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Ode Art Poems | Ode Poems About Art

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

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Details | Ode | |

Black Diamond

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) 12/7/14


Details | Ode | |

Renaissance Reed

     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 .

     

     
     



Details | Ode | |

To Duke

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
Finding truth
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-


Details | Ode | |

If I had to paint a picture of me loving God what would I see

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


Details | Etheree | |

An Ode to Beauty

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


Details | Ode | |

Ode to lines

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
and crumpled 
yellowed with age. 
Though forgotten
never erased. Never
extinguished.

I do not bleed red
cells but globules
of words, coagulated
phrases and lines.
The pen is a prosthesis,
supplementing blood 
where soft flesh leaves prints-
other swirled lines an whirls.
The pencil 
whispers
words,
lightly brushes her lips
against slate, 
ever the timid lover. 
Even when erased 
the word is 
forever imprinted, its curvatures
embedded in the soft 
fiber of the page. 

The screen
is an evil thing; coveting
its symbols and codes. 
It hides
away your words,
entombs them 
behind an electric moon.
When the screen dies
so do your musings.


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 | Ode | |

A MIRROR OF ME

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 HUSBANDS 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 HEIRESS
A LEADER
A GREAT INSTRUMENT
A COMPLETION OF CREATIONS
MIGHTY IN MY OWN WAY.


Details | Ode | |

Kings And Castles -


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 -

J.A.B.


Details | Ode | |

Ode To A Trojan Horse

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


Details | Ode | |

FRUSTRATION

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?


Details | Ode | |

SIMPLE JOY OF ART

                                           THE SIMPLE JOY OF ART



When eyes delight upon a work of Michelangelo—gut grinding art-- Creation by a mere man, from his enchanted hands explode results of David –perhaps a heavenly message to impart To the earthbound, scattered world flung far in lands mountain wrapped, plain dirt plains or seabound rocky shores. Vagabonds, they come to marvel by foot or cart. In awe they stand before the stone made man. Walking through the door, drawn to David’s splendid daunting beauty—his far gaze imparts to the viewer-- in that instant, in this life there is nothing more of beauty needed to be seen. Years pass, nights will follow days yet thoughts of this wondrous creature never waiver, never fade but haunt delightedly like a nightlight in the darkness. What manner is there to praise the artist for a gift so long lasting? Repeated thoughts played reflecting David's beauty --and played again—durable throughout the years, Clarified and Magnified in time, not diminished--when mind is disarrayed suddenly a glimpse will flash—through grief’s unbidden tears David will stand in mind’s eye, unchanged , ever manly strong-- beauty possible by stone conscience unblemished by dreadful acts or craven fears. Thus it is --creation of a man who does no wrong. Perhaps it is the reason Heaven's blessed the world with Art which reaches all-- both rich and poor--announces to the throngs-- Look to men of stone to find the rare and pure of heart.
Victoria Anderson-Throop © 11/28/12


Details | Ode | |

For The Woman Who Has It All

      1.
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.

      2.
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.

      3.
'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.


Details | Ode | |

To Uncle Art With Love

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.


Details | Ode | |

Further is Closer Than You Think

To see or not to see, past the illusion.
Of truth secretly whispered back and forth,
creating confusion.

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.


Details | Ode | |

ODE OF OLD

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


Details | Ode | |

An Ode To William Blake

An Ode To William 
Blake
----------------------------------
He when Painted, 
Printed or Wrote,
His face always wore 
a grave grin.
THAT Soft in heart 
and hand,
The sculptor, stones 
had ever seen;
Sitting by the lonely-
lake’s shore 
Portrayed the 
playing cherubs. 
For me his shop 
would have been,
For Pope, Dryden’s 
coffee 
shop.	
 Loved who little-
boys, herders and 
sheep,
And praised country 
and for lambs prayed.
An artist lived there 
unknown,
 Unnoticed, ahead of 
his time.

(contd...)


Details | Ode | |

Ode to Sunsets

The sun descends
Every single day
I'm alive.
The reds and oranges
Blend to purple,
Exploding out of a bright
Center, circle that closes
More and more every
Minute
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
Incandescent juice
Splatters the sky.
I walk homeward.

A sunset is an ending
And this faithful goodbye
Is a brilliant finale that
Will always wash away
Into darkness,
The sunrise
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
Shatter.
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.


Details | Ekphrasis | |

Ode To My Solitaire

Ode To My Solitaire Oh lovely burst of fire, your tongues aflame With splashing brilliance from your fiery glow, You dance with whirling sense of movement that Entraps the mind into hypnotic trance. Or is it Sun that comes into my mind With golden halo of your fiery ring. Your center, molten hot, makes solar flares Erupt to shoot and fly into the night. On closer look, I clearly see you now, Oh beauty of the fields, you gem of Earth, A gift of God’s creation that inspires Artistic view of you as fire and Sun. © Sandra M. Haight All Rights Reserved ~7th Place~ Contest: Ekphrasis 12 Line Max Sponsor: Rick Parise Judged 02/07/2015 -------------------------------------------------------- My Muse: Oil Painting: Solitaire, 30”x30” by Sandra M. Haight


Details | ekphrasis | |

AN ODE TO THE HANDS

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

28/1/2013
Sponsor:	Heather Ober
Contest Name:	Famous Art |


Details | Free verse | |

Ode to Art

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


Details | Ode | |

ODE TO MOTHER

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! 

Didee
A true lover of Mother Nature’s works.
Artist and poet writing with ink and paint!


Details | Ode | |

The Reason

Vividly there is a purpose

With honor we haul and stand uncertain

Then later crept into a fortified lodge

The essence is most times ourselves

A re-make of those footsteps we follow

There’s always a twitch, but never a booth

Was it for love that you base your endurance?

Or maybe it’s just as such, a compelling norm

A splendid theory speaks a curious tale

But where ever we stop, 

a tombstone marks the feet

Countless eras explains the change we pursue

The partners we engage may divert the aim we leap

At least there is logic for one to be submissive

A cause to be bold pushed and detained

Still to what do we owe our reason for the flag we mount

As for me, I console to Poetry!


Details | Ode | |

Pyramid-Maker

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
Beyond Technology
Architectural prophecy
Geometrical philosophy
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.


Details | Ode | |

Funom Makama: A Giant And His Kingdom

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!


Details | Ode | |

YAK ing Signa And Art Associates

Yak is everywhere
Not cursing or rude in the ends  
Yak is a street artist
Yak:first of all you have excellence and simplicity in Logo
You make me smile
Your work is constant and consistent 
You frenetically protests against
agreeing or not 
those three letters always make me glad 
content,
Closed to You certainly are pal artists
But the genius in Yak her/his/'s simplicity 
is not bout agreeing  

Yak(ing)

Yak might be a scream demanding me/we are artists of Democracy if hired the worked will be paid in the amount of Talent 
Yak is
An enormous label name
Imagine: Yak clothes, Street, Casual, non-casual, jewels, watches
Yak concept

Yak 'Concepteur'
Yak unlimited supply 
Yak boundaries are all crossed 
the next step
We Deserve Yak
I was thinking about making a T-shirt with,
But that's not fare some are my fights but the label is not mine
Yak deserve recognition beyond
I wonder sometimes about the identity of Yak or Yak's
I see ex-students on Yak
I see colleagues on Yak
I show Yak around
Some like some dislike 

People that are to consensual are not generally in my favourites list
And that's a reason for Democracy major virtues and severe imperfections 
And in dictatorship even the camouflaged kind Yak is needed 
Yak is probably not Bunksy 
Yak for me create a trend  
The sign of Thor's hammer *
Simple 1Y 2a 3k 
The sympathetic logo makes people smile
At least for a single time You, 
You 
You,You
and also You and You 
You all have smiled about the word,
You in some way are protest signatories 
But look at the Logo 

Gud signi teg 

Yak
Thank You!
* Etymology 2 Old Norse signa a) Wiktyonary 
**Wiktyonary


Details | Ode | |

to the late donna summers

somewhere in my late teens
i heard a voice they'd call a queen
loud and clear this voice seemed
a brand new thing a disco scene
it was to be the sound of my time
the seventies and the eighties
disco's and rhymes
and donna summers was that queen
the icon of the disco scene
she came along just in time
giving me my music, mine
from then we knew the flavor
and it hasn't changed much since
a steady beat, a disco ball
and times we won't forget


Details | Monorhyme | |

Ode to the Grammar Nazis

I abhor
Those that feel it’s their chore
To toilet paper my creative door
With their opinions that lack color
I’d rather hear a walrus snore
If not for self expression what’s poetry for

By Robb A. Kopp
All Rights Reserved © MMX


Details | Ode | |

MICHELANGELO'S HANDS

                                MICHELANGELO'S HANDS

When eyes delight upon a work of Michelangelo—gut wrenching art-- Creation by a mere man, from his enchanted hands explode results of David –perhaps a heavenly message to impart To the earthbound, scattered world flung far in lands mountain wrapped, plain dirt plains or seabound rocky shores. Vagabonds, they come to marvel by foot or cart. In awe they stand before the stone made man. Walking through the door, drawn to David’s splendid daunting beauty—his far gaze imparts to the viewer-- in that instant, in this life there is nothing more of beauty needed to be seen. Years pass, nights will follow days yet thoughts of this wondrous creature never waiver, never fade but haunt delightedly. What manner is there to praise the artist for a gift so long lasting? Repeated thoughts played reflecting David's beauty --and played again—durable throughout the years, Clarified and Magnified in time, not diminished--when mind is disarrayed suddenly a glimpse will flash—through grief’s unbidden tears David will stand in mind’s eye, unchanged , ever manly strong-- beauty possible by stone conscience unblemished by dreadful acts or craven fears. Thus it is --creation of a man who does no wrong. Perhaps it is the reason Heavens blessed the world with Art which reaches all-- both rich and poor--announces to the throngs-- Look to men of stone to find the rare and pure of heart.
Victoria Anderson-Throop © 11/28/12


Details | Ballad | |

Ode to the Plein Air Painter

ODE TO THE PLEIN AIR PAINTER
 
Starting New Year, what are your goals,
as an artist who paints "En Plein Air"?
To increase you skills, pay all your bills,
and become an "Art Millionare"?
 
By January first, become fully immersed,
in what inspires us to create.
Prepare for all weather, travel "light as a feather",
and remember.....not all will be "great"!
 
Throughout the year, it becomes clear,
as the secrets to "art" are revealed.
Not a moment to rest ,  you're on a quest-
and eyes ,  continuously "peeled"....
 
For that outdoor scene, we attempt to glean
a " likeness", a "spirit", a "feel"...
a struggle, a fight, a sudden changed light-
...damn, now where's that colour wheel?
 
Then suddenly one morning, it comes without warning-
like a gambler whose dealt a "royal flush".
The "zone" you have entered, and finally "centered",
create effortlessly, "at one with the brush"!
 
So in Art don't despair - we never "get there"
as our goal is a life-long quest-
We create and perspire, bewilder, admire-
and, will always be seeking our best!!