Poetry Stretch Results - Picture Day

The challenge this week was to write a poem about having your picture taken. Here are the results.

Kate Coombs of Book Aunt left this poem in the comments.

Faces

Kerri has 500 photos
of herself on Facebook:
pouting sexy like a model,
then cute and funny, sitcom girl,
very Kerri, never scary.

I let her take photos:
they're supposed to be me.
A smile I practiced
for Picture Day,
dragon dabs of mascara,
a dropped shoulder
(Kerri says to, but I feel like
the hunchback of Notre Dame).

She doesn't get it. "Not one?
This one! This one is perfect!"
No. I go home.
I take out my paints,
my brushes, my scissors and paper,
a bottle of glue. A feather
I found on the sidewalk,
a button, a twig.

I take out the day I was born,
smoothing it with my hands,
the time I cut my knee
and it bled on my green dress
like geraniums,
a quarrel tasting
like unsweetened chocolate,
the ruffled pages of books,
my mother's daisy of a sneeze,
the times tables lined up
as if they made sense,
my sister's baseball bat swinging
through the air like a song,
and my secretest secrets,
like the heart of a stone or a tree.
I'm making
a picture of me,
and it's going to be

nothing like anything
in that book of faces.
It's going to be so me
that if wizards came,
they'd take one look at it,
and know my true name.

Diane Mayr of Random Noodling left this poem in the comments.

INSANITY

Having my picture
taken over and over
and each time
expecting to see
someone else.

Laura Purdie Salas left this poem in the comments.

Author Mug Shot

one hundred twenty five pixels square
double chin, cowlick, frozen stare
they told me this pose would make me look stunning
now black pixel bars restrain me from running

my crime: an unphotogenic cliche
my punishment: infinite awkward display

--Laura Purdie Salas, all rights reserved

Linda of Write Time left this poem in the comments.

Picture Day

Last year I stayed home
sick on picture day—
I wasn’t even faking,
my stomach ached
thinking about my face
forever fat
on the yearbook page.

I had a plan
nothing but salads
I’d be skinny-jean ready
by re-take day—
It didn’t happen.

So I promised myself
a new me
in the new year.

But tomorrow
is picture day
again—
and already
my stomach
aches.

Cindy Blair left this poem in the comments.

Family Pictures

Pictures of my foot and ear
are probably those I hold most dear
because the bloopers of my life
are able to erase some strife.

License pics are another story
my hair's remiss of any glory.
A sunburn or a windburn shows
it's Mother Nature's joke;my woes.

In the end pictures I treasure
then display professional measure.

Here's the poem I started but haven't yet figured out how to finish.

I face the mirror
on the wall
practice smiling
stand real tall
tilt my head
rest hand on chin
try to mask
the fear within

The face that stares
at me each day—the one
I know by heart
is not the one
that is revealed
in photographic art

It's not too late if you still want to play. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll add it to the list.