Artist Poems - Poems about Artist

To draw is something … I could never do well, The joy a picture can bring The stories it can tell I could never do well Drawing freely on my own, The stories it can tell Remains for me unknown Drawing freely on my own Pencil, paint and line, Remains for me unknown A skill that is not mine Pencil, paint and line An artist...

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A colorblind artist? Yes One of the best I have ever seen He has no problem seeing red as green and green as red Choosing pencil and charcoal His magnificent drawings grayscale...

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Within every writer's soul is an untold role, rolling along the shadows, secretly, desperately seeking the glow above the darkness that gave it life in the first place...

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{For 5x5x3 Poetry Contest Sponsor : Miranda Hawley Date submitted: 20/4/25} ARTIST They shone daring green avocado in dark adverse period swearing guilt ridden heart vanquished free sacral scrubbed pink and ready plumed serpent in magnificent bloom with candles God watched supreme from blue misty mountain clean knowing Artist was not insane two green irises unusually plain pierced her luminous spine divine naked Eve...

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A vein in me narrows a little bit every day, I have tethered myself to shallow promises; strengthened my organs of clay, and deceived them to believe Forever is either momentary bliss or death. But then I heard a call in the blinding dust, echoing; I saw you assembling pieces of my skin, meaningless, disintegrated, ignored- And sewing them up considerately; A new...

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Oh poetry, you offered me a canvas. You made it to have no bounds, Unmeasurable, far beyond hectares. As the deaf can hear, how my voice sounds. Yet my buckets of paint are sealed. If I paint how I feel, Oh credibility, are you a victim I'll kill? Displaying my lack of skill. Kai, oh Kai, embrace your artistry. Paint your own mystery. Before time...

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Love comes in myriads of color from palest lavender sunsets and softest pink of twilight to deepest rose of dawn What guides the artist in his pure strokes that adorn canvas cloth...

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without you pressing my nerves may I ask you 'what is this life?' intricately untangle every fibre set me down a moment can serenity be practiced unravel connections isolate and remove expectations ask me 'what is life?' sit with me, still let forever wait in the wings meet my eye reflect my humanity extinguish flames of thought consume my longing in essence ~ breathe me in could...

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Compulsions to create governed by fear and perpetual query, Where affirmations are fossil fuels, scarce and costly. Approval? Qualified? I Dangle upside-down, tethered to a rope questions. Hovering over a pit of acceptance with a bloated cranium. A pause in their scroll… The press of a gesture nibbles away the rejuvenating thread. How can a dozen feel worse than none? These...

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Ample Ambrose amplified Artistic expression until he died Leaving a legacy of art works galore All of them fresh, his parents swore He did not sell one piece when he was alive Last week his brilliant mother sold eighty-five How are you so successful we asked her Easy, she replied. I am a trained marketer. Ambrose spent his life pursuing his love. I bet...

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God is many things Among those, an artist The sky, his blank canvas Sprinkled with hue of varying intensities The sun A golden fiery orb Emitting light for all to see To me, it's pure symbolism of What Jesus is And what we should strive to be To be the light of the world Not being consumed by the darkness Of the worldly ones I...

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VIDEO DESCRIPTION The ballad of a French artist who longs to paint the indescribable—the beautiful delicate, elusive hues of his sightless Lover’s eyes as he endeavours to describe them to her. Haunted by her eyes in the many hues of nature, he’s exasperated that his every brush stroke defies all his attempts to capture their essence....

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She is eighteen and tattoos are the latest rage." I'd like a tattoo please" she asks. I see a young girl in a messy ponytail and wonder if she'll pick something gaudy, then I will have to oblige. The boldness of youth can appear so uncouth yet reveal so much truth. "I want a tattoo...

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My name doesn’t tell if I’ve got Some meaningly posh coat of arms I didn’t contribute to national lot But maybe I did for the arts I don’t criticize politicians It must be the easiest job Yet I never praise politicians For this is a job of a yob So I’m a bit jobless you see Hope you can guess that I am An...

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The transformation of the poet into an artist unfolds like a hymn to the defiant spirit, an age-old story with familiar themes of the literary outcast, where alcohol and poverty dance frenetically in the shadow of tumultuous love, but at the heart of this storm lies a silent flame, an unwavering devotion, to the written word, a warm and...

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