"photogenic" poems
What's up is the sky
and I'm up for the stars
and down for a cave expedition.
I'm game for a used copy
since time is literally killing me
while I got pizza in one hand
and an energy drink in the other
so the tree that is my life goes
chop chop chop.
The only chip on my shoulder
is a potato chip
because I got a dozen for every dime I spent,
which is a drop in the bucket of change
I'm saving for Coinstar.
My son Jack has made many trades,
from CDs to movies to videogames to trading cards
and he just so happens to be a Pokemon master, thank you very much.
Resisting a piece of cake
is no piece of cake,
even when the recipe
--complete with a photogenic picture--
is comprised of over a thousand words.
Don't cheat on your diet,
the spinach is always watching
and that Rolex will feel so tight
you'll be praying for thousands
of slaps on both wrists.
When things get hot
you can bang against a clock
to see how long you last.
Just don't crack 'em up too much,
clocks are fragile devices.
My motor's a Cobia
yours is an Evinrude
but otherwise we're in the same boat.
Whenever I fail I don't go to the drawing board,
I get out my scrap book.
I prefer its texture and it is,
truly,
the first square.
When my frustration becomes too much
I might have to beat the bush instead,
after all
it can't be a sightseer forever.
Don't throw me a bone,
I'm not dog,
merely a curious cat
still on his seventh life.
I'd rather be close
than be stuck with a cigar--
smoking's bad and I hate the smells.
If I'm left with nothing, I'll cry like a wolf.
Wolves are hunters, wolves are survivors.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
I believe it was the sawdust of summer when I found your voice in a shadow of a song it reminded me of my past hurt. You sang so beautifully of lilacs and photogenic water, you build harmonies powerful enough to save angels in a storm.
Quickly I caught on and held tight to your butterflies you called lyrics. You spoke of love like you had a doctrine in it. I thought for men love was a learning curve. You proved me wrong. You did not just create music and magic you birth colors out of sound and called them stories.
You blurred the lines between reality and fantasy. I bet your music is similar to the way God speaks. I bet you discovered a guitar inside of a black deity and the piano inside of a white devil's broken heart.
Prince, I bet you can play anything even the fossils of flowers.
Your music is an endless drug, a purple high. Listening to you made me feel like all four seasons cuddled up with a kiss.
Tell me when did you get tired of playing love songs?
When did balancing the moon and a microphone become all too much for you? Who choked the life out of your vocal chords? **** I would give almost anything to hear you live again! To wear your songs in my ears like Heirlooms. Oh Wait, I think I get it. Is this how you go beyond means of self to teach us dead silence is music too?
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 9:11 AM UTC
They told me be who you are
They told me you'll save the day
A photogenic superhero of the day
They told me I'd have a happy ending
They lied
I haven't gotten happiness
I've destroyed not saved
Photogenic desolation day in and out
They told me to be me
They didn't tell me I was wrong
I guess I'm the villain
They say only the heroes get happy endings
So I'm a villain than
The question used to be why can't i be good
Now, now its who can I drag down with me
Who wants to be a villain
As long as I'm a villain I'll be happily dragging the world down
I guess I'm the villain now
No I am the villain
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
It's what I do all day.
Thinking of how to fit into society.
How to fix all the dysfunctional parts in me.
Don't show weakness,
tears,
or sadness.
Be a leader not a follower.
Be confident in what you do.
Be photogenic, because
ugliness
is not an option
and your image
is everything.
You have to get good grades
but act like you couldn't care less.
Acting fake is the only way to go
because when you're yourself
they
judge
you.
It's a lot to think about
and takes a lot of energy and hard work
but society has it's demands.
And when I wake up again tomorrow,
I'll put my Barbie face on
only to think of ways to simply
fit in.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
You smile when you see me writing
tenably watching like a child
when I turn my prose into rhyming
I smile back: "this one's about you"
when I kissed you this morning
I suddenly realized you taste just like fruit.
Like a Pineapple, of all things considered
sweeter than a whole bunch of grapes
your skirt flaunts your skittles
and your legs take the proverbial cake
Piña Colada to go with my Enchilada
pretty please let me taste the rainbow?
I don't like Pineapple on my burger
on my pizza I don't feel it either
my taste buds become a bitter turbulent river
but I just love it on you,
that little thing that you do
dancing in that lil' grass skirt
make it our own Hawaiian Luau.
Your juicy lips
are a 100% from concentrate
like drinking from a can of Dole
blowing me a kiss, giving me a smooch
please drown me in them
a Pineapple falls ways far from an Apple
and SpongeBob lives in one of them.
From your eyes to your thighs
I think of way back when
my favorite fruit in the garden
you humbly became
it's been just peachy from there on end.
With the words we shared
as we laid in the hay
your laughter intoxicated my lungs
right down to my pores
and through my veins
and that's a good thing
always a good thing
put your hair up
the mirror loves a silly face
your sly smile for the camera
my photogenic exotic babe.
Endangered in this world
you are the only one of your kind
like an extinct Dodo Bird
please stay by my side
and let me one thing in you confide
that the forbidden fruit wasn't an Apple
alas, unknown to Adam
it was a Pineapple.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 3:35 PM UTC
Itaas na ang bandera at iwagayway
Iharap pababa sa mga naglulupasay
Dito magsisimula
Ang pagkuha ng retrato
Dito magsisimula
Ang pagkuha ng “selfie”
Sa pagtunog ng isang “click”
Ay makukuha ang atensyon mo,
Maaaliw ka,
Mabibighani’t mapapatingin
At tila pag kumukuha ka ng retrato
Ay ikaw ang pinakamaganda
Sa naglalakihang lente na nasa screen
Sa pagtunog ng isang “click”
Ay mapapangiti ka
Photogenic daw, ika nga
At sa pagkatapos lagi ng mga ito
Ay mawawala nalang bigla
Na tila nagsusuot ka ng antipas
Tuwing nakangiti nagpapakuha ng retrato
Sa pagtunog ng isang “click”
Ay mag aayos ka
Magpapagwapo’t magpapaganda
At tila isa itong contest
At kailangan ikaw ang pinakamaganda
At sa pagkatapos nito
Ay titignan mo kung nadaig mo ba sila
Ngunit bakit ikaw na hindi naman kumukuha ng retrato
Ay tila nagiging isang kodak o kamera
Na sa tuwing tumitingin ako sayo ay tila makukuhanan ako ng retrato
Na tuwing nakikita kita, wala mang click, ay titingin ako sa mga mata mo na tila lente ng kamera
Sa paglapit mo saakin
Ay makukuha mo ang atensyon ko,
Maaaliw ako, mabibighani’t mapapatingin
At tila pag kasama kita
Ay wala akong mahiling
Kundi ang patigilin ang oras
Para manatili sa piling mo
Ngunit bakit kapag nasa iyo ang atensyon ko
Ikaw ay nakatingin naman sa iba
Hindi ang pagiging nandito ko ang tumatakbo
Sa munting isip mo, kundi siya
Sa paglapit mo saakin
Ay mag aayos akong bigla
Magpapagwapo o magpapaganda
At tila isa itong contest
Na kailangan madaig ko siya
Pero parang hindi ko kaya
Dahil kahit kailan hindi ko madadaig siya
At kahit na gaano mo pa ako lapitan
Siya parin ang magiging malapit dahil sa kariktan
At ako ay maiiwan sa alon ng pag-iisa
Sa paglapit mo saakin
Ay mapapangiti ako
Lalabas ang mga ngipin
Na tila nasa isang patalastas ako ng colgate
Ngingiti
At ngingiti lang
Ngunit sa likod ng mga ngiting ito
Ang tinatago ko ay luha
Mga luha na hindi ko ninanais na makita mo
Sanhi ng simula mo ‘kong paasahin
Mga luha na pinili kong itago mula sa’yo
Dahil alam ko rin naman na hindi mo ito papansinin
Hindi ka naman kodak na itinataas ko
Ngunit bakit pakiramdam ko ay nakatingin ka saakin pababa
Habang ako’y nasasaktan at nagluluksa
At sa pagtapos ko ng piyesang ito
Ang tanging hiling ko lamang ay
Mga retrato na maaaring itabi
Dahil nag uumapaw na ang mga mata kong gusto nang matuyo
Itaas na ang bandera at iwagayway
Iharap pababa sa mga naglulupasay
Dito magtatapos
Ang pagkuha ng retrato
Dito magtatapos
Ang pagkuha ng “selfie”
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 11:15 AM UTC
Banked up against a terraced mountainside
photogenic pristine rows
of blasting green
rows of manicured waterways
with two buffaloes treading ballet-like
between squelching mud and green shoots
the paddy fields stayed buoyant
all season through.
Come harvesting time
and thrashing the sunburied ripe
tendrils of husk and seed
along threshing traffic wheels
the husk sought divorce from
the long tongued long grained
wives -and parted ways.
Soon the pudding spent its silky smooth sexiness
on a plate of punchy aromatic costumes
that invaded the senses and palate
in sensual smoothness. Oh my!
Ricebowl pudding
of the worlds staple.
Author Notes
Gluttony beckons just now!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
I don't have perfect hair
I'm not 6'2 & 190 pounds
I don't have bright teeth or a six pack
my eyes don't shine through a darkened room
and I'm far from photogenic
I forget more things than I remember
I have no special skills or discernable talents
my skin is pale and full of holes scars and ink
I feel uncomfortable out of place & awkward
in almost almost all social situations
I'm slightly paranoid & always afraid someone somewhere
is judging me
I rarely get anything on the first try & I often lose faith
before I accomplish what I've set out to do
I'm my own toughest critic & believe that
I'm average at best if even that
I may not be all that I'm supposed to be
but I might be everything you may never find
in someone else
so with all of my flaws faults & shortcomings
of which there are many
my heart still beats
and I can still manage
to love you all the same
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 1:21 AM UTC
For the days when your ego slaps itself as if it’s playing hambone,
remember: there’s a name for the smell of rain on pavement.
And every photograph is like Stockholm Syndrome,
where subjects fall in love with their captors.
You are no victim. That’s why I still don’t know whether you’re photogenic.
All I ask is that you keep photographing my self-portraits,
so that I may love you through the way I view myself.
Because my ego is more like that potato clock from the science fair:
surprisingly electric, yet full of holes. My skin is pierced with nails,
but I am no Christ. It’s just my job to keep time.
That’s why first place goes to the skateboarding rat.
The judges don’t like me because I don’t believe in gimmicks.
But when you look at me--alligator clips and all--
your eyes become blue ribbons, letting me know
that I have won and you intend to claim your prize.
“Let’s take a photo,” I say.
You say no, that taking pictures will make us like everyone else.
I ask why it matters if we know we’re not.
You look down at the newspaper. In my mind, I say your name.
And when you look up from the politics section,
I snap a photo for good measure.
This plan seems completely doable until I realize
I’ve never called you by your name.
You call me by mine, and attach it to sayings like
“No one will ever bring half a smile to my face like you do”
or “Hi” or “How are you?” or “I love you.”
Is this because there’s only me or because
there’ve been others besides me?
If I were to succeed in capturing you,
I imagine you’d have red eyes in the photo.
Red ribbons to let me know I’ll never top second place,
that there are other girls you’ve been inside of,
but you are my only. No contest.
And yet you ask if I’ve awarded any other blue ribbons.
You don’t believe me when I say, “No.”
I know you asked as a way to boost your ego,
but for the days when your ego slaps itself as if it’s playing hambone,
remember: there’s a name for the smell of rain on pavement,
and that your wish to feel special should never be at my expense.
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 2:06 PM UTC
Who's always taking pictures
Who's always on the scene
Snaps the Stars at their worst
Bikini thunder thighs with cottage cheese
He catches Stars out jogging
When they are a sweaty slimy mess
That is when this Paparazzi
Is at his photogenic best
He finds them out to dinner
Makes sure their forks are full
So he can catch them stuffing face
Halle Berry...you've just been schooled
The Stars have no idea how much
It is that they need him
To keep their names in the press
And their butts down at the gym
He loves the feeling that he gets
Adrenalin rush that keeps him high
Never is a job complete
Till he can make a Big Star cry
There's not a project that he won't take on
The one in which he is most proud
The pic of the President having lunch with the aliens
That photo shop was his brain child
So give it up for the Paparazzi
Who entertains in the grocery isle every day
Giving us all the latest scoop
On who is and isn't gay
Yes, without the Paparazzi
We would never be in the know
And now knowing all that Hollywood does
We can be thankful for a life that's dull!
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 8:08 AM UTC
Carcinogenic gasps
between photogenic thighs
create esoteric muscle movement
that moves me inside.
Your parents are therapists,
and mine choose not to be alive;
the words they say
don't work for moments we hide.
Jesus Christ before the sunset rust,
if I'm so alive
then why do I lust
absence.
There's a place
where I'd like to drown
every Saturday.
The water's warm
and thick in my lungs
and I'm no longer afraid.
Colliding with epinephrine,
your neck thrusts forward;
you kiss the steering wheel.
"Do you know
how much
you mean to me?"
Your eyes meet mine
before disappearing in the glass mist.
I love you.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 3:16 AM UTC
The nocturnal birds
are
singing
the lullabies
The exhausted stars
are
sleeping
in
the Stygian
skies
Nothing
is
glistening
The water of
the rill is
rippling
The light wind is
listlessly
playing
with my hair
Pearly
dew is
kissing
the pleasant petals
The sleepy
street is
being
forlorn
I'm peering
consciously
at the creamy
cornice
A photogenic countenance
in front of
my imagination
The object of
my affection
The insipid murk
and the blue
nights of
mine without you
The feelings of
mine are experiencing
torment
I'm repeatedly
whispering
"Te Amo..."
Oct 2, 2021
Oct 2, 2021 at 2:32 AM UTC
photogenic smiles and true to the few
we take the flashing light and run with it.
pinned up in time and backed up hard drives
remember us when were gone.
repressed and tied too this one life
always reaching for visibility
to give a life worth feeling
in a single frame.
what every second means to the hand
holding moments temporal.
hold, laugh, smile.
camera cued and magic fuse
superstitious and wild,
hung with glowing eyes.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
An overnight sensation
Twenty years in the making
Finally you're noticed
All the roles that you've been taking
High School plays gave you the bug
Standing out front and centre stage
You made your choice of a career
Your life had turned a page
Little theatre groups did beckon
You'd learn your craft and be a star
But, no one told you just how long
you'd wait, or ...just how far
You beat the boards in summer stock
Singing Gershwin in the park
You'd work in summer themed resorts
Cleaning rooms out after dark
Acting, was your calling
You'd be a star one day...you knew
But, even though you'd keep on working
Your name to them was...who?
Extra work and commercials
You'd work the chorus for a while
No matter where you heard...no luck
You'd always leave them with a smile
You swore you'd not get botox
There'd be no nip and tuck
You swore you'd keep on trying
Remember...you've got pluck!!!
The lines were forming around your eyes
As time kept marching on
Your lips were getting thinner
The lead actress roles were gone
You'd pile on the makeup
And you'd lie about your age
No one checked your background out
So, you lied about the stage
But, one day ...there was a call back
A job you never thought was yours
It was sure to go to a younger girl
A true , new, photogenic *****
But, there it was....an offer
The one role to get your start
It said "Miss Watkins we are proud"
"to offer you the part"
You gratefully accepted,
didn't let them know the truth
It was better than a cruise ship show
You were truly through the roof
It was a show way off broadway
The big time was around the bend
You could see the lights from out the back
You had made it...you'd pretend
The makeup went on heavy
But no one really cared
they just ate up your performance
Your soul you truly bared
The critics were enamored
They all loved you at first sight
It only took you twenty years
But, you'd made it overnight...
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
I remember the day I met you,
The time was half past nine.
You and your photogenic smile,
Made my heart fall out of line.
We talked until midnight,
Under the stars all old-style
The sunrise came to call you
And My heart was on the dial
All the poems that I wrote before
Were swayed by my whims
I wouldn’t fall for him, I swore
And now all my words belong to him
Jan 7, 2023
Jan 7, 2023 at 11:06 AM UTC
After the well-know,
charismatic,
extremely photogenic,
wonderfully articulate,
jeweller-turned-gardener,
your mother dotes on,
this cat is named.
He is none of the above
I should say
but I like him.
He reminds me of my late cat
Poppy, a more gauche pusscat
you’d be hard to find.
Poppy was a farm cat
of uncertain progeny.
Monty is certainly better bred
but (as we say in West Yorkshire)
‘daft as a brush’.
And now for the T.S.Eliot bit . . .
**(in the style of
Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats)**
Curled up upon the green chair
With his head against his paws
You can see his body breathing
Up and down
He’s been busy all day long
Doing absolutely nothing
Save a bit of this a bit of that
And washing clean his paws.
Life’s so hard
For such a busy cat,
When you’re asleep in bed
He’s about and out
Networking the side streets
Monty likes to know the scene.
These cats could teach us all
A thing or two.
In the morning he may be dozy
But you should see him after dark
Sharp and bright and really
On his toes.
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 12:55 AM UTC
Slipping out of focus now,
this slow fall into a shallow pit
has countless audiences on
seat's edges.
This is the kind of thing they make movies about.
Convoluted past exhaustion,
cliche spirals sell their earthly trinkets
and head for Hades.
Destination: Ninth Circle.
How is it possible? This
alienated deprivation of reality
is not all my own, never will be.
I have become everything one-dimensional,
a decaying heap of facades. Leftovers from
more photogenic weekdays remind me
of duality, of a set of gaudy earrings
I have apparently not yet forgotten.
But I find it better to let the corpses sleep.
Rest assured, they will wake eventually.
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 2:27 AM UTC
You’re sunshine in spring,
A pure smile so shy,
Introvert and classy,
A warmth passing by.
Natural and cool,
Beauty deep and true,
Photogenic spirit,
Lovely through and through.
Always understanding,
Open to life's art,
Strong yet gentle kindness,
Friendship from the heart.
Spontaneous laughter,
Plans out of the blue
Dear sweetest sunshine,
I'm glad I met you.
Jun 16, 2025
Jun 16, 2025 at 6:59 AM UTC
~
As I walk in to the public
Stares reform, deform me
Part of me care, the other doesn’t
I can’t help who I am
My world is psychedelic
Twisted
Not right side up
But up side not right
Although my thoughts
Is like a grid
My mind crafted by genius
I don’t talk much
But I can draw
A masterpiece in seconds
My mind is photogenic
I remember everything
Gifted
Yet different
Misunderstood
Yet understood
I don’t understand the world
Like it’s supposed to be
My way is better [to me]
I have to be organized
I do things differently
It may be strange
But it helps me
Wielded . . .
I live in my own mind
My learning is slower
But sharper
I’m not cursed . . .
I may not be perfect
But I am who I am
Love me for that
And I shall love you back
Emotionally fragile
Yet agile
Autistic . . .
I’m still human
~
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
To paint a perfect picture, scribbling lines to make a beautiful enigma. Lies mark the walls heart, ****** scriptures. Life moves too fast not photogenic like its sister. Death stands still, a corroded fixture.
Idiotic ideas perplex people purposely. Seeing sound and hearing color, two signals to flee. Sometimes you need someone to stabilize you like a tree. Otherwise it is the blind leading the blind, blindly. Solid ground & stability is desired ideally. Because a hand signal is the same as a nod to me when my third eye is impaired figuratively.
Nov 6, 2010
Nov 6, 2010 at 9:15 PM UTC
She's a model of imperfections,
Flaws fall on her face in ways that define grace,
She's a goddess without direction.
Her words encourage and lace dreams to a place you can reach if you just believed.
Her upper lip juts out a little too far so her teeth can clink yours in toast to good times when you kiss.
She's a little too short only so you can sweep her off her feet with a little more ease.
Apr 24, 2019
Apr 24, 2019 at 8:45 PM UTC
A red checkered fleece
Wonders through tall oaks
That pose for photos
Waiting to be remembered in time.
Like all of us
We stare at satellites
That try to blend in with city skylines
Praying to the nearest star
That we can be remembered.
Not in the man
In the red checkered fleece though
He practices being mechanical
By repeating the same tasks
Of knocking down
These photogenic trees.
It all is the same you see
Same fleece ,you better believe
Same dirt on his knees
Same dirt that is in his shoes
To remind him
Of his ***** stance
On his actions from his past.
The past isn't the past
If it's accompanied
By the purest of souls.
Each time the trees dance in sync
With the howling winds
He hears the moaning sorrows
Left on his porch side.
On the 3rd of July
Everytime he takes a break
From breaking these trees' dreams,
His hands shake
From his attempts
To cold turkey the drug
Called her eyes.
His sore veins died in vain
Slithered into these trees,
Hugging the roots of these oaks
That creak from time
That rest on their shoulders
Time
Time is his enemy
As lumberjacks stray from time
As they don't wear watches
When they work
As managers watch watches
To tell them what time to go home However this lumberjack
Slaves over the labyrinth
He created for himself
For the punishment
He feels he deserves.
He digs his tail
Of destruction through these trees.
Hoping that his path to self discipline
Freezes with the autumn snow.
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
Those who dream awake
Those whose minds a lake
Reflected, deep, and cold
It's also sick and old
They see the wars
Hear the shores
Wishing they were never born
Wishing, oh, how they're worn
They are the soldiers
Searching for their closure
They listen in silence
To hear their hidden guidance
They're labeled "psychotic"
When really, they're aquatic
Swimming, sinking, diving
They're minds are quickly thriving
They see the future, past, and present
Dreamers, they represent
No more are they "schizophrenic"
They're dreams now, photogenic
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 10:01 PM UTC