Hear the voice of the new dawn, rising from the silent dust.
She will strip the lies away, break the heavy chains of rust.
Will you buy her art of flame? Will you back her brilliant mind?
She will shape the coming age, leave the old world far behind.
Every word is bold and true, stretching out to touch the sky.
She can make the hardest hearts stop and listen, laugh, or cry.
Do not let this talent fade! She is writing history.
Read the verses of her soul, solve her lovely mystery.
She will challenge every norm, push the boundaries of our day.
She is worth your great support, do not look the other way!
picture perfect
you are
and your photography
you captured me
literally
picturesque
artistry
all I have of you
is this photograph
memories
engraved in my mind
I've written you deep into the complexities of my mind
permanently, writing
poetry
I've captured your love (with my love for words and phrases)
and your grace
(I mean I catch your grace through my eyes)
this picture, this story
the glimpses
is so much more
it's deeper than
- long-suffering
- long-lasting
I long to see the world through your beautiful brown eyes
you captured me
Limbs still cling to their withering leaves.
Shimmering in sunlight like flames of fire,
they flutter in the morning breeze.
Autumn's splendor is Nature's masterpiece,
painted in shades of russet and gold.
M-onocrostics
A-re
R-eally
I-mpressive,
C-onsidering
O-ne
R-hetoric
©bfa061025
Monocrostic (Birthday of Maricor T. Oxina)
Everybody cooks at their own time and temperature.
Your journey is for you, mine, uniquely, for me.
We are not 'sameness-evolved' meant to be.
We all grow our spirits separately,
so, too, our emotions and philosophies.
Uniqueness serves our soul’s artistry.
Some of us are new souls, others advanced.
Earth-mingling our unique is not circumstance.
If manifesting divine potential were a tangible,
it would be a puzzle of pieces non-sequential.
When souls combine the 'know' their lives did grow,
various, glorious soul-twinkles will truth guide us.
We are same totally loved, differently etched.
Each of us, a spiritual beacon from His Kingdom,
may, in time, entwine to design a brand new Eden.
Green is green and must be that, but blue is none the worse for it.
imagination
explodes on a blank canvas
a masterpiece lives
The art was most masterful on the dark canvas-
a background that set up a stage for unfolding
explosions of light neath the growling of thunder
as swift swords of steel slash full clouds once holding-
the deluge escaping as glistening wonder.
The art was most masterful on the dark canvas.
The Moon hid behind the dark battle ongoing;
her sky was at war and the bullets were flying.
As lightning exploded, dark clouds began flowing.
The art was amazing- though fright left me sighing.
Life inspirations to create
Comes from the soul that has lived
The daunting task to survive
Pain of the heart that tears you in half
Love that fill warmth to all that is touched
Moments of life memories spur the pen
Captured time of life scenes in pictures and movies
Thoughts that give way to a story
Feelings that over takes the raw emotions
Music that creates the image inside the mind to a great crescendo
That wills the creation of a new inspiration to pen
The imagination of
Artistry
Old leaves glow bright before my eyes-
cascade from trees 'neath windswept skies
to twirl and swirl to earth, unbound;
weave colored quilts that warm the ground.
Like a chameleon, leaves turned,
from verdant shades- to saffron-burned.
With brushstroked streaks of marigold,
bright, speckled landscapes did unfold.
Throughout the cool and crispy days,
rich copper and soft pumpkin haze
paint growth along the country lanes-
to fields of harvest on the plains.
And as Monet used stippled hues-
Fall gifts its canvases of views,
as nature's artistry of dreams
unfolds its grand, most brilliant schemes.
Autumn uses a painter's brush
To color rustic landscape scenes.
Leaves turn crimson, as if they blush
Golden harvests, the farmer gleans.
An artist who makes my eyes weep,
Autumn uses a painter's brush
to wither the leaves, trees can't keep.
They tumble in a windswept rush
There's the trilling of a wood thrush.
A melodious song it sings.
Autumn uses a painter's brush
on canvas, where one last leaf clings.
Upon the ground beneath the elms,
Fall's burnished beauty makes one gush.
Its palette of hues overwhelms.
Autumn uses a painter's brush.
Nature's artistry oft leaves me in awe,
Her palette of colors is amazing.
Her art evokes feelings, primal and raw;
that leave me breathless, merely stargazing.
Her ocean's a menagerie of fish,
of every shape and color one could wish,
swimming amidst splendiferous shellfish.
Her flowers are a marvel to behold,
especially when their petals unfold,
revealing blooms that are strikingly bold.
She sculpts mountain ranges without a flaw
and frosts Earth's poles with an icy glazing.
Volcanoes erupt from a dormant dish,
to an inferno; the Earth's Hers to mold.
Master Artist
Wayside flowers bloom
Clouds float in an azure sky
Our Creator’s art
© 09/07/22 Del Jeanne Mathews
It was your artistry that I had always beheld in envy.
It was your poetry that inspired me to write my own aplenty.
It was your amity that was gone for what seemed to be an eternity.
It was your artistry that kept me holding onto our affinity.
Life is my destiny.
My heart holds mastery over me.
Poetry is my artistry.
My mind is a gallery within me.
Loneliness is my enemy.
My strength a remedy for me.
Music is my ecstasy.
My being in harmony within me.
See her See me in Artistry
A portrait reveals one’s secrets age-old
Eyes tell a story without being told.Quote - poets own.
I look into her eyes and find myself
Feel all the hurts that I have ever felt
A grown woman and beauteous she is
Her refinement captured by the artist.
A little wry smile, a glint in her eyes
What observer could not be mesmerised
Sitting elegantly, posture demure
With the charm of mysterious allure.
I recall myself when I was a child
Unable to run free, forlorn, fragile
Time passes, we progress and learn to love
Counting our many blessings from above.
A magnificent creation of art
Captivating viewers hearts from the start
Sung and written of often down the years
Reducing many to weep silent tears.
Mona Lisa, I am her, she is me
Painting by Leonardo da Vinci.
9th November 2021
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