When sparrows chirp, they sing for peace.
They fly and paint a masterpiece.
What lovely sounds, what a lovely scene!
No words can say what these could mean.
The rhymes they sing they touch the heart.
The sounds they make perform an art.
Who can’t enjoy? Who can’t ignore?
These tiny birds with a lofty soar.
They like our homes but love the sky
With wings and songs so loud and high.
I can’t see life with no such birds.
They give us joy beyond all words.
17/9/2026
You're the artist with the pen,
the painter with the brush,
the designer with the colour swatches.
You interpret your dreams,
give rise to your ambition,
create your ideal future.
Your vision crystallizes at will,
draws upon your imagination
to materialize your surroundings.
There may be times of ugliness
when the world seems dark and
intent on dragging you down.
Remember this too shall pass,
renew your closeness with nature
and replenish that innate beauty and joy.
Where art thou O Lord, My God
I cried in desolate prayer -
They say you're in the clouds and rains,
The mountains, plains and everywhere.
Where art thou O Divine One
I ask unto the skies,
Your creation and love is around and above
Yet you are hidden from my eyes.
A piercing wail broke into my thoughts
A cry of sheer pain -
I looked around for the source of sound
But I looked around in vain.
Then, I saw him.. the lost little one
Weeping under a tree -
I rushed to him in maternal love
And held him close to me.
The tear-stained face beamed a sunny smile
For all the world to see
And at that moment I heard a voice
Deep inside of me -
"I was there in the child's cry
And his joy on seeing you
I am forever in a mother's heart
Am in everything anew!"
‘The world is upside down’
‘It’s topsy-turvy’
‘Things will never be the same again’
Lines heard everywhere we turn
Is it really so?
Are their proponents in the know?
Or do they loutish parrot
what on screens we stare at?
Block out the vitriolic noise
Knead the contours of your heart
Soothe and smooth your mind, from the mundane depart
Alive once again ~ for life is art
An Oathbound lil child
Chasing dreams wild
Unflappable in stress
Still has to deal with mess
And that mess is me
Still yearns for you to fly not flee
Imperfections meet perfections
My heart knows, you take actions
Blindness takes me over
But can't see you hover
All your hurt to me and my fortune to you
You made my love come true
My beloved enchanted
Never took you for granted
Alas! My heart is fragile
And you're a little more agile
I took it as a curse
In quiet measures it got worse
I was stuck in that black hole
Darkened with every role
But why would I let my mishandling make you suffer?
Between you and your dreams, a buffer
Your life quietly aligns
Amid me and my whines
But but but, it all got unraveled
When I made my pieces together travelled
And then comes a wave of rapture
Dew kissed my heart capture
My heart aches for all the soreness I gave thee
But now these scars sets free.
All the misfortune and evil eyes flee
And again our soul sparks glee.
He Sculpted her from, a block of ice
and he had an image, drawn down, it twice
a million ice pleats, in her dress, that glowed
he must carve it slow, must carve it slowwwwww
and the light behind her, showed no imperfect flaws
so he sculpt her more, scattered shards, fell to the floor
and he carved her bodice, of frozen plumes
to mimic feathers, that appeared to move
so up and down, frozen , round and round
and just like Artic water, but it had no sound
and strings of ice beads, from her shoulders edge
her covered garment, the strands did blend
not once , imagination , did ever wavering
though her ice cold eyes, had splintered shavings
so he kept stepping back, to view , his work of Art
sublimation decor, this woman, would never part
but he took too long , in this Art, admired
for now it melted, for time makes , ice,
....so very tired.
Edmond-François Aman-Jean
we're within his symbolist dream
Renewal & awakening it's said to mean
to me ..a beauty arrives on.the scene
I dreamt of a creature coming from aether
Someone that ate poetry for breakfast
So consumed in his own world
That was unable to function in this world
Someone that fed his demons
Before his body
Someone that sang aether songs
I would like to observe him from afar
Be cautious not to touch his energy when I got close
Because you know I am polluted
I am a mortal
It feels I only destroy with these hands on some days.
Belgian Symbolist painter Fernand Khnopff
avant-garde art he love quite a lot
Pastel dream lady-like was his thing
in Memories' the tennis scene a novel swing
The art of creating a visual response to a piece of writing is known as a reverse ekphrasis ie the inverse of the centuries old poetic form of ekphrasis.
The most well known example being Charles Demuth 'Figure 5' based upon a W C Williams Poem.(see link in notes above)
EMAGI is a recent (fun) variation of a reverse ekphrasis derived by the advent of the widespread use of hand held digital communication devices -where words in digital symbols /letters can be represented as a shape
and uses a poet's poem to inspire the digitised 'drawing'
and an EMAGI as entered Sep 14 in this weeks VISUAL POETRY STUDIO
Wallace Stevens Valley Candle
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As in the mind of the sculptor
who sees a face or figure
to be revealed
in a block of stone or caressed
into form out of a lump of clay,
the sacred too is held hidden
within the appearance
of ordinary things.
I seldom notice
in the hurry and self occupied
focus of my life the profound
silence that lays at the core
of the magpie's exquisite song,
the still across which clouds move,
the emptiness into which
all the contents of a day are poured.
And in the turmoil that sometimes
rages through my mind
am I aware of the calm
at the very centre of who I am
and in the essence
of all created things. Nor do I
grasp eternity along whose
endless path time ticks out
its measured steps
and my life on this planet
plying a universe that seems
to be expanding into
an unanswerable mystery,
a Mind writing itself in matter
and gifting me in its vast
unfolding, a part, a moment
of form.
The outdoor art fair has displays
In canvas booths that zip.
When setting up for two days straight,
I guess it saves a trip.
I don’t know what security
Is there for overnight,
Though thieves could slice the canvas,
Even if it’s zippered tight.
The booths provide protection more
For rain-related times,
The artists likely worried
About damage more than crimes.
Today, the second of the fair,
Was raining from the start.
I walked past many zipped-up booths
And couldn’t see much art.
Predictions were for sunny weather
In the afternoon.
I'm sure for all the artists
Sunshine couldn’t come too soon.
I’m sure some picked up all their work
And didn’t stick around,
While others waited, hoping that
Their business might rebound.
did you see it?
good luck to you
take a sound recording of the gurgling under the kitchen sink
if you play that backwards you will find
it is an interpretation of an inversion
play it back and forth
it's actually Beethoven's 5th.
like Smoke on the Water
in an encouraging interview, the guitar player
was both humble and forthcoming
my son in his music lessons
will listen to samples of classical music
selected by the teacher
i've encouraged him to ask as the piece ends
to raise his hand and say,
'now play that backwards.'
I contort
to place
my fingers
on your frame
hoping I'll be mirrored there
creep around myself
whispering in my ear
of my own existence
mistaking subdued lighting
for gathering darkness
a flash of light for salvation
there is an avenue of trees
lined with stepping stones of shadow
I don't see it
I enchant myself
knowing the spell wears off
it's a powerful skill
but it doesn't make me feel better
I swallow smitten smoke
stomach the wake of verve ~
a corseted coherence
craving night’s clemency
while the sun sleeps
lips pressed to the searing chalice
intoxicated by silver essence ~
my fragile fragrance
You name my soul,
an enamored enchantress
the touch that craves not
a thousand thirsty eyes ~
misinterpreting inner magic
confusing compassionate
curves with consent carved
but I am not your temptress
nor am I a mystique
clothed in mists of memories
marooned in manipulation
I never ached to be the allure ~
bound to every burn
wading to savor my secrets
the intriguing incense
intricately kissing the cashmere air
the scent of the soul’s need
O spirit, guarding my light,
seek me as I am ~
an enigma, unfelt,
studying the silhouette
s i m m e r i n g
in crimson and copper
for the mirror
resembles threefold silence
wanting to be the destiny
not the dancing desire
dissolving into the drunken depths
of candle-lit dusk ~
your breathless incantation
a hypnotic haze
hand-woven into thin lace of love…
I am more than
your skies’ beholding ~
I am heaven’s eternal poetry
a pulse
no palm can possess...
Art Categories
Definition | What is Art in Poetry?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.
Related Poetry Forms
craft, profession, dexterity, artistry, knowledge, adroitness, ingenuity, mastery, facility, trade, imagination, know how, aptitude, expertise, inventiveness, knack, method, virtuosity, craftsmanship, guile, duplicity, artfulness, deceit, artifice, craftiness