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Prose Poetry Art Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Art

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

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

A Dream

Strands of thick strawberry lace
Cascade and kindle together over a
Serene and still, velvety muse;
Soft sensations of quiet breath
Brush against every line within the frame;
A luminous comma poses
In an eternal gilt about her face;
Every flicker of her unseen candlelight 
Reflects a somnolent kiss
Upon the gazer's nodding lids.
Magically, the mind reacquaints
A taste and scent of red and yellow ocher, 
Along with the sound of a swoosh,
That permeates a freshly painted room;
Soon, the eyes open to a distant, familiar recall,
When two sleepwalking, kingly eras became one;
Every step blending each image
With a different pallet in time,
And while touching overlapping 
Textures, the mixed mediums are forever
Imprinted upon the memories of the two
Motionless figures;
The connoisseur, while he slumbers
And the sleeper, as she awakens 
From her symbiotic dream.

Contest: "A Dream"
Theme: Based on the painting: "Resting", by Victor Gabriel Gilbert
5/12/2014


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Unknown Art

The picture painted is not what 
is drawn
The drawer sketches different 
shades partly understood by 
few.
They see and claim to know 
the 
complexity
Complexity that is the 
uniqueness
Like most words, the art is not 
defined in a single manner
Many have walked with it not 
minute has discovered
The mystery of the art in play.
A creative piece reflecting 
greatness visible to those with 
eagle eyes.
A lone shadow traveling great 
depth to birth dreams
Not an adjective, pleasing to 
those deserving.
Do not desire to be unveiled.
Priceless value hangs on its tag
What a masterpiece!
But not fully discovered...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

'I'VE HAD ENOUGH!!!

I've had enough
Yes enough of your childish games
I've had enough
Of your lies.and disappointments
I've had enough
Of headaches,and worries
I've had enough 
Of your disrespect
I've had enough
Of heartaches,and pains
I've had enough
Of wondering if and when you're coming home
I've had enough
Of planning a future that has no hope
I've had enough
Of waking up and finding myself alone
I've had enough
Of wishing you'll change for the better
I've had enough
Of talking,and you're not listening
I've had enough
Of dreaming this dream all alone
I've had enough
Of being the only one trying to make things work
I've had enough
Of treating you like a prince,king,or queen
then in return you treat me like I'm nothing
I've had enough
Of you're not taking me seriously
I've had enough
And I'm sick,and tied of all the drama
I've had enough
Of you falsely accusing me
I've had enough
And I can make it by myself
I'VE HAD ENOUGH 
I'VE HAD ENOUGH!!!"


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Gertrude -- Gertie -- Gertrude Stein

-- Re:  Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, Rue de Fleurus #27, Paris --

What would Gertrude.What Gertrude.What, Gertie?Have thought.Have thought what
thought?Thought thought driving,forward,remorselessly.Remorseless Remorse?Forward.Never reverse;no reverse.No.No remorse.Remorseless,spurning reverse,seated.High!Seated high in Auntie.Then in Godiva seated. Looming.Enormous.
Looming enormous.Unsinister presence. Certain presence.Definite.Definitely not sinister.  Positively looming;enormous in brown.Brown,in brown corduroy,driving Paris.
In Paris,through Paris.Looming high in Paris in Godiva.With Alice, quiet beside her.
Quiet; always, Alice.Alice always. And zipping, about -- coming to Rue de Fleurus 27.
Zipping to Rue de Fleurus.To 27. And Alice so able.Able Alice, each a.m. transcribing.Able Alice typing.Automatic Gertrude.Typing Gertrude.Great Gertrude.GeniusGertrude.Talking Gertrude.Genius talking.Great brown Gertrude;Gertie to Alice.
Absorbing, talking, buying art --- buying Matisse.Absorbing Matisse.Showing Matisse.Banishing Matisse.Selling Matisse,collecting Picasso.Great Gertrude -- genius Gertrude at court, holding court at Rue de Fleurus 27.And Leo.Gone Leo.No Leo at Rue de
Fleurus.Not at 27 After Leo, after Mr. Stein, after brother Leo.But there was Alice.Alice
was there Among Braques.And Cezanne.(Not Matisse.)No longer Matisse, but Picasso.And Picassos, Picassos, Picassos!And Alice; alongside, was Alice.Next to, was Alice.Alice
next Gertrude,Gertie, G. --- Gertrude, Miss Stein. Genius Gertrude Stein Quiet Alice
always.And a great Gertrude.A great brown Gertrude.A leviathan. A passing ship; a
great leviathan.Gertie, a genius.A hugeness.A shibboleth.But to Alice, just Gertie.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

school house rock

rosie r red
a girls name,who was wacked in the head
a.violets r blue
she was a girl too
they liked each other and didnt know what to do
because somebody used their line in a poetry rhyme
it gets hit all the time
they just dont know what to do
if you like me then i like you


Details | Prose Poetry | |

PleasureThe melody gradually filters

The melody gradually filters
Through my being 
Filling my soul with joy
I go with it savouring, anticipating
It’s genius – no other thoughts enter
Just floating with the melody
Surprised by some discords they startle me
Prepare me for the majesty of sound to come


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Close enough

Closer to the clouds 
Soaring through the soft misty flocks of vapour
Higher
Touching the overstretched never ending horizons
Stronger
Closer to the clouds
Reaching for the elusive galaxy scattered with stars
Wiser.


Metempirical
Scenes
Outside my window, birds perched on window panes
Breathing the hopes of life
Burying their worries, letting them go
Soaring away the pains of yesterday
Home
The distance reassures me of the longer road I have
Waiting working of what might come
Relieving the old alleys
Streets that left me hanging, roaming 
Stranded with loneliness

Pause
Break from the fast pace of life
Dive into total surrender
Break from our shallow life filled with plans
The never ending ambitious dreams
Capturing each moment, not giving any a miss

Forgotten
The small sentiments
The simple notions
The innocent thoughts 
And the crazy bedlams
Unfortunate
Life
Thrive, we will.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Paint the Permanent

I stand before the canvas of my life
with the arsenal of brushes I've been armed with
choosing the paints with which I'll work

My will is to paint the permanent
No watercolors that can wash
My strokes will stain the canvas true

In my art studio my brushes fire
Salvos of sultry reds
Volleys of vivacious violets

But I don't always paint alone
Others there are that share the studio
And though our canvases won't always hang together
A small army of artists are we

Who paint our lives with care
For all the world to see
The hues we use only we may choose
Brazen and bold, subtle, or stark
Soldiers of our arts
Aiming and striking and painting our hearts out
Until we die
And go to the Gallery

But as for me
I stand before the canvas of my life
And the brush is in my hand


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Domino effect

i build the game to follow the rules,
a line a black rectangle, 
with white dots figuares,
who design such a figuare?

games of rules,
i just know i want to plan to win,

line all up straight like to view a zig zag moon,
but the moment it ends, another game begins,
but who do we call king?

with money on line every thing is  a game to a king,
place the stacks high how this type of figuare sit flat to sight,
it can't be that 
simple.

in the rules in life your in it to win it,
or the game will win you,
and i dont even know the rules to dominos.
i just watch from far,
as it all falls down!!!

one over laping the other,i this perhaps the order?

domino effects are you with it?


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Okay so just to remind you

Okay so just to remind you, you are absolutely amazing. You make my day every day. I have a smile on my face constantly. You are the first thing I think about when I wake up & the last thing I think about before I go to sleep. I’m defiantly lucky to have such an incredible girlfriend like you. You are the biggest sweetheart, ever. I adore everything about you. I will do everything in my power to keep you in my life. I want you & only you. You’re beautiful inside & out. I fall more & more for you every day. & I’m so in love with your voice, it’s the cutest thing ever! Stay sweet baby. You’re one in a million.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

DRUNK AND IGNORANT

A noble story one that ought to be our good host laughed and swore the games begun. Come match the knights tale if you can sir monk. To bellow arms and blood and bones he swore. A noble one I'll pay off the knights tale lets do this right. You tell yours by and by either I'll speak or go on my own way. Everyone listen but first i will propound that i am drunk i know it by my sound. For I'll tell a golden legend and a lie. Forget your ignorant drunken bawdiness it is a sin and great foolishness. Tell us of other things you'll find to lack i see you are angry with my tale but why. cuz you are a fool your head is overpowered by the wine. If you are not enjoying yourselves then cut off my head but as i drink my wine and ale. Whoever won't accept what i decide will pay for everything we spend along the ride. So hold up your hand if you accept my speech reflect a little and don't hold me to blame if you choose wrong don't lay it on my head. And both of them had bawdy tales to tell theirs no sense making earnest out of game.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

CHANGED MY Underwear,------- and My Name

I
change my name 
like 
underwear...
fairly often, I suppose

I 
change my clothes 
like 
area codes
and Imma' damn gypsy, ya' see

I 
keep it fresh ta' death
nada
speck of blood
or 
ketchup on my attire

I 
got more rhymes 
than I got grey hairs
and 
that's an effing lot
because i got my share

I 
digg a 
hot-fire piece of passionate verse
those are 
indeed 
rare to find

YET...
if  only poets would 
unleash the fury 
instead of 
holding back
what's really 
on their mind...

I must say...
the library, 
the internet, 
the etc. etc...
would be a less stinky place...
AND, maybe 
I'd keep my name, and sever ties with 
underwear's elastic,
and just go 
APE-Spit Spastic!~


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Riding in the Rain

Rode over to visit a friend today, she paints with colors in the most lovelest of ways. no 
charcoal or water with color, just oils on a canvas. she allows me to watch. word-less i stay 
for hours sitting in gaze.at a point she turns to say,what color should this be? look at the 
color of what you wish to paint,this is the color of it should be.she coolly turns away.
so a sun-shine rain begins it's windy spray upon this paint-able summers day.we cover the 
canvas in a most coveted way...to shelter we dash.
so i mount my bike from which i came cycling home,riding in the rain.
return i will another day,perhaps it won't rain,upon this other day...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Our Humanities with Consequence this Transparency in Godliness

The Godliness of Adoption is...
Or is it not?
 …A beautiful spring sprig floret of rose. A rose brought home from our humanity's colorful garden of trust? Yet, was it not all that long ago when the cut of each stem entrusted to its own gardener's worthy and caring hands? 
Hands, now too soon stripped and emptied.
Hands that were easily led astray by the coersions of now self-appointed zealots.
They, with hands marked with ever stained bloody thorn pricked fingers, which now present each torn stem of rose on heaven-like sent pedestals; until met is a king's ransom; these thirty pieces of silver, the ask of many an angelic broker.

Adoption is...
Or is it not? 
...An act next to Godliness when these angels of guise are loosed to search in the mist of this motherland?
They, the finders of our pink and blue hued overflow spillage of souls.
This is nature of guised humanity. Delicately does it assist society in the dredge of waiting collection ponds, pools of tears that gleamingly mirror you and I; and from where our memory should fill with sounds. The siren-like cries of which, now link with our distantly lost...  ...or coldly disengage of our not of want…

Adoption is... 
Or is it not?
...The beautiful water lilys of pond? Those that so serenely float above a never skimming conscience that is this God-fearing nation; a polarized complacency so sweetly lost amidst its own mesmerizing shimmer, and without inkling of shame, all innocence of eyes fail to see through transparency by such weakly given puruse. A view that cannot pierce the murkily veiled mire that hides just below its own watery reflection... 
...And where underneath trails this triad’s tangled web that will soon unravel in route to tie with each long waited conscience…

Adoption is it or is it not our "Humanities with Consequence"?


Details | Prose Poetry | |

spell bound

there is only one woman
in the whole wide world
one thing that matters
this certian girl
and she fills my mind
both days and nights
her loveliness is my delight
a loveliness i can not requite
so quiet lies my tongue
that would confess so much
about desire for a simple touch
heartless to tell anyone
about this crush
especially her, i love her that much
better to live with a dream
than deal with rejection
secrets are kept for my protection
painfull are the places
we learn this lesson
spending the most of our lives
hiddng from rejection
a man begins to wonder
what is this thing that has me bound
why is her name a wonderful sound
why am i the only one that
watches her the way that i do
i thought i had the answer 
but i do not have a clue
hopeing that she'd notice that i never
denighed her any request
and that she would stay longer
and that was my only test
start a conversation
maybe start a kind of relation.
why do i see her imperfection 
as the most beautiful thing i have searched
and count it as the only worth
that held me bound to the earth
that kept me sound to sanity
and insanity where my minds
looks for moments that we share
looking for opportunity to dare
and hope that you have a snare
to entangle me somewhere
where my imagination
has went wild.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

THE SUN

I will aim for the sun
I will struggle to reside in the sky
I will face the toughest storms
I will stand firm when the wind blows

I will focus on the light from above
I will open my dark places to be lighten
I will forget the mistakes of my past
I will rely on the light that shines forever

I will plant new trees for the sun is available
I will weed out the intruder from my soil
I will clean my farm for speedy germination
I will smile as my sun watches me harvest each day.




Details | Prose Poetry | |

I can face Tomorrow


It just cracked
SPelted in two 
Deep on my wall
And left a vacuum 

It just broke
Felt on my path
Close my destiny door
And left a roadblock

It finally drop
Right on my last strength 
I push it over me
Now I can face tomorrow 

 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

the Rain

  The Rain tried to find its way into the very depth of the souls, sneering at the gloomy faces of people who were walking through water. Unexpectedly a sudden clear laugh of a boy who jumped into a puddle mocked all His aspirations. 

  With an increased force the Rain turned into a wall of water pushing the pedestrians into the open doors of the shops, blocking the traffic and confusing the air controllers at an airport nearby. 

  Seizing for a moment almost absolute power over the world, the Rain suddenly felt bored and first burst out into numerous crossing lines, then calmed down and throwing the last blast of wind with water drops at the running boy, He sighed in despair and having banged few open windows He disappeared, staying for a moment in thick eye-lashes of a girl who was adjusting her make up.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

WHEN LIBERIA SPEAKS

If there is a child in Kolahun, Lofa County who can’t read- that matters to me.

If there is a senior citizen somewhere who can’t get a pension after many years of dedicated service- that makes my life poorer.

If a decent brother is accused of rape and is being rounded up without a benefit of an Attorney or due process- that threatens my civil liberty.

If a native Liberian is down sided for an elite- that overshadows my equal right clause in the constitution.

If a high school graduate cannot be honor with a job, but the only option left is to hawk on the streets to earn a hard living- I wonder what society is being created for the young generation.   


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Morphosis

No, no, no
something wasn't right
isn't right
never right

Morphed again
drinking coke, smoking.
searching - pushing
not right

Circles, more circles
red, black, yellow
circles around my brain, BIG
aarrggghh that's better
something is right

Light, there must be light
shade, paint, more
more
it's not right, never right

Darkness
not perfect for godsake nothings perfect
don't seek
don't 

I don't like the circles
paint em
more paint
arrrgghhh that's better
feeling better now.

Morphed again.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The lone star of Africa

A new deal was signed
Plantations workers laid down their tools
Freedom songs were sang everywhere
The birth of our liberty emerged


Our heritage we vow to defend
The root of our liberty we sure to protect
Upholding the lone star we will never desert
Its banner over Liberia we shout in victory

A Symbol of the first flag of Africa
Flying over the land and over the sea
Age to age we will never fail
Season in seasons we will fulfill the cause of our liberty

The lone star forever, the lone star forever 
Shinning brighter like a golden flame
The wings of our foes are broken
And we are marching forward to never fall again

Midst low ‘ring skies and thunder storms
The star of liberty waves high in the sky
The sweat of every plantation worker is worthy
 Liberia flag repainted with peace
Shinning forever over all the continents of the earth







Details | Prose Poetry | |

Christmas 2005 in Iraq with MiTT 2-2-2

One or two of us
Were home on leave;
For the rest of us,
Christmas came by mail.

Our callsign: Gunslingers.
Our Military Transition Team
Was embedded with 
The "Triple Deuce" Iraqi Infantry,

For a year our home
Was LSA Diamondback
Mosul, Nineveh province,
In northern Iraq

A Team member's wife
Gave us all Santa hats.
I have an old photo
Of us standing on top
Of an old Iraqi bunker,
Bearing pistols, rifles,
And those Santa hats.

My wife sent a small
Plastic Christmas tree,
Which was decorated 
In the Gunslingers' office.

My mom sent a warm quilt.
When you're acclimatized
To wearing battle armor
In the high 90s and 100s,
80-something feels cold!

I remember the nights--
Dark, but full of stars,
With Orion's belt
On the horizon.

Soldiers made bonfires
In the oddest places:
By a concrete shelter,
Or in classified burn pits.

Once exiting my office,
I saw a fire in the sky.
Soldiers were on top of a bunker
Drinking near-beer, singing.

Another night, I stood 
Just outside of the light
Looking at some troops,
And the chiaroscuro image.

I went back to my "choo",
And penciled the scene.
To complete the masterpiece,
I inserted myself
Roasting marshmallos.

I went back to visit them,
Showed them the drawing,
Then completed the picture
By searing a marshmallow.

Christmas was what we made of it.






Details | Prose Poetry | |

WHEN TO COUNT YOUR FRIENDS


Count your friends
When it’s dark and gloomy
When the clouds are gray and smoky
When the storms are heavier than normal- count your friends.

Count your friends
When depression has taken over you
When your back is numb and your demeanor has fallen
When the light on your path has gone off and you’re left with no way out- count your friends.

Count you friends 
When your image has fail
When your personality no longer matters
 Not when the money is like waters.

Count your friends
When you have nothing to offer
 Not when it is surplus to dish out.

Know me today, not tomorrow
Know me when I’m poor, not when I’m rich
Cause there is no second chance for selfish friends.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

MY AFRICAN WOMAN

Open Letter To The Golden Black Angel

The black angel on earth, the one proud of her skin
The hot chocolate in Africa, the one with glorious power
The ebony strength beneath the sun, the one full of sensuous splendor.

The golden black angel, the one flying the clouds
The shining star in the rich land, the woman defining beauty
The rich, the warm, the dark, the glittering flower breathing in Africa.

Just look at her eyes, the narrow eyes sliding to the sides
Just give a glance to her ruby lips, these syrupy, luscious and tepid lips
Just stare closely at her smile, am sure you are zooming the sun.

I feel her hypnotizing presence, the soothing aroma in the world
I feel her soporific nature, the one that naturally sends me to the sky
I feel her wafting movements, the movements worth every sane eye
I feel her tantalizing voice, Scandalizing my ears to lick it.

Am i forgetting her curves, the curves surpassing enchanted love potions?
Am i forgetting her manners, the manners giving me bedroom tendencies?
How can i? How can i not talk of the African woman? Eh? Tell her i adore her

Yours African,
Mzee Mwau.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

THIS IS THE LIBERIA I WANTED

This is the Liberia I wanted:
 I no longer hide to voice  my opinions,  because I’m a journalist 
 I no longer seek refuge at the American embassy, because I’m a
 human right activist
 I no longer live in panic or fear, because I’m a civilian
 Yes! This is the Liberia I wanted.

This is the Liberia I wanted:
 Rising from her chaos into a chariot
 Bringing her children out from battle into Bethel
 Dwelling together through reconciliation and not through retribution
 Yes! This is the Liberia I wanted.

 This is the Liberia I wanted:
 Mighty! Her fame
 Glorious! Her name
 Sober! Her people
Yes! This is the Liberia I wanted 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Poetry is the answer

What impels us so late at night 
to rise up and turn on the light 
to sit down and begin to write 
a poem if the feeling is right? 

For some the answer is simple enough. 
but others must crack a nut that is tough. 
It’s more than rhyme it's that and bigger stuff. 
A finished poem, a diamond no longer rough. 

There is much to be said of many things, 
of wording it right and the joy it brings, 
a quality tone just right when it sings, 
when it ends it's as true as it begins. 

What impels us so late at night 
to rise up and turn on the light 
to sit down and begin to write 
a poem if the feeling is right? 

An un-crafted word, just like a fetter. 
Un practiced in words, we are the debtor.
And for proof, view any written letter. 
Poems fill a need to say it better. 

thanks for the recomendations Reason A. Poteet 
edited by Monty Newman on 11/25/2010


Details | Prose Poetry | |

AFRICA THE CRADLE

The cradle of humanity.
The brain behind thousands of civilizations.
The mother of generations and the charm behind many beauties.

Even before empires you were formed.
Even before the days of the pyramids, you were formed.
Before horses took on foots and chariots raced in battle, you were formed.

You gave birth to Kings and Queens and breast-fed many heroes and heroines.
Kingdoms were build and named in you.

Africa- live free, rule well.
Because many things have been said and many more will be said about you.
AFRICA:
A- Admirable
F- Free forever
R- Resolved, resolute and resourceful
I-  Indomitable
C- Courageous
A- Attractive

Africa- the cradle of humanity
Africa- live free, rule well.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

THE NEW DAWN

   
I’ve seen the dawn above a mountain
Lights up like a child with blue eyes.
I’ve seen the dawn-
I’ve seen the dawn where life well’s up endlessly.

With the beauty of old age and gray headedness,
I can tell the tale of a sunrise and sunset

I am an old lady and wise with times
I’ve challenge many difficulties and come alive
Through the passage of times and seasons,
I can only laugh against the pain.

I know the languages of heartbreaks, panics, struggles and troubles.
I’ve tasted the lost of children, mansions, passions and visions.
I’ve seen great kingdoms rise and watch them helplessly run down through the valley of no return.

I am an old lady now; an old lady with worth of experience
I’ve seen the dawn above a mountain
Lights up like a child with blue eyes.
I’ve seen the dawn-
I’ve seen the dawn where live wells up endlessly.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Rainbow

Beyond every rainbow
Lies the secret for a new beginning
Hiding behind the beauty of colors
Waiting to find expression

Right inside every rainbow
Lies success and failures
Signaling in sparkling colors
Waiting to answer to a call

After every rainbow
Lies the power of hope
Pointing at the stars in the sky
And waiting to make a star out of us 



Details | Prose Poetry | |

My name is heard

My pillow is wet
My bed is broken
The keys to my house is lost
Oh! Why oh! Why oh! Why

The floor is my chair
Hunger is my closest friend
The enveloped of sorrow has seal me 
O’ God are there still angels?

I heard a loud voice
It was an usual tune
It spelt out my name
Today, my name is heard all over the world

Unedited copy
Olivia Bedell-Nimley
oliviabedell@yahoo.com
231-6-586032