The Actress
The actress stands upon the stage
And the bustling world that surrounds her
Silences.
Only on the stage is there
Solitude.
Only on the stage,
When pressed under the repellent gravity
Of open eyelids, is there
The peace of mind
To react instinctively
To the mechanics of social magnetism.
The spotlight burns down, bright upon her,
Softening her make-up—
Letting it melts slowly down her skin
As if it were a glass
Through which we could see her.
She prefers the classics
And the avant-garde
When she needs to perform.
She would rather have a brilliant tongue
Sit in her mouth behind her cosmetically
Bleached and re-calibrated teeth
And vibrate the words she could not imagine;
To speak the poetic vespers
That came deep from the dark mind's early gloaming.
She would like to exorcise the demons
That torment her in a public display
Of plagiarized mimicry.
She would pantomime the emotions
She could not express,
And, in doing so,
She receives the pity and applause
That, through her abstruse personification,
She is not able to receive personally.
For a moment—
A moment of collective illusion—
She and the public
That loves her,
That would tear her down,
Can cry together
Over the suffering of the character
That possesses her nimble, choreographed frame.
Reality is suspended
And the air grows thick as the melodramatic dialog,
As both she and the world search
For the lingering traces of humanity
In the commercial world of cynicism
And disbelief.
Later, she will peel off a layer of skin,
Unpainting the chiseled sculpture
Of her persona,
Revealing who she is behind the curtain
Of articulated gestures and scripted language.
She removes her costume
And stands naked in front of a mirror.
She looks at her reflection,
Wondering if she is looking upon herself
Or if her likeness is looking upon her.
Perhaps she is the reflection,
She muses. The masks of the past
Peer down on her as she gets dressed,
The glowing light bulbs above her mirror
Cast a shadow down upon them
And they hide in the translucent cross-hatching
Of shades.
Without her make-up,
Without her costume,
Without her direction,
Without her material to impersonate,
She is indistinguishable from the crowds on the street
That tousle around her
In their irregular patterns of comedy.
There, they do not recognize her talent,
Or that she is one of them,
As she wanders through their flurry
Of furcated destinations and desires.
What separates them
Is not who they are,
But how they are manifested
By the things that compose in them
The saturated lines of interest.
She walks home.
They walk home.
Who is to say there is any difference?
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Related quotes
Spotlight Kid
You dont know whats happening, you want to go home
But theres nowhere to hide
You walk out on stage, your first time alone
The crowds going wild
And you feel so alive
You could stand up and take this all night
They love you but youre in love with the spotlight
Youre the spotlight kid
Jokers and women they hang round your door
Theyre all part of the scene
Just like a junkie youve got to have more
Its a pleasure machine
And you fly every night
But the dressing room mirror dont lie
They love you but youre in love with the spotlight
Youre the spotlight kid
Your audience died, faded away
Leaving you on the stage
Its been so many years since that first matinee
It seems like an age
Encore one more time
For the ghosts of the past in your mind
They love you but youre in love with the spotlight
Youre the spotlight kid
Youre living in a dream
Youre the spotlight kid
Youre in love with the spotlight
song performed by by Rainbow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Look in The Mirror/Imagery in Poetry
You stand there so silently, In the perfect frame of mind
Keeping all my secrets, A friend I always leave behind
You never judge me, And you never let me down
I can count on you, No matter what comes around
When you get a glimpse at me, Tell me, what you see
Do you believe in me, Are you proud of what you see
Mirror, mirror look at me, Tell me with all honesty
Can you reflect on me, Some of your clarity
I’m back so soon, it’s not even noon, And look at me, all foggy
Help me clear the steam, Mirror, I just wanna scream
I can’t see my reflection, I might need your protection
A dark shadow has appeared, And it feels kind of weird
Can you give me some shine, Can I have some of that shimmer
Can you make me sparkle, Like the glitter in your mirror
Help me get it together, Or I’ll shatter into bits
Help me stay whole and silver, Like the backbone in your mirror
Show me the strength that’s left in me, Enough with the crying and self-pity
Help me snip my shadow free, And turn it in to beauty
Mirror mirror can I ask, To leave the mirror of the past
Mirror mirror inside of me, What, reflection, do you see
(2010–Esther Douek)
poem by Life in a Poem
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Trapped Within My Reflection
Standing here stairing into this mirror
My reflection stairing back at me
A tear dropp falls down its cheek
Wiping my face but nothing there
The mirror begins to cloud
My reflection starts to shiver
Placing my hand on this now cold surface
My reflection slowly places his hand against mine
My reflection breathes onto the mirror
As writting appears 'HELP ME'
My mind telling me its not real
But my eyes never fail
My heart beats faster
My soul trapped within this mirror
All along, here in front of me
Stairing me in the face
My reflection banging for freedom
Seems so real as the mirror shakes
Suddenly overcome with this strange feeling
I throw my fist to the mirror
Cracks begin to form
As my reflection stands still and smiles
Shattering into a million pieces
A sensation feeling travels through my body
Looking down i see my reflection
Tainted red as blood falls
A shard of mirror stuck in my hand
A message appears
'You Freed Me - You Freed Your Soul'
Reflection
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Why do I look in you, at all,
For all I see is the same old me,
And not how I so want to be.
Mirror, mirror on the stairs,
Why do you show me many years,
A face with wrinkles everywhere,
Would anybody like my share.
Mirror, mirror near my bed,
In you I look with certain dread,
For creams and potions just don't work,
Behind them still the wrinkles lurk.
Mirror, mirror in the hall,
Seeing you makes me recall,
That I am now of senior age,
Well stuck into the wrinkles stage.
Mirror, mirror by the door,
How I hate you more and more,
I'm having to look the other way,
When my reflection's on display.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Vanity's Reflection
The mirror that I always pass
I know is just a piece of glass
that holds a reflection I see.
Is that a just a reflection of me?
Or rather is it just the one
that hates the rain and loves the sun?
I must cover it with a blackened drape
so I can't see my earthly shape.
I must forget it is there all the while
to catch the frown or the smile.
For the imperfections that are mine
are really only an outward sign.
I should not depend on a piece of glass
to hold the truth to my impasse.
I'm a prisoner only in my mind
and I am trying hard to find
my way in this world that feels like home
besides my song and besides my poem.
'Mirror, mirror on the wall
who's the fairest of them all?
I know it certainly isn't me
for all you hold is vanity.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Salt Tears Arch Into Rainbow Bridges
tears reflection
is cast in shell mist
of skin mirror mind
which must transcend
impaling of torturous now
into possibilities
of new birth beginnings
new love new life
birth is new happiness
when we tear through dead skin
of past life
we must outgrow
burst transcend newborn
body become shimmering souls
which must embrace gift illumination
of each days new light
vision mind paradise walks
salt tears arch into rainbow bridges
thoughts energy mind blooms phoenix glorious
passion walk among creation heal suffering souls
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Reflection
Reflection
By: Adam M. Snow
The reflection in this cracked mirror shows only two;
my essence, my soul; it's also true.
My soul is tainted, my essence is numb;
my dreams grew dark, this is what I've become.
My reflection is cracked; I'm out of place;
my heart grows cold, I need your grace.
I'm falling apart; I've lost my way;
what else do you want me to say?
The rippling water's a mist how can that be?
Do I exist to be with thee?
I am cracked and so is my reflection;
these wounds, they show my affection.
Though I am but one in a reflection of two;
trying to find my place anew.
So let my reflection show who I am;
someone who was to be damned.
Let me be but one;
so that I may be done.
My reflections strain drops of blood;
just leave me here in the mud.
My eyes are stained, my touch is cold;
all I need is someone to hold.
My mouth is silent, my love breaks;
my body's bound, my soul aches.
I am but one in the mirror's looking glass;
looking upon my modern pass.
When will my reflection show;
the truth I do not dare to know?
My reflection is cracked; I'm out of place;
my heart grows cold, I need your grace.
I'm falling apart; I've lost my way;
I'm waiting here for the day.
My skin grew pale, did I died?
I'm here in this corner trying to hide.
My sight has gone; it's the break of dawn;
I'm going back to where it spawned.
The mirror's shattered, not my reflection;
from what I've done this is my infection.
I've been risen yet I fall;
I can't give up on all.
My reflection's viewing pains;
showing me bound by these chains.
I'm forced to face myself in this state;
the mirror shows, this is my fate.
My reflection is broken yet it's whole;
I'm out in the world searching for my life's role.
I'm reaching out through the dark;
searching for the owner of this black mark.
Nevermore does my reflection show;
I'm lost with no where to go.
The mirror's lust has felled;
this is where I dwelled.
My tears fall upon reflection;
this is my resurrection.
The cracked mirror now shows one;
could it be that it's now done?
My reflection's anew;
it's also true.
I'm not the same:
I ignite my flame.
The mirror's now whole with no crack in sight;
I'm no longer in the dark, but the light.
I only love; I do not hate;
I know now that this is my fate.
I faced myself in the mirror;
now that I can see, it's all so clearer.
My ways I've change from what I've became;
I'm the only one to blame.
My reflection is cracked no more;
my pain is gone just like before.
My future is nearer;
all ‘cause I looked in the mirror.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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With The Face
With the face goes a mirror
As with the mind a world.
Likeness tells the doubting eye
That strangeness is not strange.
At an early hour and knowledge
Identity not yet familiar
Looks back upon itself from later,
And seems itself.
To-day seems now.
With reality-to-be goes time.
With the mind goes a world.
Wit the heart goes a weather.
With the face goes a mirror
As with the body a fear.
Young self goes staring to the wall
Where dumb futurity speaks calm,
And between then and then
Forebeing grows of age.
The mirror mixes with the eye.
Soon will it be the very eye.
Soon will the eye that was
The very mirror be.
Death, the final image, will shine
Transparently not otherwise
Than as the dark sun described
With such faint brightnesses.
poem by Laura Riding
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What Could Have Been An Answer?
it is there
you do not really know why it is there
and it is doing you two things
it is indifferent
you like to touch it and make love with it
it does not know you
and it dislikes you like a food that is inside its mouth
and it wants to
vomit everything
that is the truth
the paradox of your self-proclaimed relationship
to yourself
love hate love hate
you want it to stay but you cannot hold on to it
it gives you
that feeling that this world is unending
but it ends
your world
the moment you mind it
even for a second
do not expect to understand
its wisdom is in not completely understanding it
if you know it well
it can kill you
because it is so sweet and to a certain extent
it becomes your own
poison
you remember it
you want to always remember it
because it makes your heart beat faster like a jumping gazelle
but it you remember it quite long
it becomes sharp as a knife
and starts slicing you heart apart
skin by skin
and so you give it away
set it free like a blue butterfly from your hand
you become so sad
tears are inside your eyes
wanting to burst like a dam of tons of water
raging upon rage itself
you are sad now
in fact sadder than sad
and no one can help you about it
you cannot tell anyone
because shame shames you like a reflection of your face in the mirror
and so you talk to yourself as though it is
another talking shadow beside your
shadow
from the light of the moon
tonight
you want to confront each other
drink lots of hard liqueur
and challenge it
what about dying together
this moment?
this second.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Question
I can see my reflection
In my bedroom mirror-
My pupils are spinning madly about -never abating-
In the dimness of the light I have always believed that
I am being persecuted-
Death fear plagues me everyday- dreams I had as a child,
Deadly as a snake
Constricting my wrist-
Life is such a mystery, and
Death is even more mysterious-
People following me close behind and
I am being watched-
Others have said it is my imagination-
Others blame it on the moon-
This morning I was running
Running from all that I fear-
Just ordinary people to others, while to me-
Menacing and threatening-
I just keep running until
I am home, the doors locked and chained and
I am alone at peace with
The voices speaking to me inside of my mind-and
I can see my reflection in my bedroom mirror-
My pupils spinning about-
Will my thoughts ever silence?
Life is a mystery to me and perhaps more to others-
Others who watch me- day in and day out-
I can still see my reflection wherever I go-
The light gets dimmer and I find myself in the midst of the darkness, although
In the confinement of my home- so I am now at peace-
Even in bleak darkness because I am alone-
Inside the world of my thoughts I am running-
Running away from my reflection until the day I die and
While death is a mystery, one never knows when it shall happen-
I continue my solitary walk towards home- and in utmost reality-
Nobody- really knows where their home truly resides-
At the same time I question where reality resides.
poem by Claudia Krizay
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You Know, The Reflection You Don't Recognize
You know
its kind of weird
when you look
in the mirror
and cant decide
exactly who
you are really
looking at
You know
its kinda stupid
when you fall
to your knees
and pray
to a god
that you don't
even believe in
You know
its kinda rude
when someone says
that you've changed
into something
that isn't what
they want to
see anymore
and this is why
i'm standing here
in front of this
tainted mirror
thinking that
maybe there is
some truth
in their words
You know
what i mean
to say when
i try to explain
that i have
lost my image
in this reflection
that i see
You know
how it feels
to collapse to
a world that
engulfs you
into thinking that
you are not
what they wanted
You know
what its like
to feel defeated
day to day
by the little words
people say
that distort the
image in the mirror
and then i ask
do you know
how it feels
to stand and
see the reflection
of someone
that you don't
recognize in
a mirror of nothing
but yourself
poem by Audrey Marie Kay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ugly Truth
The ugly truth, the shadow that wonders alone,
It’s the dark space in the corner of the room where love isn’t shown,
The ignored people whose personality is ignored and unknown,
It’s the face in the mirror that cracks on sight,
The same mirror where society reflects beauty and glamour where self loathing ignites,
Anorexia, plastic surgeries, implants, anabolic steroids, self destruction, and despite,
The natural beauty of humankind destroyed by artificial cosmetics,
Similar to drugs that induces the nonexistent pain from anesthetics,
It’s the poisonous salt induced in self healing known as tartar emetic,
Invisible, pain underlined the surface to project beauty from self destruction inside to route the beauty out,
But the ugly truth is, cosmetics is the bud in plants that doesn’t sprout,
It’s the mirror that humanity looks into every day with doubt,
The doubt that induces perfection from the outside,
It’s the disease inducing shallow emotions from humans worldwide,
Victimized is the people who will never know the pleasure of someday being a groom or bride,
It’s that same cracked mirror that reflects self loathing and the tears we cry,
It’s the anxiety induced from outside the mirror in the room where in the corner we hide,
The smile that is looked as a broken masterpiece from the finest art,
The ugly truth, where beauty from inside the heart is ignored from the start,
It’s the puzzle of human life, where natural beauty of personality is ripped apart,
Embarrassed to be seen by others all they see is broken reflection of self,
In a glass of bottled that they store on the shelf,
Even through glass the reflection stands still where they can see themselves,
Through the smile beyond the face it’s a silent weep of pain and fear,
From the eyes to their ears every night they shed bloody tears,
Not the typical blood made of red matter, it’s the tears bottled up in emotion that’s crystal clear,
The self loathing from the inability to find love, the cause when the end draws near,
Can’t escape the matrix of cosmetic pain, every waking minute outside with others they experience fear,
Unable to identify how to look human, Halloween is every day,
Awaking out of a dream to be perfect, the costume of that beautiful angel in the dream they put on with a closed mind they display,
Where the reality results in a drought in from mixing a blowtorch and hair spray,
The event that causes a ring of fire around the Earth burning everything in sight,
The manifest of when the walls close in, but the mirror stands still cracked but upright,
A masquerade ruined by the drought caused by spite,
The parade rained on by the precipitation of lightning and fire combined,
But forever the broken mirror inside the closing rings stands inclined,
The broken cracks in the same shape as the lightning in the night,
The ugly truth, bottled emotion correlated with the mirror that’s upright
Self esteem is the iron grip that can twist off the top of the bottle,
We dig down deep and can’t project the good inside even with momentum in full throttle,
Even still the personality inside is covered by a towel,
Where the ugly truth lies within an open mind,
The mirror will set fire forever within due time,
And the ugly truth through personality will turn beautiful and shine,
The broken cracked mirror will rebuild itself into a reflection clear like waters in the most beautiful stream,
Our mouths open with the most beautiful voice that we sing,
As opposed to opening the bottle of emotion through hoarse screams,
The same waters that carries the world once set fire moves upstream,
Something as an epiphany is what it seems,
Beauty projected through inner beauty with self esteem it brings,
The iron grip that opens the bottle releases the toxins into the atmosphere,
And a bright light of the once burned down the world appears,
And everything once seen as ugly is seen as sincere,
The bottle of closed mind opened with iron grip engulfs with positive emotion as the force of kindness perseveres,
And the pain from the ugly truth disappears.
poem by Kurt Kacich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wisdom from the Mirror
It needs light so that mirror can reflect
Remove the darkness in your life
For you to shine and goodness can reflect
A concave mirror can make the object appear smaller
A convex mirror can make the object appear bigger
But a louder voice cannot make a person
appear to have a bigger mind or a bigger brain
A mirror can be used in a good way
Or can be used badly like that of the Queen
In the fairy tale of Snow White and the seven dwarfs
Hope knowledge will only be used for the good of men
Things in the mirror are illusions
They are not real but just a reflection
Fears we feel can be an illusion
Turn on the light of courage, and fear will vanish
Wide mirrors can make a place appear bigger
But wider knowledge doesn’t always mean a wider wisdom
Nor old age assures a greater understanding
Mirror only reflects outward beauty
Nor our eyes can see inner beauty
So treat anyone with respect and dignity
Regardless of skin or nationality
As mirror is of no use for the blind
So wisdom is of no good use for the closed or evil mind
poem by Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
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In This Moment
Light is dim
Although in this moment
Light is not a welcome entity-
My mind wants to hide itself
Within the darkness of
This very early summer morning-
In this moment, I foresee no serenity and
I hear voices screaming while
In the fortress of this room
I know I am the only one present.
If only my bed, here where I lay, were a ship, I would journey years backward
To the place I lived in at all times many decades ago-
Now I know that land was non existent, even though
At the time it was my only reality.
In this moment, my only reality is within this room
Where the light is dim and
Outside this window, where the shades are pulled halfway down,
A world surrounds me-a world I cannot call my home.
Here within the place of my thoughts,
There exists a sea cobalt blue in its hue
A sea of tranquility, although it seems as if
All tranquility has just been shattered-
Even though the voices I hear screaming are terrifying and unreal-
The voice of reality is dimmer.
Threatening voices and this bed in which I lie is a boat
Now in the midst of a storm at sea, and although
I can foresee no destiny-here where I lie resting,
All is familiar to me while the real world outside is foreign, and
A threat to my existence.
So here in this moment, I close my eyes to all that I fear and I know that momentarily
I shall drift off to sleep and dream of the past-
Where I lived inside my own world of bliss and harmony-
Here In this very moment where the light of reality is dim,
My eyes are closed and I am sailing upon my magical ship,
Back to the time where fantasy brought me only peace of mind
Unaware of the day I would awaken alive in a planet they call "Earth"
Where my imaginary ship would overturn and I would find myself
Drowning in a sea of madness where there exists no recourse to fear,
In this moment where light has never been dimmer…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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In Shadows to Escape
After players have left the stage,
And the lights with excitement have dimmed...
On terrific performances given by them.
Cast away are masks adorned...
With emotions to address,
And no shoulder for one wished to lean on!
The ensemble finishes...
To scramble and move on!
Applause and ovations,
Given and received.
Actors breathing life...
Into characters believed!
And the curtain call is finished...
To leave a packed house emptied and cleared!
As a cigarette is lit,
To silhouette not happiness but regret.
Accompanied by tears!
This 'star' left living in a reality...
Unscripted and unspoken,
Unsuspected...
Or thought to conceive.
Walks to sit on a barren stage...
Unrehearsed to collect a peace of mind,
Cherished to protect away from an allotted time.
In shadows...
To escape a crowding maze.
And those who could pick moments to critique!
Or question why blocking seen,
Is kept restfully discreet!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Man In The Mirror
This is the story of a star
He gave up reality for fame
He's the man in the mirror
Money was his best friend
Lludadi dadida
Lights are off, the curtains closed
No one is here now
Ludadi dadida
To turn back the hands of time
Hes the man, in the dark
Trying to see the light again
Hes the man, in the dark
To fall is hard to understand
He's the man in the mirror
He was a hero, he was a superstar
He's the man in the mirror
Searching the spotlight, Searching a fame bizarre
He's the man in the mirror
Ludadi dadida
Hes living inside a nasty world
No one was honest
Ludadi dadida
Searching for the fame he lost
He's the man in the mirror
He was a hero, he was a superstar
He's the man in the mirror
Searching the spotlight, Searching the fame bizarre
The curtain is closed
The camera is off
The make up is washed away
Hes looking in the mirror
Trying to find his inner self
The real world is waiting
He's so afraid to be alone
Time is getting over
Ludadi dadida
The past is running through his hands
No one is waiting
Ludadi dadida
The show is over he's alone
song performed by by DJ Bobo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The masks that we bear
The masks that we bear
hide our deepest pain,
which disappears behind the smiles
that we give the whole day
Expressions are crafted
for the world outside
and our faces mirror,
only what we want other people to see
and in our hearts
demons and angels are doing their thing.
From somewhere we lost the ability
to be just ordinary people
and everybody have become actors,
for whom the wide world is the stage.
Only the creator sees our deepest hearts
and bears in all our suffering
and on we daily play,
the game of ostensibility
for everyone else.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Journey Of A Poet
A journey begins with
A thought in our mind
Words are chosen and formed.
Lines of poem
Well Written with meanings
With words of emotions and expressions
A poet starts with
An inspiration of mind,
An aspiration in soul mind
With reflection
On our life experience
We start to
Compose some
Wonderful poetry
Expressing our innermost thoughts
With deep contemplation
To put them in poetry words
A journey begins when
A poet takes his imagination
To a place where
No one ever dream or imagine before.
A poet's journey ends by
Writing another lovely poem
And deep reflection
A poet remains
As a poet
When he or she
Continue to
Write and Share
lovely poems with the world.
poem by Lawrence Hiung
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The reflection in the mirror
The reflection in the mirror is an unrecognisable figure,
I don't know this man, but I know his sins.
I'm getting pushed aside further and further,
where did my life end or when did it begin?
The reflection in the mirror tells me I'm lost,
wandering furiously towards the butterflies tears,
then into the lions den, my spirtis tossed,
all because of my refelections fears.
The reflection in the mirror is a brave, mighty soldier,
me? - am just a meek wounded mortal,
I used to be my aspiration, but now it's all ciphered,
and in my skin you breathe and nestle.
The reflection in the mirror shows me who I am,
but to like what I see gazing back would be a lie,
and in lifes race, to which I feel I've outswam,
this reflection will stare fiercley back at me until the day I die.
poem by D.A. Woods
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As the show goes on
As the show was about to progress on the stage
I was ushered in to just manage
Comfortable seat enabling me to view
It was special seat offered to only few
I had fascination for old stage shows
It has its own and must be allowed to grow
Live shows have continuous grip on mind
We flow with the character something new to find
It is not pure imagination that carries
The whole concept is around and worries
Story around it revolves in peculiar way
We are spell bound and can not offer any say
There is different perception with comments
The public opinion may vary with some vents
They may rightly or wrongly react
It is quite logical to have different impact
I heard some uncharitable remark
Though the stage was illuminated and not dark
The show was drawing crowd
The claps for and against were so loud
The young character was in love with old lady
It was immense love but lady was not ready
The passionate show did not influence audience
The comments were expected on dotted lines hence
“The old is gold” carried some significance
In value terms it had great importance
The old was to maintain glitter all the times
The new one was able to attract sometimes
Though show was over with mixed feelings
I was not surprised to have it in the evening
Every character has its own role to play
No one should try influence their way
I know for sure that old still retain its intrinsic value
They hold the position and earn the esteem which is due
It may look funny when combined with new out look
So many stories gather around and very easily cooked
There is no clash with experienced person or raw cadet
Expert eyes catch the talent and allow it to let
Have it sown course to meet the expectation
Everything else is ruled out of question
Many couples enjoy their past time with satisfaction
This is good sign or omen with very good indication
It proves the saying that “old still carry the meaning”
The life will be same either in morning or evening
Each and every material is significant
It does not differentiate between past and present
The attraction for life material may be instant
How one carries it to end is more important
I would love to end with past
The world is moving very fast
We got to live with reality
It may still show its fine quality
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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