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Life Art Poems | Life Poems About Art

These Life Art poems are examples of Life poems about Art. These are the best examples of Life Art poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Dramatic Verse | |

A Man's Tale

A man’s tale 

With mind control there he was,
A man for sale…
Hearing the vocal sound from this wordsmith, 
A man in his own tale…
Currently, he was sitting and calling upon the earth.
Prior rumors about his love for the Queen.
Yet to come would be a bard, singing for Her Majesty-

A fool wrapped in a cowardly way.
Flowers and scars sat on his floor.
A torn heart, making its way out the door.
He caresses the image of her in his mind.
This man, this bard, sang a song for the blind.

Releasing a soft note, she turns towards the sun.
Forgetting the ferocious rage of the king.
The man kneels with the light flashing in his face.
He drinks with his eyes, one moment of glee.
His headlands under the moon's winter space.

Never again, will he spend his days thinking.
Never again-
 will he feel the shivers when calling upon the earth and her beauty. 
Never will he know, he was the tune that eased her thirst.

A man’s tale always ends under a woman’s spell. 


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

Details | Free verse | |

- Life Behind The Mirror -

Enchanting chambers made of glass 
Breaking reflections shatter falling into ruin
The history behind the tears and sorrow of a heart
Fragile echoes inside truth broken always sings 
If this be loves beauty like dropping crystals splash
Speaks a language of one thousand tongues when the sparks fly
The soul released from thought 
Faraway shadows cover a dream
When you have found what you're looking for
And always breathe in the beauty of nature
Silver buds glisten in morning dew 

Millions of years before you or me
Weeping willow hangs heavy over us 
These things and so many more
have made you and me understand
Blossoming sunshine shades golden 
Crowned kissed by love in the summer  rain 

What a beauty to wake up to birdsong
Carried on gentle winds when they sigh
Hearing screams from the raven far up in the mountains
Secrets of the water flowing whispers 
Our lives have a meaning here on this earth
Stars circle your space in another realm 
Thoughts and dreams put together as mosaic
A moon smiles as shadows dances to a joyous tune 
The smell of pine needles tickle in the nose
As a sun lights our footsteps with golden harmony 
Commitment strong and sense of purpose is the key to life

Written by L. Mcdaid & A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Anne Lise Andresen

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Insanity or Death

Insanity or Death

Life begins with insanity~~
~Your soul is kicking and screaming, 

Ready to exit with the touch of human hands.
Insanity rides on a gallant stallion ready to pant.
Hides in the mind, mourning its captive soul. 
Ready to breach over holding its breath.
Projecting in and out without a guide.
Bites away at the feast, enchants for freedom.  
From the lips……….....
Taking length against a world of dilemmas, 
Contrasting to a never happy end.
The epidermis cover every wall of insanity.

To live, to eat, and to suffocate it determination without air.
Dramatically hallucination against its will of no wells.
Until it realizes it can drink without water.

No further needs a slumber.
The mind-bends and unfolds to ordinary jolts, 
When left to human consummation.
Insincerely bidding and cutting to die in the sleep.
Is how it pleads!

Graves where dreams have no meaning.
Caves where goodness can be redeemed.
A temple of misguided fortune.
All respect lost to this infection,
The patients’ weight distracted from an antidote.

The madness begins too finds admiration-
That makes catastrophe go on and on.
The psychosis of the mind and mockeries of them will never be gone
Dictating in everything wrong,
Layers of cramped bricks, level the isolation.

Death drags its feet off into this infinite helix world.
A source of light breeding out of darkness.

"Sanity is no friend of mine!"
Insanity is earth herself, 

Where there is life, there is a reason, 
Where there is reason, there is madness,
Where there is madness, there you are,   
Feeling nothing………………...
Lost in darkness................ 

~Your soul is kicking and screaming
Life ends with death~~


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

Details | Free verse | |

Brush Stroke to Uniqueness

If my mind be painted in colors borrowed, would it be red? 
Rusted in brown, or maybe instead, an indigo streak?
Depending upon the source of inspiration, 
and the song on the radio at the time of connection...
I keep coming back to sea green, 
or the blue of underwater murals at 3ft tall of childhood,
eyes wide in fickle, transient hazel
absorbing each moment, be it safe or unstable
categorizing each scent and each color
each love and each valor
each crisp Autumn, Summer
in vats of brain paint to be later unlidded
and splashed with insignias
of every person and place and event
that ever touched corneas innocent, bent
on absorption.
If my mind be painted, I think it be green
like the moment I'm lucid before I dip dreams
and hang them to dry in the gallery
"Mind's Eye"
and push to wake up to connect, signify
every sensory path that I've traveled before
to traipse them again and still come back for more.
I'm a stickler for art and with your canvas blank
my sweet innocent dear, with each word that you hear
you will brush stroke your way to uniqueness.

Copyright © Tatyana Carney

Details | Acrostic | |

Open Sores

I am a coward with open sores. 
I write and wonder who it bores. 
I hear my heart and mind argue repeatedly. 
I see others carrying out my dreams; 
that’s what’s defeated me.
I am a coward with open sores. 
I pretend open doors are closed, and walk the other way. 
I touch base with the fear in my heart, tearing me apart,
leaving nothing to say... 
I worry the world will leave me. 
I cry because no one believes in me. 

I am a coward with open sores. 
I understand nothing comes easy. 
I say I’m happy, but even I don’t believe me. 
I dream I am healed and brave. 
I try to overcome my weaknesses before I’m in my grave. 
I hope you hear me.
I’m on all fours. 
I am a coward with open sores. 

©  2011  ~JSLaM    


* 1st PLACE in Contest "MARCH MADNESS" Sponsored by C. Devonshire 2011

* 1st PLACE in Contest "ONE OFF" Sponsored by Brian Strand 5/11/2011 

* 1st PLACE in Contest "BEST EVER" Sponsored by P.D. 2011

Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO

Details | Free verse | |

Soul mates solace

When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender 
and exchange inestimable treasures
recollecting memories 
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised 
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
change not
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
as masterpiece

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty

Details | Quatrain | |

Another Day

A torch carried on forever, indeed,
for the aggressive rhymer in me,
is alive again, unshackled and freed,
rising to challenge another day, I see.

As I found myself lost deep in Tolkien,
with epic Star Wars, never ending,
surrounded in a geek paradise, serene,
optical illusions before me, suspending.

Life's songs on guitar strings strummed,
an epiphany unlike they've ever heard,
euphoric dreams in my visions hummed,
as I pen archaic word after archaic word.

Artistry is born only to be my brother,
encircled this star, a pentagram made,
my day is done, I have conquered another,
as the sun slowly brings down the shade.

A Word Collage For Chan Hurst

(Cyndi MacMillan's contest)

Copyright © Kelly Deschler

Details | Rhyme | |


His poems created melodies
     Of angel's wings and restless seas,
          Of crisp blue mornings and cloudless skies,
               And pearls of wisdom that help souls rise.

This all was written from the heart;
     No less pure than Raphael's art.
          He stroked the canvas of our mind,
               And helped the searching soul to find;

That we can learn life's melodies,
     And fly above the restless seas;
          Into the cloudless morning skies,
               Until at last we realize.

We all are artist in a way.
     We mold our lives with heaven's clay.
          Though many brushes stroke our mind;
             The final picture, we've designed.

Copyright © Robert Nehls

Details | Sonnet | |

A Painter's Pine

The void calls through gossamer veils and widow's peak. Shifty-eyed now of necessity I lie, bone-wrapped in rosaries black as my rheumy eyes, death speaks. Uncomforted by down or velvet, role trapped corseted, board stiff with age like calf skin vellum peeled and bloodied by the dual edged knife of man. The scene is set and I shall not whimper, as do some, or call to God, or blame the fates of those whose clans remain earth-bound, when I have left this mortal glade. Pigment on canvass, linseed loosed, stretchers taut, displayed, all of this, I've had a plenty, and been royally paid. My life was art, and it was art that fanned my life's flame. So, stretch me on the pine boards and lay my edges down; monochrome me in umber, drench me in shades of brown.
Self Portrait See About the Poem

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi

Details | Narrative | |

New Road

In a new road,
Rain will fall,
Wind may blow,
Swifting our woe.

The road forever on and on,
Many paths to choose,
Many paths to take,
Home behind,
World ahead...

Through the shadows,
Through the night,
Clouds going by,
There we will lie,
Very deep,
Seeing shivered land,
Seeing the dead seas...

Through the edge,
Miles to go,
Singing by,
Darkness rising,
Vanishing light,
Hollow flourishing,
Going by,
World ahead,
Home behind...

Rain may fall,
Through the nightfall,
Through the twilight,
Through the dusk,
Through the dawn,
Beyond mountains,
Beyond stones,
Standing strong,
Wandering lost,
World ahead,
Home behind,
Paths on and on,
'Till the road comes along...

Copyright © Ruben A. Hernandez Diaz

Details | Sestina | |

The Potter's Wheel

Pulling with hands soft and smooth as glazed clay,
Her foot prods the pedal, turning the wheel.  
She basks in the bliss of a beautiful mess.
She's learned art is born from that carefree mess.
Moulding with hands caked in layers of clay, 
She makes artwork dance on that spinning wheel.
Her bones creak along with the aging wheel,
Silver hair spattered by flecks of sweet mess.
She glazes with hands rough and cracked as dried clay.
Beyond clay and wheel, life spins a fine mess.  

*Form: Tritina

Copyright © Heather Ober

Details | Rhyme | |

Goodbye, My Child

Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance 
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

To where the ridges merry make 
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong  

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal

Details | I do not know? | |


are like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps down
my spine

Their cool aftermath
cleanses me of my thoughts
of fear and uncertainty 
about what tomorrows
pain may bring

They make me feel,
wet with creativity
drenched in my optimistic
illumination. glistening
raindrops, my thoughts
leave paths of pleasurable
distress, and hope of success
which road, less traveled
may be the best

Forget an umbrella
when these raindrops
arrive, I walk outside
arms open wide

Ready to Receive
the mind storm may bring
because raindrops are
as my thoughts, falling
down into my mind
sending shivers down
my spine

My brain, yearns
for the rain, to wash away
the pain, tomorrows worry
does bring
One special drop
could speed up life's clock
to the time
I can handle my own
and not dwell inside my controllers

For raindrops are,
like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps
down my spine

Copyright © Heather Hill

Details | Rhyme | |

Frail Paper Etched With Words

Whether poets, showmen or philosophers,
Or mere cowboys who follow herds—
They all want to leave behind a lasting mark—
More than frail paper etched with words.

But the cold, hard truth still lies in the doing
And all but a blessed few will fail—
But on we go like bison over the cliff—
Hoping our wings sprout and we sail.

And like restless sleepwalkers we do wander
From one thing and then to the next—
Till we find what it is that will then save us
To put life in proper context.

So on we scribble and strive for the right phrase—
Catch meaning and life in birds—
Put emotions and feelings we briefly hold
On this frail paper etched with words. 

Copyright © Glen Enloe

Details | ekphrasis | |

A Depiction Of One Artist And His Starry Night

Vincent Van Gogh~Starry Night __________________________ a precarious world of indecision a dark pallet of light this brilliant depiction , it does scream , it cries out blues and yellows swirl in a maze of defeat a crescent moon suspended in a blissful evening , hangs lone in agony I rest within this small town of hope my eyes are saddened , my mind relentless in delight You are mine , my asylum , my starry night a dimension of light under this wrenching canopy of demise oh Vincent... __________________________

Copyright © Rick Parise

Details | Monorhyme | |

Make It Count

line count and word number are equal in this selection....

"Make It Count"
by:  Eric L. Boddie

Man may
Come to play
But if you say
Oh no baby, not today
Do you think he would stay
Or would he go so far away
In search of another lover he could lay
Doing everything associated with rolling in that infamous hay
And if push came to shove, maybe he would pay
To relieve all the stress stemming from your hips' distant sway
Because something must give, there are more than fifty shades of gray
That's common knowledge to the freaks and all those upon which they prey
And once you learn them all, I promise your lover will never ever stray
But if you miss just a single one, then you may experience that dreadful day
Where you lose it all so try to find True Love and remember to always Pray

Copyright © eric boddie

Details | Verse | |

All That I Am

You know me as a poet and writer of poems rhythmic,
I take poetic license, violating rules and conventions;
Telling a story using figurative language to share,
     My life's journey and sorrows in beautiful words.
     Few beyond this safe harbour have read my poems,
     I write with raw emotion and I lay my soul bare;
     My poems are my treasures that I keep hidden,
                              Fathomless the pain.
        My view on life is somewhat sadly fatalism,
          What will be will be, it is already written by God.
There are many facets to me that I share with few,
Classical music moves me to write my poetry and words;
Chopin, the poet of the piano, Mozart, oh the lyrical charmer.

And I am a lover of art, going to the art gallery weekly,
I love Van Gogh, Degas, Pissario, Bernini and Botticello;
Leonardo and of course, Michelangio, I could go on and on,
     I am fascinated in the architecture in my city.
     Often I just walk the streets looking for beauty,
     Admiring gothic revival with its arches and vaults;
     And I love the Victorian building where I reside,
                              With my two cats.
        A small garden created with a love for nature,
          A tribute to my mother's great fondness of flowers;
Other things you may not imagine about me are many,
Adore vintage jewellery and clothes and antique anything,
A collector of books, reference, dictionaries, all in a clutter.
And one last thing that I find so very odd and strange,
Is that although since childhood I have walked with death;
How death haunts me, I take a job in nursing to help people die,
                                And God weeps.

July 30, 2015


For the contest, All That You Are, sponsor, Charlotte Puddifoot

7th Place

Copyright © Broken Wings

Details | Rhyme | |

The Tumid River of Acheron

The Tumid River of Acheron (the journey) Part 1

Dark the tumid, rushing waters flow
where man most wisely fears to go
Liquid blackness sings of epic pain
torture, misery and cries of insane
Echoes of evil Eperius in the West
shadow realm where evil never rests

Black ship of Kharon eternally sail
into the sunless land of a dark hell
Land those lost , family and friend
exists for all wicked women and men
Black abyss where Apollo never walks
lost souls ripped by screeching hawks

Forever filled by rowboat conveyed
miserable, crying souls are relayed
Crossing the tarn of Acheron then
cursing future torments for all men
Seething waters set to ever separate
those lost into future tortured Fate

Father of evil waters from which sprang
the Styx of which man's curses rang
Flowing stream holding back evil foul 
where tortured spirits scream and howl
Acheron, into a lake of scorching heat
where demons play with souls they eat

Delivered shadows fall on prayers cast
vanity briefly soothes, forever lasts
Prayers sinking like river cast stones
dreams birthed from dead skin and bones
Waters that wrap around Haides evil realm
with Daimon, the dark Lord at the helm

Gushing forth from the bowels of rock
mighty blackened waters rise to shock
Upon its moving mass of wretched stink
poison so lethal no mortal man may drink
Kharon, the ferryman awaits at the oars
to deliver the lost upon evil's shores

Far below the path of Mariandyni coast
the Acheron ferries victims to its host
Loaded with spirits of cries and moans
Kharon laughs at all the misery groans
From the south shore of the black sea
in sun's light never again will they be

Many are the tales of Acheron's fame
its victims steeped in sin and shame
Anguish rises as dark waters deliver
the wretched lost to painfully quiver
In this dark abhorrent , torturing Hell
those embracing lustful sin into evil fell

Robert J. Lindley, 09-13-2014

note:  This is part one. The journey into HAIDES 
by way of crossing the Styx. The river Styx is 
actually an off shoot of Acheron that splits into
the Styx and the Cocytus. 

Part two now has two lines written. It will be titled ,
Haides and Tormented Souls (the Dwelling).. 
I have no preset limit to the second part, may be 
longer or shorter. I suspect it will be even longer.
I hope the readers enjoy this write. I wanted to do 
something dark and move away from all my love, romance 
and Nature writes. A bit of variety to stir my 

Copyright © Robert Lindley

Details | Free verse | |


Once, it sold cultivated 
pigment, before it became 
a catacomb of cardboard drapes.
Makeshift out-of-business signs
made me wonder if the gallery owner 
intended his display,
subtitle: irony frames rage. 

Gone, the watercolour 
weeping chartreuse, a harsh backdrop 
of morose blues; Gone,  the oil 
on wood, knife strokes applied 
so thickly, it almost moved; Gone, 
charcoal sketches of thunderstorms 
greying the shores of Port Elgin.

Dark, now, halls that sheltered 
dreamscapes, art undisciplined, squeezed 
into corners, elbowing for attention. 
I ache 
                                for one dove 

that clung to an azure sky, 
the coo of my name, 
but I'd been unable to take him home 
to my cube cage. He deserved 
a rectory or a view that would provide 
sanctuary. His wings had beat against 
pulse points; one feather
tickled a memory 

of a robin that aimed 
for a cloudless sky but
collided with a picture window —  
its point of contact left a scarlet smear.
Grandmother carefully wrapped 
the corpse in yesterday’s news.

I trudged to the garbage can, 
unseen, found D-E-A-D
in its shroud, snuck to the garden 
and buried it under tall phlox, 
florid snap dragons; a child sobbing, 
wrenched by a world 
where beauty is fragile, 


Today, people walk along the street, 
hold devices that fail to signal
that something living slowly
starves to death, atrophies; I watch
a happy girl point to a puddle, 
but her mother fails to see 
the large coin it holds.

There had been a portrait, 
like a sun shower, its perfect fault lines 
of light and rain, a woman shoed in waves, 
almost overtaken, her footsteps 
stolen by unnatural foam…
I am so sorry, artist unmet, 
do you even know 

                                you've flown 

into a shut window. 

Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan

Details | Free verse | |

A seed of poetry

Like water that flows in a river
Time will not stop and wait
It comes and then it goes
And now will soon be late
The sun will not rise
And forget to set
Today will not stay here forever

Time was born and passed away
While I was chasing dreams
I never dreamt of
Dreaming of things that were 
Not for me to dream about

I didn’t know at first 
That in my inside
There is a seed germinating
Deep in the roots of my heart 
Where veins and arteries
Carry blood in and out

The eyes of my eyes
Could not see
The ears of my ears
Could not hear
The tongue of my tongue
Could not taste
The nose of my nose 
Could not smell
The mind of my mind 
Was uncounscious
As this seed
Was patiently growing

It was watered by tears
That couldn’t fall off my eyes
When I cried
It was fertilized by my deep thoughts
That denied me time to rest
The pain I felt within
Was manure to it

And now it has grown
It has grown into a tree
it has grown into a green looking tree
A tree that sprouts colorful flowers
And I am hopeful
Hopeful to reap tasty fruits
Of this seed of poetry
Sown in me by God

Copyright © Pt. Bojosi Ditshwele

Details | Sonnet | |

Those Glory Days, Long Gone

Those Glory Days, Long Gone

Those glory days resting so far bygone
I trek ahead, sad and so all alone
Treasures left upon lofty mountain tops
Rushing ever foward, no time for stops

Days, we resting under a shading oak
loving in vows that we forever spoke
Coolest mornings, breezing days easing minds
days of joy in all the many new finds

Those views of life sing forever above
crystal dreams set in our undying love
Nights of magic in epic love unbound
blisses in every kiss our wet lips found

Memories of days and nights now alone
holding memories of life so long gone!

Robert J. Lindley, 09-07-2014

Poem Syllable Counter Results

Syllables Per Line:  10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10  
Total # Syllables:  140  
Total # Lines:  17  (Including empty lines)  
Total # Words:  100 

Did it , hit exactly one hundred words + ten syllables
 per line and great rhyme.. A solid sonnet according to 
my own personal standards. Wrote it and had to minor 
correct only three lines..

Copyright © Robert Lindley

Details | Rhyme | |

When The Sun Sets

When the sun sets, The stars shine with no regrets. Darkness fills the air, The moon gives light with every care. The darkness is easier to walk through, Every light shining is so pure and true. Guidence forever are the stars in the sky, With them we find our places lifted so high. Forever is the moon to cast light upon us all, We become encouraged to stand firm and tall. The stars shine with no regrets, When the sun sets.

When the sun sets, Shining its powerful light it never forgets. Though light fades to darkness, It comes about with alertness. Shadows before the eye can see, The little shining light is enough to set us free. Sometimes we are afraid to walk alone in the dark, From which we were given a caustic remark. Guidance Forever is the changing of dark and light, It helps us to be strong and make one last fight. Forever are the shadows lurking at every turning point, If we give in it is ourselves we disappoint. Shining its powerful light it never forgets, When the sun sets.

When the sun sets, The sky is filled with wonderful colors that the ocean reflects. All the animals of the sea, Come forth creating a musical harmony. The waves crash upon the shore, Washing up new sand to the ocean floor. Its a beautiful site to see, The ocean sounds are calmingly free. Who's to say the ocean isn't peaceful get away, Its a calming place to relax and stay. The sky is filled with wonderful colors that the ocean reflects, When the sun sets.

Copyright © Tyler Knapp

Details | Ekphrasis | |

Dorsiventrally Flattened Leaf

From once lush green, vibrantly alive This dorsiventrally flattened leaf never dies It's fragility, nursed to allow ~ Such patience from the artist abounds By blade and pin such creativity thralls Again, it's decaying membranes reach out and touch From the tree of life, this leaf lives on . Written about the craftsmanship of Omid Asadi whom creates amazing Art from leaves.

Copyright © James Fraser

Details | Free verse | |

You are special

You are the Evening Star glowing in the night sky;
no one can replace the radiance within you. People tell you that you are not cool,
smart, talkative, real.....making you to feel like a douche bag,
being punched right in your heart. Believe me, I've been where you were;
hurt, frustrated, and craving the gates of the afterlife. I looked 
like a person from a rehab. I also felt like a tourist in a place I was born.
As seasons passed, I realized that it was I, with the key to joy. "Rivers don't ask
for permission to replenish themselves; the Sun doesn't 
ask for permission to shine;
an eagle doesn't ask for permission to soar into the sky...." are words from a Zen
book, that woke up my inner fire. I started to dream positive things about me once more, and starting each day with a smile; this also changed the way 
people looked at me.
You are the Evening Star glowing in the night sky;
life being the sky. Never forget that!

Copyright © Teddy Kimathi

Details | Free verse | |

The 80's

This is a decade that many wonderful things happened; 
I was born, the reign of hard rock began, 
Michael Jackson began to moonwalk, Cars became smoother 
on the road, Cold War reigned, and also a time that soul music 
massaged our souls and emotions.
This is a decade that never dies. People who were born 
and lived in the 80s still live, the music still exists in hard-drives, 
teenagers have immortalized the fashion sense, and
my yellowing birth certificate still lives on, with one piece.

Copyright © Teddy Kimathi

Details | Free verse | |

The Day That Died Forever

When I am Colder,Older and then alone...
I will collect the sky on my own...
When the art has faded and the days then fade-
when everyone has gone away...

I may finally see what never was saw
.....ahhhhhhhhhhhhh............... the quiet sky

The unlit room which bares my end...shows the flashes of my pains my joys and sins.
This life has been a strange one since the curtains were drawn
These paper and plastic figures have clouded the dawn

I was once younger,foolish,and obsessed with truth
Now I am bitter,sour,dour faced with my heart under shoe

The children were all searching or lost in a crowd
All weeds in a garden...growing vile and foul

Though beauty was sold it never came true
Obsessions and vanity have traveled safe through

Materials and poison and everything lost
have been burned in the fires or lost in the frost

I stand face to mirror tearing my being apart
Winding thoughts of love,pain,god,and art

As the sun sets and the darkness grows
I too shall follow this pattern in tow

Death has a friendly hand and a pretty face
She has given me comfort as I leave this place

The wars have occurred,humanity's lost
Souls have been burnt in the fire or lost in the frost

Day was Life,Night is Death

And the latter has given counsel on my final steps

Copyright © Winter Wallace

Details | Dramatic monologue | |

Is there an Exclusive All-in-One Principle

  ‘ In general, quantum mechanics does not predict a single definite result for an observation. Instead, it predicts a number of  different possible outcomes and tells us how likely each of these is. ‘

Which side of the Wolf-coin are we looking at

                  the red or the green

                                 nothing then is certain

not even death but the life one endures

 quarks protons neutrons electrons bosons

particles like men and beings in general

                                             bathe not necessarily in the same lifeless soup

         great teachers or rather teachers with great followings

     those that always attract those who prefer to let others do the thinking  for them

         especially through transcendentally transmitted interstellar telegraphy

                 would want us believe

                                             there’s just This One

  and all comes and goes to That Only ONE

If only it were just as simple as that

Then what is it that This One wants

Or is It caught up in its own caveat

And must of needs come apart

        on the seed that It alone plants

                           and do what we may

   nothing goes wrong

            whatever the explanation

everybody is right

right from the start


         Big Bang from a tight-fisted unfurling hand

         Big Crunch to a crushing tightening stranglehold

and out again

         for the Brahma Day

and after aeons the Brahma Night

And at the stillstanding blackhole singularity

         neither space nor time

            squeezed in and out

Birth as in Death

An eventual point of total extinction

        if ever there was one

Yet always the two extremes

      and the ever-changing in-betweens

Matter versus Anti-Matter

Here the Yang is not lkely to be set againt the Yin

Though matter itself is neither

Is nor Is-Not-ness

         And the 96% Dark Matter

          And the infinite number of parallel universes

Does it really matter


         ‘ … if you meet your antiself, don’t shake hands !

            You would both vanish in a great flash of light.’                   

Vanish into what

                                    Dark matter

or just non-dark matter

Still the duality of matter

Still the ever-changing conundrum

              Everything moves jostles couples alters reproduces destructs


         ‘Sex is emotion in motion.’

Emotion erupts

           into thin air

      into where

Dark air

Motion disrupts

         and roots one here

      tied to the lunar year

       why should it matter

if we cannot know the reason why

ego id libido

drive faith fame femme father future

if super/alter ego connects the ego

       to the collective unconscious 

       why drown the self in the Great Self

by wilful act

       when the Ultimate One

is the sum of all the little ones

Is the Original One incapable of absorbing all the ones

each of whom must move to eat drink sleep

copulate make money grow roots in a society

get and fight to keep a job

make love marry raise children

struggle to keep one’s wife one’s children        

one’s house  if one can get one

one’s career one’s future

and helter-skelter race to cheat death

If it’s the self-same thing that’s being born anew

What does it matter if it keeps changing in view

Of the desperate haste with which everything

We see smell hear feel intute sense

Keeps hurtling away from the Ding an Sich

And leaves us with a parochial Milky Way

Bastardised stealthily by grandiose Andromeda        

Left retrograded entwined within measely galaxy clusters 

Through some trillion cataclysmic light years

What’s the impulse to keep moving

Is the yogi’s stilled-centre

The death of all action

Which cannot call for a reaction

Or is the art of keeping still

Merely the art of making belief


          ‘…actors act out the pun that life is the art of acting

until your performed role becomes your normal character.

Then you are safe inside your character armour.’


As soon as you have thought It out

It turns around and re-structrures Itself inside out

                 and you know just why

                                                               don’t you now


References to the quotations

Stephen W. Hawking, A Brief History of Time : From the Big Bang to Black Holes, London-New York, 1988.


Attributed to Mae West.

Eric N. W. Mottram,  « Men & Gods : A Study of Eugene O’Neill », Encore (London), 1963.

I’m not sure the « re-structuring » bit at the end comes from
Steven Weinberg or John Gribbin, or perhaps even from Fred Allan Wolf ?


© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2005 ; rev. 2012. From the collection : Poems Omega-Plus, 2005.

Copyright © T Wignesan

Details | Free verse | |

Art of Love

This times, you would receive the two things from others.
Violence or grace. 
Jealousy to your success,
And grace to your failure.

So, you should not be sad.

Survival is meaningless with grace. 

Believe me,
You are the king or queen of love.
Try to distribute your love.
Don't want to see yourself as the beggar of love. 

One day, future of mankind will be written with your love.
You will become history.

(The poem is dedicated to my favorite poet Charmaine Chircop.)


Copyright © Sandip Goswami

Details | Free verse | |

Dear Me

Dear Me,

I need you to be stronger
I need you to never be afraid

swallow your pride,and your flight will be softer
tell her you love her,even if it hurts

Grab onto your dream and live it
Do not be afraid of the sun's divinity

Be better,love more, hold on.

Dear Me,

Enjoy every stop of the ride.
For when the train finally stops...we die

Until we witness the angels dance after final day...
Dear Me, hide your fears away

Copyright © Winter Wallace

Details | Grook | |


This wind is not alone because it stays on the height,
And waits for golden dawns that follow after night;
It crossed many tempests, islands and an ocean dark,
It met the fairies and hobbits and the joyous lark.

While flattening blond fields, it thought a paradox 
How Little Prince was taught on Friendship by a Fox:
While playing with the grass, and with the yellow maze,
While caressing the flowers’ feet, it heard a poet`s case…

This poet is like the hottest wind that lives on height:
Suddenly, his “light poetry” is seen as “poetry of light”.

Copyright © Ovidiu Bocsa