Lucian Freud

I want to explore

The very edge

of my talent

I feel much

Unrest

And imbalance

When I don’t

Have a test

And

A challenge

Of my fine

Motor skills

My mother feels

I’m her

Darling child

Ugh!

Doesn’t she

Realise

I’m smothered still?

Love can be

Sometimes

Overkill!

My name is

Lucian Freud

Ever since

My youth

As a boy

My mother’s love

I would do

Everything I could

To avoid

If I don’t like

A painting of mine

I’ll simply put

A foot through

And destroy

Gambling

And

The attentions

Of a beautiful

Woman

Are joys

Plus nightlife

And partying

All these

Supply me

With a high dose

Of thrill

But painting has

Cruelly absorbed

My mind, soul

And will

I go to great

Lengths to produce

Correct brushstrokes

And dabs

It’s mostly luck

Hope and chance

Plus effort

Doing my utter

Upmost

To catch

A person’s likeness

With liberal

Application

Using

The palette knife

To spread paint

Thickly-buttered

Toast

With jam

I take a break

A thorough soak

In the bath

Then put on clothes

For a night out

In the clubs of Soho

With Francis

Afterwards

We take a bus

Home

Or cab

Vultures find us

At the door

With their cameras

Guns, loaded

To flash

And you know how

Much I despise

And loathe those!

So in rebellious

Reaction

We pull faces

Let our

Tongues show

And arse!

In my life

I’ve spunked so

Much copious cash

On horses, champagne

Fine dinners

Ah well!

Money comes, goes

But I was always

Keenly aware

That only

One’s own

Legacy

Built upon stone

Will last