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Age Art Poems | Age Poems About Art

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

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Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Artillery Rain

~Perfect Rain~

Me! 
I can see!
All the tribulations around
A rage against the burning wind
Nobody hears the crackling sounds in my voice
Everybody avoids to feel the smoke hidden within
A rain so deep it burns all the enamel off my skin
A rain that cut my soul in half
Two piece that will never entwine or merge down my dragon path
I feel this eternity has no ending blaze
Trigger happy rain, extinguishing a bonfire around my rose.

I will sleep under the artillery stars tonight
With the perfection of my fiery crystal lava teardrops
Washing the ashes of my face,
Suppressing the overwhelming fear
Knowing no one will ever, "BLAME IT ON THE RAIN!" 
As long as the torch keeps loading another artillery round.

pd


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


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


Details | Free verse | |

FREEDOM OF THE WRITTEN WORD

Does not the pen yield its ink unto the bare page,
For expressionism to spill forward expelling inspirations
Liberal curve, it’s the power of freedom of speech is
It not.
How many have died for what they believe in,
What weight in blood soils, have these brave
Individuals has cost in life’s causes of the justice
And righteous.
These voices sounding can be heard even though
The flesh flame has been extinguished, hope light
Flickers in the darkest corner of silence, and it’s mighty
Winds wave can still be felt amongst the living.
Know one stands alone in a justified cause, if the truth
In the written words is spoken out loud, and is proudly
Bared by the author.
The next generations seeks our kindling fire, to inspire
There small embers to burn more brightly let us encourage
Such raw fuel to ignite, not smother it by smug self righteousness.
Set ablaze the pages of the future generations, let their inspirational
Spark spread, setting the very heavens a fire with enlightenment's torrent.
In this world we are given the gift of speech, thought, and wisdom,
For what other reason but to share the best of ourselves with others,
It is the gleaming light that sizzles in the eyes of the human spirit,
And severs us from the beast of the fields, and it is called Intelligence,
Compassion, and the freedom of speech.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN




Details | Lyric | |

TIME

TIME
Before a child comes to the world ,it ought to cry
That sound makes the bearer happy
Isn't it an irony?
what is the child trying to say?
Man needs to cry to call for joy

Before the child walks,he crawls
When he tries walking, he falls
He continues until mama calls
He falls in pain
Yet  stands to walk again
What message is the child trying to convey?
Man ought to fall before standing high

His feet finally touch the land
He gets long legs to run
He turns into that great man
Things start moving high
He gets feathers to fly 
He moves over they sky
He completes his life span
He then says bye
Making people cry

He came making people happy
He goes making the same people gloomy


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.


Details | Lyric | |

While You Sleep

While you sleep I tell you all of the things I keep inside throughout day.
Now that you can hear but not listen I find them much easier to say.
My hopes, my dreams, my fears, and everything in between
Your subconscious hears so keen, or so it seems.
My tongue is soft; I speak so sweetly 
Knowing your reaction will never greet me.

Tonight will be different in what I want you to know.
It has everything to do with what I can’t help but show.
I hold no claim to any religion but you’ve given me a place for my faith.
Somewhere it will never stale or lose its lavish taste.
You’ve shown me something I can see, touch, and feel, 
And so before it I choose to kneel.

I know I don’t say it but I miss you every day.
Sitting, thinking of the perfect words to be my choice,
Yet when you call I can’t find any of the right words to say.
I’m just happy to finally hear your voice.
Even just a moment is enough to sooth my heavy heart;
Fearing the ends of conversations knowing we’ll have to part.

I’ll never be too far from you, always within arm’s reach,
And in your days of darkness I’ll be the light that you will seek.
I’ll never let you leave too far from me, I’ll stay close behind you in this world;
Secretly protecting what is mine, you will always be my girl.
I only want the best for you so the best of me I will employ.
Faithfully yours, I will always be your boy.

I close my eyes and kiss your soft sweet lips
And see the very best of you in loving bliss.
I see past the physical which makes you attractive
And focus on the things I can’t see in which I’m attracted.
Your thoughts I’d love to hear them all.
Of the things you speak disinterest never makes its call.

My day will come, I know someday I’ll be the only one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give, to love unconditionally.
Yes our day will come, I know someday we’ll be as one.
And you I will pursue viciously,
Because I’ve given you the greatest gift I can give… to love unconditionally.


Details | Free verse | |

Dementia

He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
Tough.
Independent.
He had a rough life
growing up through the depression,
but like he always does,
he got through it.
He has two boys, of whom he is so proud.
Moved from Regina, to Victoria.
He had the best life anyone his age could have wanted.
But ever since his wife died, 
he has not been the same.
Sad
Lonely
Empty.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
Mind slipping, 
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it, 
until now...
He is not the same person that I used to know.
He been sentenced to the prison in his own mind.
Possessed by the thoughts of his dogs ashes.
He likes to play the blame game,
but we know he doesn't remember that it was him.
He wakes up in the night
shaking with pain, 
tears streaming down his face.
There is nothing we can do,
Oh well...
Two more tylenol.
Hold on to hope
for as long as you can,
It's only a matter of time now.
He gets vocal, a very loud tone.
He'll block you in your room
and make false accusations
But we know that it's the pain induced monster in him.
Tick tock, tick tock...
You can't handle the stress anymore
you have to leave.
Just hope for the best, 
maybe it will get better.
Surprise, it doesn't.
Your denial is foolish, everyone knows 
what happens next.
Sedation
Medication
Anger
Hurt
All results of
dementia


Details | Free verse | |

Moments In Time

The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark

The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been 
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark. 


Details | Rhyme | |

Passionate Love

I want you..
And I was made just for you
I'll make love to you
All the night with you

Feel my heart that burns in fire
Look my eyes that full of desire
As our bodies ignite in passion
Our souls chain in a strong union

Carressing every part of you
Gives me satisfaction
Dancing in the hymn of love
That just the two of us can hear it loud

Nothing seperate me from you
No one could make me feel like the way you do
Our passion for each other binds us together
And our love for each other makes us FOREVER!


Details | Free verse | |

A Beautiful Reverie

Here I lie beside you
My heart goes thump.thump.thump.
My soul dances inside you
Reveling in the texture of your own.
Electric and flowing 
The currents of our love
Glow like neon lights
Illuminating the hope in my eyes.
Though we're not moving
I feel so incredibly alive
Invincible to my past
Untouchable by all who lack
That gentle touch of when 
You lean in and brush my face
Your lips grazing my skin
Softer than a butterfly.
And then you gaze into my eyes
I fall into your depths 
Twirling like the autumn leaves
Melting into your smile 
Your soul reminiscent of summer.
You pull me into your arms 
And for a moment I'm lost 
Breathless and in awe
Staring in the face of pure exquisite love 
And there you are - holding it 
Glowing in the moonlight of my stare.
My heart beats - its drum pounding away
Echoing a song thats lost its words
I touch your cheek and smile
My hands cant stay away
My lips s l o w l y, draw near yours
Hovering, and then - 
Part, a soft warmth against them.
My eye lids pulling shut
Dragging me into a silent heaven
I pull away - and what seemed millennia
Lasted only a moment, a second in time
But this is our love
This is what you do to me
You make me invincible and fragile
Lost forever in a beautiful reverie.


Details | Free verse | |

Rebirth

Ignite,
The missing light,
Forget,
What's behind.
Just believe,
That love comes again...

'Cause,
The skies,
Are like a hard glide,
In a shining rainbow's light...

All dreams and fantasies,
Can be reality,
'Cause fantasy,
Is based on reality...
But all histories aren't the same...

'Cause,
Sometimes, we dive,
In our lives...

So,
Don't judge,
For what you see,
Judge,
For what it is...,
'Cause time passes,
But, memories remain...

And,
Listen,
To your heart,
'Cause,
The body, does,
The mind, thinks,
And, the heart, feels...,
While, the soul, lives...

So,
Always remember,
To remember the past,
To live the present,
And to wait and pursue the future...

Listen to your heart,
Before you are telling goodbye,
'Cause destiny,
Might lead to demise...,
But, remember that destiny can be changed...

Life is unpredictable,
But space and time,
Could be controlled...
And even if some die,
We may survive...

Remember,
That life,
Might have an endless beginning...

All that remains,
Is to be reborn...


Details | Alliteration | |

Stink Thinking

Poem by: Mr. Ronald Watson
Sep. 13, 2012
My Poetry on PoetrySoup

Stinking Thinking

Stinking thinking/ it leads to drinking./
What moisten the soul without an inkling?/
Unto making a wild left turn /while the right signal light were blinking./
Within a mild mix of rice, hops, and barley,
Since/ it is too much laugher at a karaoke party./
How Elvis sounds like,/ a broken Bob Marley?/
Now it’s as if,/ inhibitions are lowed/
Frozen in time/ and slipping far out of control./
As intuitions of minds does loathe,/ as such weariness echoes for tomorrow./
Yet,/ a stinking breath that smells just as death/ and it's where all funky asses dwells./
Though/ all hung over /and unjustified to flinging heavy heads into that porcelain king,/ 
Even this is a sight for red sore eyed Kings!/ 
It is an aftermath of ravishing through them royal purple cloth bags./
So/ afraid to admit that shallowness slowly drags!/
When,a sense of clarity which will just admit it.
That stinking thinking is difficult to kick, but
One day at a time, it is the only way to shine, or get fixed.  

Thank youMy Poetry on PoetrySoup
God Bless.


Details | Tail-rhyme | |

Sandalwood

                    
                            ~ Sandalwood ~ 

                      Fall days leaves of gold orange and grey
                     this scent fills my room with passion my mind with clarity
                     The senses are calmed and my inner soul strengthens 

                      As if I can visualize inner peace
                        watching the many trees fall 
                         The scent of Sandalwood reminds 
                     
                             ~ of what once stood  ~
                              allowing me to accept all

                          bringing solace to my soul 
                             filling the air of past and present 
                      one of natures gifts holds a musky oil passionate 
                        
                      enlightens all senses reminding me 
                     of Native American ways fires blazing 
                      children dance and listen to old ways
                        
                     Thunder and rain in the misty Canyons 
                        dessert Sage and Sandalwood 
                       close my eyes yet seeing the truth 


Details | Free verse | |

The Wasteland -Part 1-

How can one express the baffling depths of obscurity? How can one behold to open the shafts of the mind? I have never been able to solve the mystery— Of myself. . . I wish at times that my life was no more That I could live as another and finally see things right But I am always stuck in this darkness And I cannot see this mind in light There are beasts. . .demons prowling through the wasteland Searching for any remaining life And if they are ever found— They are doomed and consumed Fear is their downfall and they never fail to smell it Their ashes remain, dancing with the imaginary breeze It is silent here—there are no answers I wish there were answers. . . But maybe there was never a reason No answers. . . Talons extend and clench around my heart They will never seek me out—they left me here It is like they knew…I had no reason—that was the answer I feel the pulse of my dangling life Alone in the dark, whimpering like a child I have scared myself, becoming this dragon-daggered youth No balm in Gilead! No eyes to see All I know will never be free I don’t need anyone! You are a disgrace—scum of the waste! You have everything, you ungrateful little nothing You are a joke. . . So swallow it all up like the pushover you are Stand your lowest and trudge right through No questions. No answers. Just . You. Or just lie back down into the mush of disease It has already infected you to the core Accept who you are, you ugly pestilence! I hate you Who are you to be glorified? Dream snatcher. . .murderer of all things bright Saturated in what you call light I see right through—even as the reflections shatter All of the dead kept you alive—they all matter… But alive you are the worst there is False savior—edited attention whore I never want to see your face again See, that’s why I hide. . . Desperation. . .desperation. . . I sob and cry kneeling in defeat For once I am right. . .I am right


Details | Free verse | |

Groundswell Girl - Named by JB

Enter a storybook tale
Where I can be 
The heroine you hail
Lucid dreams of soft reflection
A touch heated with lust and desired protection
A breathe a gasp as we succeed 
Join the fairytale with me
Valiant night within dark eyes
the right movement and I make them shine
like moonlight on the steamy hot spring
care to follow for a little dip with me
Trailing like the water at my fingertips
Grasp me around my hips
As close as the breeze on my skin 
Whisper lies as I let you in 
Lips mumbling up my thighs
bare heart exposed to the sky 
fire burning in my veins
Am I a mistress of this lust or simply a slave
Trembling with desire
Take me till we've lost count of the hours
enter this storybook tale
Where I can be the heroine you hail


Details | Crown of Sonnets | |

Mankind

I am lost
I can feel no presence
I know of no human or animal that has a measure of significance alike mine
I have a teacher
A teller of all there is to be known of the world
She has bestowed upon me the gifts of a magi
I have sailed deep oceans with noblemen and written great works with worldly scholars
All of this I owe to her, my "teacher"
But through all her wisdom I have heard or seen of no such creature
The one of whose value is as mine
I looked upon the oracle and many great libraries with scriptures overflowing
I still have read or seen of no such monster
I've heard witches speak ancient incantations
and I have sung songs with the sirens
Out of the monsters and spirits that came none of which had a significance as is mine
Upon my dreariness and woeful thought came the final place
A painting of life and death
A tale of heaven and hell at war
The purity of truth blackened by man
 I saw upon them a thing of which is mine
Not upon the dead who will be missed
Nor the skeletons carrying away the dead, the ones with purpose
Not even of the severed limbs and broken bones discarded at random in the field of chaos and confusion
No, I saw my equal upon the shadows
A black being darker than silence
A causer of mischief and misfortune
A wielder of pain and sorrow
My equal is hated by all for all he has done
My equal is upon the wicked and the damned sadly he is to dumb to care
My equal of such tresspasses is a demon
My equal is a man who dressed in black kills and dies and is born again through his ashes of filth
He sees his crimes
It is because of this he wept upon his hands
His hands
The hands stained my children's blood and scared by the scratches of the innocent
But I was wrong
I am not equal to a demon, for these are not the acts of a demon but of man
That is my equal 
My equal is man
My sins are everlasting 
My transgressions are in stone
Man is the cause for the failure of men
Man is the cause for the failure of many!






Posted by Haley Melton at 3:37 AM  
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Details | Free verse | |

Forgotten You

Forgotten you
As your mind collects the memories of yesterday
Forgotten You
Epiphanies tie into knotty strings of realization
That very moment. . . 
You merely exist

Back then. . .those smiles
Those. . .distant laughs
Some you remember by name
Gone now maybe
Like the exhalation of the wind
Others dispersed in the world of arbitrary happening
Like leaves from falling, man-made trees
There is no doubt that they have
Forgotten you

Activate the bomb
Ignite the fuse
And you’re on next year’s history book
Never forgotten
But drained of all remaining good

That smile you gave
That happiness
The warm embrace so long ago
Salt-coated with piles of rubbish
Over last remaining mental spurts of comfort
Evil, evil, evil, evil, EVIL. . .
Always absorbed and remembered
. . .though never forgiven. . .

All good and gracious sentiments
Packed up in a box set nonchalantly in Downstair’s storage
. . .that chair with the broken leg in the corner of the room
That mangled cobweb holding a dangling, lifeless spider
A drowned sailor’s hat drifting through the current of the ocean
The single tear from a soldier’s vigilant, memory-stricken eye
The frustrating thoughts of a mute
The unchanged. . .HATED deformations

Forgotten you. . .
One soul brings to light weary, unthought-of happenings
Wedged deep into what she can only imagine
With not even a hint of understanding
. . .of the pain. . . .of the bewildering distortions
Of the ugly. . .
One soul merely vomits sickly verse after verse

As humanity embraces its downfall
The poet hangs onto her unjustifiable, forgotten. . .
Words


Details | Free verse | |

Searching for Michelangelo

I told him we were broken, the way
horses can be, and he galloped through 
the sentence like a cowboy, less a
heart.  I loosed the biggest word I could 
think of – so enormous I felt everything
in me squeeze back as it passed by
and nearly choked as it pushed 
its way into the outer world -
and he brushed it aside like 
errant dandelion snow. 
By then, there were at least
four voices within me, ranting,
and the image of myself throwing 
buckets of paint against a wall 
was blinking repeatedly in my head.
And still he was talking – 
with his hands gesturing, gesturing -
talking about places he’d been
talking about what he thinks himself
passionate about
talking about what he learned
in counseling
and talking
talking, 
talking
about 

nothing.


When he got to Italy, I stopped him
at Michelangelo, thinking, “here! – 
here finally is a scaffold we can 
throw ourselves off of”.  Thinking 
if Einstein’s wardrobe wasn’t enough, 
if a scrawny white boy singing 
the blues wasn’t either and if the 
most interesting thing I said that night 
was that I never ever set a clock 
to an uneven time (and I hadn’t even 
said that yet)… maybe the image of 
an artist suspended in air with 
his heart pointed to heaven 
and the myriad of thoughts 
that must have run 
like a river through him as he
stood there, arm outstretched,
might trigger something.
But, he had no idea that 
Buonarroti was a poet 
or that he honestly expected 
Moses to speak 
to him once freed 
from the confines 
of stone and of
artist himself,
he said

nothing.

Apparently, he was more 
Moses than Michelangelo, and
it was all I could do 
not to take 
a hammer
to his 
knee.


Details | Free verse | |

Spill It

Spill it all out
Where is the light to guide these words?
Everything feels gone 
Empty again 
So spilling it out is impossible?
Yet words still flow through it all
Thoughts still run rampant
Broken pipework spraying all over the place
Rust collecting on the spurting silver
Losing very inch of pride
Unable to control these lines
Pinch it all out
Squeeze it like the last bits of toothpaste in a tube
Roll it up and twist the remains
Pressure is building
Tension is steadily, stiffly waiting
To be released
Let it all go!
There is no point anymore
Stop building on disaster!
Let the words flow
Spill the damn mess out
And don't clean up
Let me pick up the pieces
Hand me the mop
Because when it is finally all out
The emptiness will leave 
You'll know exactly what to express
It will all be clear


4-20-13


Details | Rhyme | |

Reclaimed Recycled

Reclaimed Recycled

Discarded in a rubbish skip
Mid broken bottles rags and bone
T'was destined for the council tip
And so I claimed it for my own

I took it home  that rusty shield
I rubbed it down, and found the shine
of tempered steel its glow revealed
So glad I found and made it mine.

For I could see beyond the rust
an ancient craftsman's hands had wrought
A thing of beauty and I trust
A lesson learned a lesson taught

For those who gaze and gaze some more
With fresh creative minds at play
Will surely know what's gone before
May shine again another day.


Margaret Foster 20th August 2014


Details | Rengay | |

She, Forever in Boxes

So confined to the boxes is she who
Tries to free herself from them
Breaking down barriers of all political and cultural design
Constructing opportunities and 
Imagining their trite and expected 
Downfalls
She, who reigns supreme in the art
Of lability 
The morning being the promise
The afternoon, the despair
The night, a restless dance to 
Hopeful unknowing 
So that it may all begin anew
And she may float with ambition,
Flirt with lofty goals
(Which are so very tangible once realized to a more substantial degree)
All through which comes the 
Bitter devastation
The cerebral revelation

For her mind and the World work in harmoniously demonizing tandem to erase the sketches of a life 
Of her own craft


Details | Imagism | |

Young Age

When age was young 
Just to confuse legends
I wrote poems
I shaved and shoveled all roads
Pulled all seeds that needed speed and clean education for growth
With no free breakfasts from hypocrites i lied 
so i can lay my bosom on any king's favorite lie
The king of words ruling metaphors
Baking biscuits on guaranteed standing ovations 

The oven
Fading visible guilty conscious poems in early ages
Poetic adolescent was on my age
Cooking low budget poetry
Singing verses composed by blind hand writings
Saving healers in cages

When age was young
I did fasting 
I placed hunger on my own starvation tricking my own mind i was not hungry
I sold prayers to heal one eyed angels that never saw real motivated rhymes
Running faster than natural reactions

I cared
For useless words i cared
They carried useless surprise party motives
Labelled sins defining age restriction

I cared for rotten expressions pressing my inner wrong buttons
I cared for rotten expressions pressing my inner wrong buttons
I cared for blossom expressions pressing my inner suffocated floors
I planted punctuation' in different national wet tensions
My earth visit felt like a surprise visit organised by God
It is!!
Yes it was!!

I implied all i spoke multiple times in different flights
Applied and disguised my style in piles while my tongue grew taller
My head could not enter lessons 
When age was old I was young
I spoiled my paintings with funny connotations
My teen-ager sense of writing was never childish though I was a child of poetry 
I had anger
When age was old I was young

© Raymond Ngomane


Details | Free verse | |

Survive Another Day

Sometimes what i write scares me
But not as the ghost that’s been chasing humans including me
I scratch my ford head for couple of days sticking glue in broken metaphors
I come across fake crosses claiming blessings in my feelings about the cross you know the cross
But the ghost in me knows every move before every due date
Pre-written metaphors are difficult to paint easy in due dates
Like freezing feet, they can’t walk in sunny days

Imagine sitting in a cold weather imagining things in cold blooded poetry death row settings
Wearing words attached to all addicted talkative lips
No one can pay attention to the rain of anger
Poetry and a microphone will die as blood brothers
For better or worse as long as creativity keep his promises
Imagine if you can’t imagine words put together by faith
Even Faith Evens puts faith in her words before she loses faith
Faith comes in bags of hope transported in faith
I hope this scary moments i turn to see when i turn my metaphors will reward this bags of hope in faith
Like any born rich fly will want to hunt with all other starving insects

To gain more exposure in between the skin of darkness
In between things trying to meet and make up with Mr and Mrs Sense and our understandings
it’s hard to speak confessions in other accents
Poetry make all sense become your inner response in every word that’s sensible like sensitive regrets

It’s so scary to scare your own little creature skills
While dialogues can easily mumble around wasting time trying to paint a non-existing Bible
I am scared of the ghost chasing babies crawling to kiss poetry goodbye 
Guilty for staying young in poetry for decades
I imagine the Creator walking across countries in shapes of different faces in clouds 
Faces written in the sky reflecting what was the meaning of poetry in the first place

(c) Raymond Ngomane 


Details | Rhyme | |

This is me

My knees were the things that 
kept me up and my skin is my 
cutting board my eyes are the 
rain clouds to the fire running 
down my arms and my heart is 
the fire place that keeps me 
burning so calm


Details | Free verse | |

The Color Missing

The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes.  Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.

‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’


Details | Ballad | |

My crazy cousin

My crazy Cousin.

My cousin calls me crazy poet
Cause I don’t think like others
I’ve not seen her since she was three
A Flower girl to us lovers
When we got wed in sixty five
But now we write and all
Oh lord, we two are so alike
It’s just remarkable.

In eight weeks time, she’s coming here
To good old western Oz
I know we’re going to get on well
I do, and that’s because
That girl is crazy just like me
And she likes a good old laugh
She seems to be a grand old bird
I’ll say on her behalf.

She’ll bring her man, and son with her
They’re all creative folk
She can paint and write as well
And boy, it is no joke
The kind of talent that they have
It will be a joy to me
To meet up with forgotten kin
I can’t wait for this to be.

11 August 2013 @ 1813hrs.


Details | Verse | |

My Words

Sometimes my poetry is just a case of words, 
and not necessarily my reality;                                     
and that’s what is so beautiful about writing

You can be who you want to be on any level 
and tell secrets about fantasies that may never be;  
or take trips to other dimensions on mental journeys,                                                                        or places that some don’t even think exist

They mimic thoughts that manifest themselves as poetry 
and rest on pages patiently waiting to adhere
My words are a reflection of my heart 
and they reveal the truth behind my mask of fear
they deliver reality doses  whether they are just cases, 
or me in the absolute right here

My words exude positive intentions; 
my imperfections apparent but I accepted rejections 
and reversed dejection  
and decided to bare all my fantasies, my flaws my very soul 
and temptations

Uncertain how voiced verses appeal to outside sources but internally they set me free
They provide a medium of light and creativity
A chance to apply knowledge and a time for reflecting on and making changes in my frequency
My words are attached to my soul and its overwhelming ability to just be
They reflect what I was before         
the choices I’ve made and the reasons that this life is perfect 
according to divine order

They represent the voices of my ancestors from the beginning of time 
because up until now, 
the ending wasn’t within reach so I make sure that I
carefully choose the format and the right place and time 
to deliver the message that may be blatant or hidden inside – 
of the abstract placements of verbs
giving praise to the source of power that calmly submits to the voice 
connected to my words
I am the originator of my own words
I hope that you are inspired, or simply entertained
by the process by which I've placed my words


Details | Ode | |

Ode To Fireworks

It is such great unity
That appears amongst the beauty
Of the bright light display?
Such colour, such energy within celebration,
Such a vivid canvas of man-made creation
That sparks with flair and passion;
To fall into the fog
Like all dying illusions.

Yet it is what it does for us:
Where we are drawn from our furnishings
That we clean in intervals,
Closing outside to a regular schedule,
Remaining well lit and sheltered
Resting our minds so dimly upon the
Soft and empty cushions
And hugging at the blind comfort
Of cover.

We are drawn from this facade
By another in itself.
Which brings us out like a beacon
Part Devil, half Eden
To then fade away
Like all illusions,
Leaving us quiet,
Revealing deepened images.
Exposed to chill
Peace climbs through our bones.

Let us stand together,
Embrace
The great power that connects us;
The great unity
Amongst such beauty.

Till we once more return home…


Details | Ballade | |

BALLADE TO MATURE BEAUTY

Easy comes beauty in youth’s natural spring,
But with age its mellow dimensions grow.
Like to a bud, a full bloom, age will bring.
With grace its beauty does ebb and glow,
Its liberty allows its new functions to show.
Mature beauty is and will be admired always,
Youth’s beauty and its esteem goes to and fro,
But ageless deeper beauty has endless days.


Mature beauty has a melody to sing,
And this it releases so that you will know,
The elegance and blessing of its echo’s ring.
The evidence of a mind is part of its show,
For it opens tastefully with a view to bestow.
Ageless beauty never lacks for praise.
The beauty of life’s spring may lose its glow,
But ageless deeper beauty has endless days.


In poetry and melody its praises we bring,
For mature beauty’s many dimensions we know.
With fervid dignity I see it take to wing,
Giving the young buds an inspiring show.
May you long guide youth as they grow,
Leading them in elegance the celestial ways.
So youth will  know how easy beauty may go,
But ageless deeper beauty has endless days.


Now young buds aspire to full blooms grow,
And become worthy of nature’s timeless praise.
Allow your charm in majesty and grace to glow,
And may your ageless beauty have endless days.