On the border of the obscure wastelands,
In the depths of shadows and torments,
Far beyond the land of Never Was, Never Will
Is a place where I hold you, strong and silent…
As the shards of your sensitive sadness prevail,
Sifting the awaiting coals below,
I shall reflect slivers of your light upon the darkest woe!
I fight with the broken alliance within the dimmest coves,
I mean to pull you into Death’s demise
Where the pained poets prevail and the suns of justice arise
So that e’en the coldest of coals reach warmth!
Generating power so strong, that the gods step aside
As these diamonds-to-be burst into the light of day
Revealing your words of Always Was… and Always Will
The Black Diamond, once captive…finally free…though coal black still!
For Shadow Hamilton's Contest: Fighting Depression(poems for PD)
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2014
Lou Reed , Mistral of his time
so you walked this road on the wild side
unique in music , never selling out
believing in Art instead of commercialize
Lou Reed the musician never compromised ~
Sweet Jane not enough for our crowd of eccentric rockers
still will live forever with the many that left before you
one can imagine from John Lennon to Johnny Ramone
a party in Heaven of the finest rock bestowed
no text , no MTV when they pursued a dream
New York, hotel Chelsea an age of Renaissance
ragged jeans and leather jackets ,Art on stage
No, your Rock not ever fade away , it will stay sweet Jane forever ~
For the fine Man with words , ode to Lou Reed .
Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013
I woke up from the cradles of slumber
My morning eyes opened slowly
My mind frolicked and sang with peace
Remembering your words
So kind, so memorable were they!
So sweet, so genuine are you!
The mere thought of you takes away the assertive blue
It is a wonder I have come across your mind
It is a blessing like no other—a true, treasurable find!
And there are no words that can truly give you the honor you deserve
But take these, please!
And know there is so much more. . .
So much more that I wish to offer you
Your never-ending thoughtfulness and attention
Has filled me with unremitting appreciation
You really are a beautiful light to my world
Cheering my melancholy with joy
I have never found someone quite like you
And that is the beauty of it all
Finding the gold
The sunlight smiling for your marvelous shine
There is just no other like you!
I would never turn my eyes away
There is just no possible way
That is a blessing I count close to the heart
Finding you, such a rare piece!
Finding you in a churning world of excitement and chaos
Finding you with such delight and gratitude
Thank you so much, Duke!
Thank you for being you!
-Dedicated to a very fine poet named Duke Beaufort-
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
No one scoops up the vast subtleties
Of my mind's water
Quite like the hands that adore me most
There are no holes,
No overflows, nor spills
This soul does not filter away the essence,
Does not pluck the bloom before it has shown its worth,
Nor does his powerful hands have a heart to ever remove it
From its marshy field of poetic influence
But when it rots,
He simply refuses to discard
And instead regards pollution with avid wonder
For he knows with a nod I have it in myself to teach
And I have it in myself to heal these inner hells
So when these waters flow freely again
In search of new blooms and clear horizons,
I will find his precious hands sifting, provoking the currents
Admirably never losing sight of our love's purpose
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2016
If I had to paint a picture of me loving God what would I see?
would I see a portrait of a person who walks in truth and honesty?
In order to paint a picture of me loving God
I would have to access all the experiences that to me life did impart
did I have a good relationship with my mom and my dad?
was it loving and supportive or distant and sad?
did I get along with my siblings? did we look out for each other?
did we play and love each other like true sisters and brothers?
were my needs being meet? did I ever learn to trust and believe?
am I balanced enough to cope according to the lessons in life I've received?
Multi-generational, familial or systemic social receptions
all of this has played a part in my life perceptions
we all have distortions in every aspect of our living
we now must deal with the reality at this time we've been given
was my life exactly as I remember? or are there things that I've repressed?
are there issues that are buried inside me that now make me depressed?
deep-seated anxiety, personal pain and high expectations
feelings of inadequacy, destructive criticism and bouts of frustration
we all have issues that we now need to bring out and discuss
in order to have authentic relationships we need to have real trust
we all have some brokenness that needs to be healed
so that our full love for the Lord God can one day be revealed
God is not distant like a CEO in the corporate tower
God is not pressuring us with His omnipotent power
God does not keep score He just watches over our souls
God is fair and just and doesn't set for us high goals
God is all embracing He nurtures, instructs and forgives
He's kind, patient and loving in this life to us He did give
So if I had to paint a picture of what it looks like for me to love God
it would be a colorful canvas of emotions, perceptions and reflections from my heart
Copyright © louise nelson | Year Posted 2010
Hyacinth and juniper
adorned in midmorning dew
alight the fields and meadow fair
as the dawn shimmers from you
Nature weeps with boundless joy
as the sun greets you with its morn
for you are as beautiful as the morning sky
from God's good grace you had to be born
No twinkling star up in heaven cries
as much for you as do I
to be near you would be such bliss
that angels would shudder and sigh
O' of all the gifts that are thrust upon this world
none so pure and delicate can be
as such pure and delicate as she
for you are my light and my world
Copyright © John Allen | Year Posted 2006
I cling to the tangibility of paper
its connection to earth,
the feel of the grain
on the skin.
Words do not exist
thanks to the mashing
of keys and buttons, but by providence
of the paper.
The forgotten paper
is still alive. Soft
yellowed with age.
never erased. Never
I do not bleed red
cells but globules
of words, coagulated
phrases and lines.
The pen is a prosthesis,
where soft flesh leaves prints-
other swirled lines an whirls.
lightly brushes her lips
ever the timid lover.
Even when erased
the word is
forever imprinted, its curvatures
embedded in the soft
fiber of the page.
is an evil thing; coveting
its symbols and codes.
away your words,
behind an electric moon.
When the screen dies
so do your musings.
Copyright © Bethany Gamotis | Year Posted 2012
Your Eyes, they talk to the Soul!
Copyright © Avijeet Das | Year Posted 2016
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
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,
The great power that connects us;
The great unity
Amongst such beauty.
Till we once more return home…
Copyright © Aiden Asoll | Year Posted 2013
Everyone had a unique reason for playing the Game
as we find different means for surviving Life
until the proper seconds of Death come stomping by with insistence,
some want intellectual respect shown with agitation in the opponent's eyes,
others crave the anxiety of prognostication
like gladiators uncertain of how to strike,
people commence the battle because they have something to prove
as Bobby boldly reproved the Soviets
on their asinine assumptions of superiority,
regardless, all who touch the Board want desperately
to understand the Game,
it's rituals, it's spirits,
the possibilities alive & haunting the 64 squares,
to honestly provide a homage of mind to History and to invention,
as if the nature of Chess is a dream of God's,
a subconscious engineering of grappling wants & needs,
of fears & hopes, of bravado & caution,
32 weapons arranged handsomely for the express channeling
of the Divine creative compulsion of Providence itself,
geometry made grand & gallant,
a homicide of honor performed in the pressure of an hour,
all skilled players realise at some point
that quality brinksmanship ascends over the voice of victory
and can be reduced to the amazing beauty
of integrating logical processes with artistic allure,
misdirection a linchpin of the Master's ancient algebra,
momentum the indispensible monarch of strategy,
without it one is dictated,
mating nets, positional play, tactical moves,
a temple devoted to timeing -
Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2013
Darkness only prevails for a while
But light eventually prevails forever
The revenge of an embittered woman
Is more than the fury of a thousand army.
There are women of substance
And there are women of superlative substance
In size we grow
In wisdom we surpass
He who can fly
Needs not flying whiskers
For a short while alone
Does iniquity reign
I am my husband’s pillar
A shelter for my children
An envy of all Nation
A symbol of creation
An endurer of pain
The patient dog in human form
A mortal among immortals
A vision beyond the present
I am a virtuous woman
A great instrument
A completion of creations
Mighty in my own way
Copyright © CHIOMA ONYEKABA | Year Posted 2013
A timeless face set in smooth, hard skin gazes
Out across a sea of framed majesty created by human hands.
Dreams, which have been carefully formed to
Enter into the realm of reality and take
It’s viewer’s breath away. The statue
Looks at art and is art and addresses art,
Art, you are everything and can be made with
So many things previously thought of as nothing.
Possibilities stretch up and down the rabbit
Hole of imagination. Having tea in mid air doesn’t
Seem so rare anymore. Or sky in the middle of the ocean
And someone lounging on a couch on the ceiling, hair floating upward.
I can draw a picture of spring with you,
Blend warmth and a light breeze on the page
In black and white with my charcoal finger.
Or tear apart an image only to put it back together in
A new unimaginable way, or create a new world
An enchanted forest, a thousand hands as trees reaching toward the sun…
The possibilities are endless
Copyright © Jacque Graham | Year Posted 2014
Learnt by the pang of fear
Oh Trojan horse thou art fair
So fearful and hard to near
Your presence!A dread even to air
Leading to an ancient unknown fence
Creating anguish in the ambience
Like a mad dog thou locate
Your way to doom or heaven's gate
Vigour in you aint got an end
For strong art thou till the end
Of world and world beyond thy tend
Copyright © Wright Bankole | Year Posted 2012
To see or not to see, past the illusion.
Of truth secretly whispered back and forth,
Shakespeare publicly fought between life and death
for pure amusement.
Within my thoughts, hope's not lost but found,
don't fight with fear use it.
Time is endlessly precious when our soul starts to lose grip.
Loose lips, wondering eyes, curious minds
in search of the light.
Collide in a beautiful place
where I am nothing
connected to everything
real matter cannot be erased.
Copyright © Gerald Moise | Year Posted 2014
The sun descends
Every single day
The reds and oranges
Blend to purple,
Exploding out of a bright
Center, circle that closes
More and more every
Until everything evaporates suddenly
Into the night.
If you're lucky,
It's just an introduction to
The glittering ceiling
Sphere of stars.
Feel free to applaud.
It drips down mountainsides
While painting the endless blue expanse
With vibrant watercolors.
I stand on a hill,
Trails loop away from me and
Splatters the sky.
I walk homeward.
A sunset is an ending
And this faithful goodbye
Is a brilliant finale that
Will always wash away
And warm showers of light.
This is a performance
And although the stage is
Never completely empty,
I don't always have to watch.
I think that sometimes it might be better
If the sun never set
And I could permanently hold
Every moment at once
In my hands and never let them
Touch the ground or
I wouldn't dare to ruin great things
But I'll be a witness to them
I'll point and shout
Look at that
This is beautiful!
I didn't create it
But I can appreciate it
And my art can be my
Smile as the sun
Stains the sky
Pink and orange.
I'll watch until it dissolves.
The sky will always move forward
From the burning scenes
And I'll race it home.
Nothing I do will make it stop but
I'll enjoy it while it still exhibits
The inspiration as fervent as a fire
I sit around with
Friends in New Mexican mountains,
Or on a dew-soaked lawn
Laughing until our faces
Are no longer visible,
Sitting on a deep black trampoline
The moment before it mirrors the night.
I'm still smiling.
Homeward is where I'll always walk;
But I can stop to watch the setting sun.
Copyright © Scot Nielson | Year Posted 2015
Like a thunder bolt
The words exploded in her head
She was confused in the noon
History deserted into noun and verbs
The sun came calling on her
The air screamed on her
The oceans wept bitterly
Our generations was at stake on her
Flaming down the guts she moved
Moon and grasses filed up in the street
Up up they journeyed in the black side
Abandoning the green side of the land
Mother Nigeria is fading away
In the hands of George Orwell pig
Shall the caused of animal kingdom be ours?
Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2015
Ode To ‘Mother’ Creator ©
Not only is it a marvelous happen chance in being able to have ‘shares’ in Mother Nature’s flora creations 'first hand'---
But, we are then granted to sit before her, these ‘set tables’….
She, as our ‘hostess’ serves ‘up’ an endless canvasing ‘kaleidoscope’ set for our eyes only!
She tempts us again and again, into a fevered ‘hunger-fest’ to (pig-out) by and they are very much ‘ready’ with such ‘food for thought’!
She has intuitively displayed her indulgent ‘realm’ to overrun our 'minds' eye….
We are prearranged to touch, taste/smell and become a convert---
It is; as true, loyal, ‘voyeurs’ we now give our undivided attendance, when we are all invited to her 'seasoning’ assemblies….
Their wholeness is made perfect, even into their ‘finally’ timed performances!
Her uses and gifts work miraculously to brightening 'up' her shadings and tonalities towards her abundant-folding true colours and her 'achievements' are (forever) complemented upon---
Whether, it is in her fauna show of velvety, satin and silky petal-flowers spending titillating fragrances
Or, by use of her seasonally ‘varying’ cycles, in 'all' her weather modes; she always will spend, all her wonderment and excitement--- towards her spectacular works!
Her numerous ‘paint-box’ colours with their different scents and shaded consepts are definitely.... crafted, in alluring us feverishly, into inventive crazed acts---
Just like the moments, when a (newly) box of crayons, first opens up and invitingly nudges the painter and writer forward.binging 'us’, to recreate one's own bountiful displays with worded colour and paints….
Thus, with our 'first hand' wonder/mental experience, “Mother’ has never 'giifted', (a questionable) blank canvas to work upon!
We are a growing world-wide nature loving group, enamoured to (dabble) our time away, 'within’ her 'ecospheres'---
We have also ‘gifted’; as well, to oiur 'public', family an friends many of our exhibited works….
Our own ‘piece-meals’ are proudly admired and profitably ‘feasted’ upon!
Many wonderful invites are sent 'out', for all to come and attend our (tabled smorgasbords) ---
‘Mother’, must be as proud and pleased when taking note, of all the vast, interpretative and varied (personal) worked styles we have made, in her likeness….
she has ‘qualified’us her pupils, in her stead, to such ‘artistry’ freedoms!
We have been ‘branded’ her slaves; as only a true slave driver can do---
We are meant to go through with our own ‘humbling’ efforts willingly.
Our need and desire to please and honour her great gifts, by these, our gifts are surmountable!
Our enthusiasms, to share our ‘Mother Nurtured’ talents among one and all to salivate and savour, is indeed a two-fold 'forever'gift and made much more---
We can only hold her responsible for our inspirational madness every day, days in and days out throughout time….
Mother Nature, we thank you for the power you have given us again, and again and again to learn, create and live in your world.
We are indeed, our own 'self-appointed time keepers and guardians to your ‘star studded 'forevermore''garden!
My writer’s mind speaks ‘never’ enough words to paint your magnificence---
There are not enough means, to ever do you justice….
Our word/plays and colourful paintings are but a ‘stitch’ to your ‘dressed’ canvases!
A true lover of Mother Nature’s works.
Artist and poet writing with ink and paint!
Copyright © Diane M Quinlan | Year Posted 2015
Still... still I but aspire to serve your sight,
The measures of dark, streaming mystery,
With eyes deep as night and alive with light,
Your Beauty's as any through history,
An unspent spirit proved by your posture,
Your certain figure made sure, made slender,
Vision of you is like rough emery,
Straining, straining to capture your stature,
As ev'ry artist would hope to render
Such Beauty kept committed to memory.
You're owed no less than a sprawling estate,
To be adorned with pearls, diamonds, and gold,
Yet, as always, I'm impoverished of late,
Affording such precious little, all told;
I just might point out places where wood rots,
And I may, perhaps, soak you in spilled milk,
Since with my savings, best I can do's fall,
As there'd be no most luxurious spots,
I'd offer no furs, no cashmere, no silk,
Not much for the woman who has it all.
'Pon my soul you remain as coarse etches,
A brilliant scar, a shadowy tainting,
The endless subject of endless sketches,
A future masterpiece in oil painting,
The fearsomely delicate carved sculpture;
Of you I make my own melodic code,
As I do this, I do so in your name,
For you are a truly rare-formed rupture,
Bleeding slow, my own melancholic ode,
Writ share 'mongst these words of undying fame.
Copyright © Ryan McCabe | Year Posted 2014
Pound for pound me and my pen,
are the best pair to be found.
You can stand them up all day,
and we will knock them down.
I cannot take the credit,
cause I know for sure its him.
With his sleek chromatic style,
full of ink and slim.
He moves my hand to cross the t's,
and lies while doting i's.
And the words he puts on paper slim,
brings tears to both my eyes.
Without him I am nothing,
a man that's such a bore,
But that sleek chromatic ball point pen,
makes me so much more...
Copyright © Ken Bennight | Year Posted 2016
An Ode To William
He when Painted,
Printed or Wrote,
His face always wore
a grave grin.
THAT Soft in heart
The sculptor, stones
had ever seen;
Sitting by the lonely-
For me his shop
would have been,
For Pope, Dryden’s
Loved who little-
boys, herders and
And praised country
and for lambs prayed.
An artist lived there
Unnoticed, ahead of
Copyright © fayaz bhat | Year Posted 2014
Like after a dalliance,
my heart bleeds when
your ephemeral stay
comes to an end.
You are the cynosure
of all eyes.
Your multi-colours as soothing
as an embrocation
the distressed heart's emollient.
Your arch is the envy
of great architects.
Thy colour blend is fit
an artist faint
Your beauty is ineffable
Too sublime for a pastiche.
O Rainbow! Are thou rain's
to the sky?
O Rainbow! Thou forever are
our eyes' delight!
Copyright © abdul yusuf | Year Posted 2015
The Lord is there he's by our side.
Just trust in him he'll be our guide.
He'll test our faith from time to time.
And being scared is not a crime.
Just know he's there and take his hand.
He'll lead us to that promised land.
Where fear and sadness are no more.
And soon we'll know what it's all for.
So take the good times with the bad.
We'll understand this life we've had.
By testing our faith he keeps us strong.
For that's God's purpose all along.
We'll search for answers we can't find.
But we'll know soon what's on his mind.
For we will see God in thee end.
We'll find that God's our greatest friend.
So keep that faith and we'll be fine.
We'll see God's purpose in good time.
Copyright © Debra Eckstein | Year Posted 2011
From a three-sided angle
Astrological purpose is unmangled
Triangle on top
Square on the bottom
Bright halo around God
Our tears fill His bottle
A Pyramid is a monument to death
A Tabernacle of wealth
Which comes into effect
When there's no longer breath
Is it mourning or celebration in stealth
The place where Kings and Queens lay
Buried on a sun-disk
Dedicated to Day
The final form to decay
Hands form this shape
When they're positioned to pray.
Copyright © Torian Lockett | Year Posted 2011
Salute to the ode of old
Be wary of the ghosts it leaves
The remnant and seeds of its wake
Salute to the whore of kings
Its corpse and stench reeks still
The wise and deep court still
Salute to the living dead
Frail but rears its head
With words than never bend
Salute, I say, Ode
For yonder when I die
In spite of the odium I hold
You’d still be lying there
Copyright © Kolapo Olapoju | Year Posted 2014
Traveling down a long road of lost memories
and lights that are shimmering
in the face of a broken past
now, freedom at last!
You know these words,
you have heard them before.
Your reading an old volume of forgotten lore.
Darkness for your soul.
Travel for your mind.
Why do you always go looking for love
that you will never find?
Copyright © Blake Holland | Year Posted 2016
On Grandma’s bedroom wall hung pencil sketches
To inspire me and draw me in, never fail
The hands in prayer our daily blessing fetches
The cuffs rolled back, work ready, in the detail
The fingerprint motif of light on hands
To give us notice we are unique – and His
Strong thumb accentuating Holy Bands
Steeple elongated fingers, preaching Bliss
On The Tree, He died for our earthly sins
(The cross marked in the veins of the left hand)
He wished to spare us the suffering since
Love and compassion, for which we should stand
Only in Truth can we realise beauty
The Hands setting the example of: “Thank Ye!
[Poetry form used: Sonnet]
If we do not live in Truth, a God given opportunity which we must embrace, then the beauty of all that we perceive will pass us by. ~ Su Crous
Inspired by: ‘Hands of an Apostle’ by Albrecht Durer: http://uploads4.wikipaintings.org/images/albrecht-durer/hands-of-an-apostle.jpg
DEPICTED IN THE ABOUT SECTION
Sponsor: Heather Ober
Contest Name: Famous Art |
Copyright © Suzette Richards | Year Posted 2013
Between old blood and tyrants
Deeper in the silence
I found the balance.
Music fills my soul
I've lost all control
I'm not half, I'm whole.
This music is my church
The end of my search
No more research.
The artist is my priest
And god is just another beast
That partook in this feast,
Deeper in the silence
I'm listening to the sirens
Between old blood and tyrants.
Copyright © Alexandru Pop | Year Posted 2016
Attention Defeceit Hyperactive Disorder
Split the letters out of the words
You get ADHD out of them
Let's take a closer look
Find out another meaning
To the condition.
A is for achiever
Accomplishments with honors
Passing with flying colors
A confident being with spunk.
D is for diligent
Quick on your feet
Sharp as a tack
Ready for the challenge
To take on tasks
And complete them right away.
H is for hope
Keeping the faith
Looking at the bright side
Turn things around
Hanging onto your dreams
Working to make them true.
D is for dynamic
A real go-getter
You get back up
When you fall
Not taking no
For an answer.
No matter how you spell it
Nor how you may look at it
It has many meanings
You take a closer look
And play around with the words.
Copyright © Megan Ryan | Year Posted 2015
Once in a while it is good if we think highly of ourselves. As for me, I always do that, especially knowing fully well what the holy scriptures says "As a Man thinketh in his Heart, so is he"... I am a champion, a king, an influential being and someone the world cannot do without and this is exactly who I am (not just in my heart). Here is a poem which elaborates these thoughts of mine.
Talking about a Giant and his kingdom
beauty and greatness found in any form
He's exactly what a society needs;
which is a very relaible intercom.
Empowering the weak to freedom
even when it seems they are stuck in a dorm
Praises from citizens of his empire
should never be considered as Idioms
Cos his helping hand
makes life easy as a sitcom
and his contagious virtues
make every night seem as prom.
The unsuccessful and underachievers sit and talk
but his presence to them brings immediate boredom.
In his race to success,
stumbling is seldom.
Always winning Gold is his symptom
but acquiring Silver, is considered as hitting rock bottom.
His constant achievements
leaves you no choice than to get accustomed
and no wonder he's an exaggeration to his peers.
His magic and Aura,
difficult to phantom.
His foot prints and trademark,
already becoming random.
A charming and very influential leader,
ready to pass through dark holes
in protection of his own, like a condom
which makes his flock long for his bossom.
God bless his mom
for giving us such a phenom.
Commanding respect, to him is a norm.
Try intimidation, he has the anti-venom.
Defined as smart, sharp, intelligent and handsome.
Not even forgeting his envious Wisdom
which makes him explode like a radioactive atom.
Who else is it; if not the one and only FUNOM!
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2013
An Ode to Monks of Great Expectations
Past generation with the delusion of the moment,
Almost against the will, the mind may comment
On incredible clouds that periodically covers the azure,
While new human beings unconsciously live in clover.
The brave ancients still send thousands of arrows
Towards the same unknown target that grows
At the other side of the soul and strange option
Of interests and personal aims of any bad action;
Each leaf touching the life`s line in the wind`s palm
Learns to float on the invisible waves of the psalm
About the promise of happiness like a river from sky
Caressing the green mountain and the perfumed breeze
Beyond good and evil, letting to flow through the trees
The same people of air and clay, fire and white smoke
The same feelings, the same desires under the lonely oak.
But love can heal the wounds and recollections’ suffering;
Like sun, it sends its golden arrows back each morning
In the burning dawn `s blue cathedral of great expectations
At the other side of the world and the known temptations;
Like from the future unknown events greet the present
And knock at the heart`s door in the incredible moment.
Green hopes of greenhorns grow everywhere like bad grass;
Vulnerable ships by the sea float without any compass;
Silent angels with glass wings, rest hidden in the sky;
Winds of the forgotten perfumed seasons go singing by;
So many things stay under the name of the rose,
And the will fervently tries to gather all those.
And you, Monks of Great Expectations may ask
About the good feelings, and the new hope`s mask.
Copyright © Ovidiu Bocsa | Year Posted 2015