AN: Scarily enough, I hadn't seen the PBS BBC "Jane Eyre" special yet. I wrote this yesterday, and I watched Part One of Jane today. I'm severely frightened now, for, as you know if you've seen the special, there is a portrait painted and such... This is actually more of a spoken word, as are many of my John works (I just love being John, snapping his words and speaking in "his voice", or what I've come to use as his voice, a deep, sarcastic banter), however, it works as a poem. Maybe someday, I'll make mp3s of my spoken word.
JOHN, dear JOHN
MAMA had a portrait painted today, which lasted throughout all the morning. I could have been up to much better activities. It lasted so long, though, because I could not help but vex the painter with my nasty faces.
Mama could have throttled the artist for reprimanding me. Nonetheless, Mama seemed altogether pleased with the result.
Later, I gazed upon said portrait and attempted to take an outsider's perspective.
Lighting was gloomy, Mother proud, head bowed.
Georgiana, trying to be ripe with springing curls and an averted gaze to symbolize her womanhood—ha! Nothing but pride.
Eliza standing with her hands to her sides—rightly the somber, boring type.
And John, dear John! with red cheeks and curving bangs akin to a cherub's but
eyes not quite upon the focus.
Eyes to the side
But what, whom, was to the side? I tried to recall, tried to figure what had held my attention for such a long spell that the painter would paint my meditation so well—
It was the left—no!—would have been my right side
Nothing was attracting my attention, nothing!
Save for
That monstrous Madame Mope whom Mama banned from said portrait
(That is, my cousin, Jane Eyre, with ridiculous dull eyes and tattered hair who always seems to be just there, glaring at me, angry stare, plotting, bewitching, always)
Reading to my right, sketching to my right
No doubt sore from last night's fight
But I only stared for a second!
Not long enough for a painter to paint my reflection!
No
It must have been some other thing
What captured the attention of Gateshead's king
John, dear John.