Not Photogenic

Not Photogenic

You cannot be captured on film.
You simply cannot be caught.
Your eyes are not for the canvas,
Nor in steel can your spirit be wrought.
Like a Formula One Ferrari,
Your features come out as a blur,
Smeared across a photograph
Like a cloud in constant stir.
Your soul evades the camera click
Like a seasoned toreador.
Your world moves in slow motion
While we watch and have to adore

Your easy movements and fluid grace
Your hair in its waterfall; your eyes
like twin suns, they set and rise,
Sunflower suns throwing themselves open
In stop-motion film.

You cannot be rendered in oils,
Carved into wood or trapped in chalk.
No surrealist, minimalist, miniaturist or impressionist
Could ever portray your walk;
You could not be a figurine,
As no china ever captured thought;
Nor for you are the trinkets in shop windows,
as easily sold as bought.
You cannot be hung and dried,
Nor fired in a red hot kiln,
You simply cannot be caught, my dear,
And you cannot be captured on film.