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Introspection Art Poems | Introspection Poems About Art

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

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Details | Lyric | |

SHADES OF MY GLOOM


In vertigo of night, in their riddled trance 
Boldness of petals melt on washed-out shades,
As faces etch a quiet gloom in varied hues
Capturing splashed oil, neutral and bright
While I gaze longingly at a portrait…
Man and wife , as if , holding a child almost
Unseen …hidden through a float of blue-white.

Through dimming pain, a view lights up for a time
Where orange of moonlight quietly slips
Amid this rosette outburst and aching gray
With blossoms strewn along pale candlelight…
How languid colors begin to mold my thoughts
Drowning in a pang of loneliness… I ask 
In silence..are the couple ,the babe dying?...dead?
And the fusion of tender, lonely motif allows me
To weep inside, captive in a gasping moan... the kind 
Which shapes a tone between life and elegy.



---------
Best (premiere) number one Contest-- SKAT A
------------------
Inspiration from the painting, Les Amoureux en Gris
Artist: Expressionist, Marc Chagall

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016

Details | Bio | |

Self

I am a lady
In a white dress
My desire only to be softly caressed
So I take my paint brush, and delinquently paint
My face that pleads let love become quaint
I confess  to my brushes
Let a man stroke me 
With eloquence and grace
As he gazes into the love on my face
La fenêtre you see that I paint so clear
You have to climb in through it
To hold me so dear
Can you not see into my soft sad lonely eyes?
I desire myself
Wrapped inside of you
On canvas
I shall paint forever
Myself
That never existed

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

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 | Year Posted 2011

Details | I do not know? | |

Raindrops

Raindrops
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
whatever
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
home

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

Copyright © Heather Hill | Year Posted 2010

Details | Couplet | |

Breathes

Some lives are like a stone quickly skipping over the ponds top, forever tossed.
My life is below the surface trying to reach upward with each breathe lost.
But there is still beauty, deep down here in the great depths below…
For the solitude holds me in its grip as I dwell with what I know.

My occasional trips to the surface leave me vastly wanting more…
Still, my life below the surface doesn’t scare me as it did, once before.
And the breaths will come when given, as my life continues to flow.
True it is dark but beauty lingers, everywhere the currents move below.

At times, the surface reflections seem surreal, as if it’s a place not to go.
Comfort comes more and more to my soul, as the deeper I glide below.
Here I dwell within myself, with words, and thoughts, that carry me along.
Perhaps I have found where I truly belong, as I sing my siren songs.

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2012

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 | Year Posted 2009

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 | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

The Poet

The Poet

We have been around for thousands of years
Reading our words for kings and queens
and a few people who gathered just to hear us talk.
We lived on the copper coins they could afford
and traveled through the lands writing what 
we saw, dreams and thoughts.
Our words were put to music and made immortal
Others were acted on the stage making
people laugh and cry.
Some words changed the way people thought
and ended hatred between people who
should not feel hate.
People died because they did not realize what
our words could do
Many times a love bogged in fear was loosed
because of a few words we wrote.
God only knows how many children our words
have brought smiles to and how many starting
thinking because of what we wrote.
Why do we do it?
Not to end wars or hatred
Not for the lovers who found each other because of us
Not even for the copper coins people throw
We do it because we love words
We do it to share our feelings
and we do it so that someday maybe someone will read 
our thoughts, dreams and words  and they will be 
remembered long after we are gone.

Copyright © R. e. taylor | Year Posted 2007

Details | Sonnet | |

The Final Vow

The Final Vow

When finally the long shadow crosses my path
the wind carries away the new morn's dew
I shall then abandon my weary and dark wrath
against my tortured, imagined image of you .

Shall you notice this my change on that fateful day
A bare, broken heart at last thus mended
The end in which my silence holds its greatest sway
the black results of the promised love you rescinded.

My love, hear my last destined words to you
this cry to heal your bitter heart
This the last honorable, loving thing I can do
before forever our shattered souls part.

As these beautiful trees witness this my final vow
You may thus see, the true depth of my love now

R.J. Lindley
Nov. 9th, 1976

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016

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.’

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Just Some Highschool Math Problem

i am a possibility
of many possibilities
i am a ratio
an indecisive factor
in the rest of what this dimension has to offer

the world is a top
i spin it and predict the probability
that the end will equal the means
or perhaps surpass it
even if i never surpass this muck-up
these broken eardrums
and the inquisition of my empty head exclaiming empty words

and i don't even exist
especially to the solipsists, nihilists
and i no longer give a sh--
i am now officially some lazy apathetic prick

oh i could have been a possibility
but that possibility was so small
that you'd need a magnifying glass
and some tweezers

i am rust, oxified and tearing up
i am crust, the sh-- in the ring on the toilet
i am lust, but never just enough
i am bust

i am a loser without a leash and/or choke chain

Copyright © Val Murah | Year Posted 2007

Details | Dramatic Verse | |

Inspiration

I never knew I'd be in heaven
In the autumn of my years,
Or that I'd be immerged
In the brilliant art of words,
Or float above operatic notes,
Or view ballet through
My elated tears.

I never thought I'd meet
Inspiration face to face,
Or feel it rise within me
With a poet's surrendering grace.
I just know that I'm contented
As profound love keeps flowing
From my impassioned heart.
This is the gift that artists
Of this world yearn to impart.

© Connie Marcum Wong

Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry | |

message to the youth of rap culture

insight into my insides
find and fight 
blinding light on the inflight
while others fly blind
reaching for stars and losing sight

words can be a fake display of might
or be used to increase the capacity of your mind
search and find
no definition to define
the way you can shine within a single rhyme
change the perception of others in a single line
if you truly desire peace
than stop writing about committing crimes!

Copyright © Sebastian Aaron Baez | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

DECLARATIONS OF A SOCIAL SCIENTIST

DECLARATIONS OF A SOCIAL SCIENTIST Indeed, I am that Poet and know it. Just in transition to a more enriched poetry form. I want to talk about life, politics, and religion. Maybe not simultaneously but how I am feeling today. I tell you life isn't a bowl of cherries. I am not harvesting berries. I live a vivacious existence. I nature walk and take beautiful pictures. I thrive in my leisure time. Even more so, I work until my mind unwinds. I am just a thrill seeker but not an extremist. I am an illustration of wellbeing. In fact, I am striving for better physical dexterity. In all, my body desires more agility. To eradicate the clumsiness, My ability to monitor my own quickness is propensity depleted. My mind, body, and spirit have superseded. Oh, I am told that it is all right to be big headed. Of course, gloating is good for your inner being. Dwindling is not something I will let occur. I am the booster of morale. Be assured that I am there for others who seek a physiological mental form. Do I appear to be titivated? I am what I have stated. Doubtlessly, there will be jealousy. Without doubt, they will envy me. Undoubtedly, this will not hinder. I have overcome obstacles since the being of my existence. Liberated from birth via a nation of government, I am free. I can wave my hand and be seen. I can stand up for what is right. I can ignite the political fire. I can educate my mind to genius. I can defeat enmity. Negativity may come but I disallow it to be a formula. I am abreast. |_____________________________________| Penned on October 31, 2014!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry | |

Face

I walk through the life of silent dreams
A museum of sorts
I passed by my reflection
Not a mirror in site
I was horrified
As I stared into my face
No, no, I could not
My eyes could not view such horrors
Shut tight for fear of light
The journey was long ago
Where emotions floated or not
The soul fell into the sea

I belong to no one
Thus they say I am free

I belong no where
Thus I am in a prison

I float inside a bottle
Like a goldfish in bowl
Waiting to be painted

Knowing too well
The drawing will never be done

The wilted rose shall weep
One more time

For the face no one shall seek
Incomplete

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

THE OTHER-WISE

Pulsing the perimeter of tedium,
art urgently strobes
as though life can be spooled,
routines dimmed

Art is cruel, greedy,
probes without permission
into the beat-hearts of foundling fools,
apprentices all, even the masters

See the wisp of wonders, 
a grinding glint of possibility 
that blinds the everyday,
whisks monotony’s edge

                                       into helpless frenzy

Hear it keen for attention 
relentless in its want to become 
a consuming wail

It's sigh, unending,
hits rutted targets as inspiration 
is denied priority, once again 

Envy those who do not bide
its passions, its pleas for fruition,

Envy those who only view

the sun setting 
in the setting sun

Pity us, the other-wise, 
unfaithful and lost,
each more less than more
for we are ever at war 

                                        with ourselves

oddities, we fissional phantoms, 
for we shift between parallel delights:

the gift of one we cherish

                                         or that one cherished gift.
always with one

                                         missing the other.





Aug 6, 2013

Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

Chinese Scrolls

Poems from old and yellowed
Chinese scrolls make me sad,
make me sad: stored in shiny,
lacquered boxes of perfumed teak,
they crumble when unrolled.
And the hands that must have written
Chinese thoughts upon the rolls:
little, leathern, patient hands,
painting poems -- stroke and stroke
and careful, delicate stroke --
stopping, meanwhile, to twirl
a waxed mustache --
for someone else, a foreigner,
who cannot understand, to read,
mull over, and be sad.
And this when Chinese thoughts
are gone, and tiny, trembling
Chinese hands are dust.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme | |

the truth about masterpieces

drifting beyond the lightest cloud
(pastel clowns in post mortem rain parade)
cascading in the cold moon dust
to shed this latest mascarade

wounded memories hang from the mind
(autumn berries quivering three quarters past prime)
when did "mediocre" pock the virgin tree,
when devils told us," painting by numbers
was just mindless barb and babble"
not a feathered masterpiece?

your very first epiphany,
an evening frost pon tender leaf
even that...nothing really unique...
they should have stated the slate cold truth
as soon as we could breathe.




Copyright © Anthony Slausen | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme | |

LIFE'S UNDISCOVERED PASSION

LIFE'S UNDISCOVERED PASSION 

I reached up far to touch a star.
It only took a second.
I thought I heard a salient call 
alas it did not beckon.

While looking for an artful craft
and finding none; the time blew past
I looked toward the heaven's stars
for talents that could break these bars 

Like thickened paint on canvass fashion
Mixed with rich excitant passion 
From Starry Night to sheer delight
but never wrong and never right.

Should I envy those with deep affection
with skills that move in-synced direction
for passions born into their soul
to define their purpose-- take control.

Athletic prowess, artistic flavor, 
a builders trade, a science major,
musicians joy and mountaineer
for all of those we stop and cheer
and think if we could only be
but they are they and we are we.

Somewhere, somewhere deep inside
are struggles there we cannot hide
doubts and fears that suck the joy
from life's sweet gifts; a noxious ploy
of destiny failing in an attempt
to re-discover a lost lament.

CAK  12-2-2012

SYNOPSIS
Sometimes, I find myself lamenting
that I do not possess an 
exceptional skill or talent. It seems
many people find great joy from theirs.
It seems to gnaw at my being and
I grow sorrowful that somehow
I am missing something.

Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

I'm Your King

A burst of white light gamma rays, overbearing a flash of brilliance burns through to my soul everything is like hell the world starts to melt in the blink of an eye just the cold blackness of night I don't care if I am not again what I once was, for at this moment I am greater now than ever before I took the path between teetering, tight roping walking right up to my right divined in my unholy state I thought I told you I am your king still you sit there, hesitating I know you hate me what does that mean? I hate just about everything still I'm chosen I did not wish before now bow down to me refuse me no more for I shall always be your demon until you accept me as your King. I don't even know you though you say we used to be best of friends, you and me the day you ditched me I remember now exactly how it played out back when we were just tiny things even back then I still was King you thought me stupid just a ruse I would laugh inside, you see? not one of you single, mean people ever even knew me in a world, mostly seen to me that is why only I can be your true King and bring forth a new source of light everlasting. As two worlds collide slowly aligned one wrapped in shadows one bathed in white evils swirling in the clouds above I'll always be the king you love to hate or despise as in your blood I thought I told you, I am the one I am the way, the way out shall be shown breathe in my spirit as it carries you away breathe in my faith it shall carry your empty space and deposit you gently on a cloud just enough higher than you've ever dreamed of for I am king now, and your in my hell your in my imagination, I'll just never tell you'll feel as though dreaming, you'll feel now if you try and see you were always found the most shared in the light cast upon me the last bright star in heaven. Denounce my name, if you may One year later, still not afraid A black sheep, a darkened spade That's just life, I'm not right I'm in the wrong, follow along Like a piper, I'll pitch a song Mesmerized, the weak wills sing I thought he told you, he's still our king.

Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

Tension Waiting

The swordsman who draws his blade
Heart racing at the keening of steel on scabbard 
Tension coiled, poised for the unleashing
Held back by muscles tight with glee.

I am as the soldier, held in stance,
The lioness crouched beneath the concealing grass
As it sways back and forth, as insects sing along the day
Her every breath is halted, her veins do not pulse,
And just as the swordsman stands
They are statues in this moment,
Statues of derision,
Mocking, with their stillness, the very charged tension within.

And I am as the lioness frozen before her pounce
Coiled with motivation and purpose,
And I am as the tongue held with words clinging off its’ edge
Ready to lash out and strike with direction
But I am as the frozen purpose, held tight
Waiting, for a warrior to stand before me
For a reason to uncoil, to lash out with words and pounce.

But I am now as the pen halting before the purest of paper
White and supple, in askance for the lightest touch
A slash of the tip, drawing lines in ink
Lines like a hunter’s bowstring, taut with intent,

As the pen lies frozen above its prey, the falcon petrified aloft still winds
I am the need coiled tight like a wound jack in the box
But alas, there is no victim to frighten,
No pray to pounce upon, no sword or bared neck to slash against
And I am here, with pen frozen, ink ready to be drawn taut
And I have nothing to draw in the ink, no prey or purpose to evoke
I am coiled tight with energy, but it is release that so eludes me,
I am coiled tight with purpose, but it is direction that so denies me.

And here I am, pouncing at ground before me, 
Slicing away at the air around me
Scratching away with a dry pen, on paper still white in askance
I write about…
I write about the coil within, and the lack without
And alone I wonder,
Is it enough, is it enough to go on, a wound up box
Waiting for the slightest touch, the weakest parry, to live.

Copyright © Samir Georges | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

My Midnight Grace

As I lay me 
down to sleep
I pray the lord
my soul to take
if I shall die
before I wake
please watch me God
all through the night
and wake me and my loved
ones
at morning light
please help me 
become successful
with the endeavors I seek
please send me a soul mate
in which I can keep
everlasting love
passionate heat
please grant me the serenity
to know right from wrong
and be able to lead
by example
strive to overcome
any downfall
please keep my spirit strong
through the issues
that toil in my soul
I aspire for diamonds in life lord
and all around me 
I see coal
I aspire to turn things around
for I feel my wishes have fallen
upon deaf ground
my heart has no voice
they struggle to hear my sound
I pray to be taken
away from my daily
battles, that humble
although compared to others
in the world
its not much trouble
to me, I feel
my spirit is caged
and yearns to be free
King of all Kings
in your image, you 
made me
you already know
each single step
my individual thought
you divinely bound me
in mothers womb
my existence you sought
bless me with the
chance to be
the person in which
you hoped for me
to soar like an eagle
dipping my talons of success
in life's sea
grant me an optimistic attitude
for that is the key
Amen to Thee


Copyright © Heather Hill | Year Posted 2010

Details | Light Poetry | |

Love Implodes

Love implodes

I see only the brightness and beauty
       Of her eyes
            Golden hairs,
	           I am envious to caress her sun rays
                        As I discover the universe,	
	 			Thrusting into the abscess of loves black hole

The void of loves creation begins again




Notes: This poem was inspired by a recent poem here in soup, as a kinda contest, guess who that poet and poem is, and win first prize, if 100 guess the right answer, guess what, thats 100 first prizes!!!!! 

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Verse | |

A Coffee Bar with Orange Paint

A coffee bar with orange paint --
   Brown tables on a tiled, grey floor --
Soft light within blown glass above --
   A neon sign hangs by the door.

I come here sometimes just to write.
   A coffee bar with orange paint
To some would be apalling; but
   I do not see it as a taint.

Tonight an artist's work is hung
   Upon those walls in bold display;
A coffee bar with orange paint
   Allows her dreams to have their say.

I like the color in these walls --
   A brazen hue, not pale or quaint;
And in this place I weave my words --
   A coffee bar with orange paint.

Copyright © M. Teresa Blaylock | Year Posted 2006

Details | Couplet | |

Nature's Art

There’s no comparison to Nature’s Art;
It’s seen with the eyes and felt with the heart;

I see it in the trees and the ground that I walk,
In the prance of the deer and flight of the hawk;

The unearthly quiet before a thunderstorm hits,
The sulfur and electricity that a storm emits;

The mighty mountains standing tall with pride,
An artwork that can be seen far and wide;

A blank canvas that nature made all it’s own,
From the air that I breathe to a moss covered stone.

Copyright © Tirzah Conway | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

The Story of Joshua Bell

They don't speak
those walls
only absorb
scraps of life
the stench of urine
lucky pennies
desperate art
and a ringing clamber of voices
that move with every rush of air
down winding subway tunnels
 
here life collides 
in status
and in thunders
those walls
bear witness 
to many miseries
and many wonders 
 
on this day
the subway walls
mesmerised by a sight
never seen before
lamented 
the death of beauty
as it passed thousands
gracefully 
and ignored
 
rushing
skirts, pants, collars, cologne
rushing
fingers, slender, darting in a blur
hollow 
minds, tempers, hellos and goodbyes
hollow 
music, echoing, not a soul does it stir
lost
man to the intricate beauty of pattern
lost
eyes of passerbys to the empty roundabouts of life
fickle
strings snapping with the stress of exertion
fickle 
ambition, love, expectation and strife
 
they were all mixed together
in a bowl of concrete walls
they whirled
six of Bach's greatest works
a handcrafted violin
from 1713
played by one of the greatest
violinists
in the world
 
he played incognito
only six people stopped
20 gave him money
and then continued 
to walk
 
a three year old boy
was drawn 
to the sound
his mother let him 
listen
his eyes wide
and astound
but watches soon tick
and they tick too loud
and they drive 
the crowd forward
as if stopping
is not allowed
 
Joshua Bell
let his bow fall limp
as the last of his music
was swallowed 
by the whitenoise
of life
and screeching 
metro trains
the only sound 
of applaud
soon stolen
by a new rush of air 
 
the subway walls
silent
reflect
people would find peace
in the thick of life
if only
they would
connect. 

Copyright © Krystal Cochrane | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sonnet | |

An Art of Breathing

What loathesome burden wears your weary heart
a trinket on a cold and hoary hand?
And in its dark tide drowns the cheery part
to keep you bound, a pet, upon its strand?

Without a keel, alone and sad, unmanned
to sail the main and brave the tempest storm;
it claims the fairer part with stark demand,
and wails its horrid knell upon reform.

Stand now and rend the pall that kept you warm
and stagnant to the early morning light.
Cast out the deaf'ning rage of crushing swarm
and air the sweetness of your bitter plight.

Release your deathly grip on this disease,
And from your fingers let it fly the breeze.

Copyright © Kris Walters | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

Painter

Painter

My life was painted
Long before I arrived
I follow the paint brush
Alone, left to surmise
If I belong in a painting
Or on a road to nowhere at all
Life is so black and white
Colors have faded away from eye sight
Along the promenades of loneliness
Were no able painter would stay
I follow my destiny, as I
Gracefully fade away

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Submerged Cathedral

Sickle moon gray above the waves
The quiet directionless wind 
On the earth, and in the sky above 
A veil is drawn, cutting into dark spots 
Slowly round and round,  
Murals are etched into the sand  
The statue waits with eyes unblinking 
Silent wonder, solitary armless stone 
Twisted, counter-pose, forever fixed, 
Wonder, what does she see under water? 
Rusty bows and sterns, shipwrecks, 
Silvery fish fluttering in and out of hulls, a 
graveyard outside hallowed ground 

Archway, the great doors dark and closed
Murky, wet light pours in vaulted windows
Through water-worn edges of stained glass 
Seaweed tendrils curl around an altar 
Once, quiet processions marched up the aisle 
They are now only filtered ghosts, 
Murmuring, wavy impressions of what was 
Forever, the tide calls upon the great steeple 
And the lonely under-toe, 
Pulls a mote in the sand around her, 
To protect the bastion in the sea, 
Dark, lovely, lost forever to those above 

Copyright © Jeremy Martin | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme | |

Entwinement

Bleeding around me are empty faces
Sad, drooping spaces, crumpled places
Melancholy for the light of new places
Stuck in time, frozen in time
The pangs of lonesome fill their sagging hearts
Frowning forever, frowning forever
Let me stare blankly at the stained wall
Nothing at all…nothing at all

The mind is a scary place 
The mind is a distraction
From the reality ever binding
Curbing every reaction
The mind is overwhelming
The mind is oh so sad
When we turn to larvae and graves
It’s an never-ending...
Entwinement 

Found myself looking through the tiny hole in the wall
Watching you fall, watching you fall
Scared for the neck that would break us all
You shuddered my blood…shuddered my blood
I met the eyes of the souls of your feet
Twitching and swinging…unfeeling…unfeeling
Please allow me this sole ease:
Just be with me... lie with me

The mind is a scary place 
The mind is a distraction
From the reality ever binding
Curbing every reaction
The mind is overwhelming
The mind is oh so sad
When we turn to larvae and graves
It’s an everlasting...
Entwinement

-inspired by Mad World by Gary Jules-
-also inspired by the stop motion film: The Man in the Lower-Left hand Corner of the Photograph-

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2012