone cottage at the bottom of the mountain rather than among the villagers on the plateau high above. But the need to recharge her energies i...
Post a Comment
Read more