Best Acrylic Poems
This is a lil tribute for our beautiful 'Ink Empress' as a token of gift, on this special sunrise, as it's her Birthday today ~
She has been the guiding light for my heart and soul, in my darkest phases as she has always been there for me, emotionally, and supported me through everything.. She's the one who pushed me to join PoetrySoup in August, 2023. Dear Ink, I've found a friend in you (which I truly never had), an inspiration too for I'm a fan of your poetry...since always, a mentor who helps me to improve my skills and most importantly - You're my Guardian Fairy Goddess..Thank you so much for your amazing presence in my life... We soupers adore you!!!
As sun's splattered rings,
bestow blessings and
confetti dawns paint
champagne canvases,
she rises beyond
the scents of
cherry Luna,
drizzling like stardust,
painting mangroves
of metaphors.
She's like the mistress
of ink, with her art,
knitting feelings
in raspberry rhymes;
her haloed heartbeats
shall whisper in
poetic brushstrokes
of resilience,
above roaring tides
of 'satanic seas',
as her heart is an
'Ethereal Empress'
painting empathy
when horizons bleed
in pearlescent shine,
midst rosy sunrise.
She's an acrylic
archangel, in her
empire of
pristine poesy.
A shooting star is a blue orchid. At a Christmas party. But never in a fur coat. That would not be operable would it. Nevertheless a swinging peacock could disco dance in radiating beams from a single lamp. Heaping custard onto a crocus in a garden tent. How wise. How adoring. Scorn not a soldier in a basin. And wear ten ties. As it is often officially unsure what style of cloud will be passing. Gypsy skirted tigers sing beautifully and are always well presented. Operatic nerves of a small chimp waving. How quite quaint. Whilst the whipping of the breeze can smile in a teapot frame. Great. Clap then. Monstrous moons make minutes meekly. *** beak not a whale. *** operationally *** ha ha ha xx is a duck a dog? *** hexagonal mineral deposits xxxx aquarium ***
Frozen stars in the shadows of changing seasons, the pain of love engraved in acrylic gold
Swirls through the sunlight, draped in somber mists, the echo of endless memories
Of a timeless love story, I feel the frozen sigh of a suffering sunset
While the warm mustard dew of shifting fog gently caresses the sapphire fringes of silent seas
Singing sober melodies on the rain-kissed horizon, heavy with onyx tears of anguish
Like a black rose wilting, mourning in a mahogany coffin, locked with painful memories
Embalmed in shades of hailstorms, somewhere between split gusts and winds of sorrow
The dismal sunflower remains captive, a dusty souvenir with the grayish green of a shattered September
For every autumn hides a story, lost among the dark sights of dripping leaves
And I will always bloom from an opaque mirage, listening to the forest fading, whispering sad odes
To the melancholic wind, feeling time flow through my veins like a river of regrets
Memories melt into colors of fermented must, and my thoughts wander through labyrinths of fog
In this symphony of sadness, words dance on the knife edges of my troubled conscience
Drops of nostalgia trickle down the windows of the soul, reflecting a past that no longer exists
And I, a captive spectator in my own mind, watch as the fabric of reality unravels
Leaving behind only echoes of a love that once was, now lost in the waves of time
Thus, I float through the sea of melancholy, clinging to fragments of memories like lifebuoys
As the horizon drifts further away, and I sink into the depths of my own consciousness
Where frozen stars and wilted roses form constellations of an inner universe
Pulsating to the rhythm of a broken heart, but one that still beats, still hopes, still dreams of eternity.
I am an acrylic painter who cannot live without a variety of greens.
Green grass, green trees, green leaves, green moss, green clover.
I thought I was out of my favorite color of green yesterday.
My muse said “what about that box of green paints behind you?”
This saved me a trip to the store for there were three full tubes of it.
Green is such a nature color, I cannot fathom not having it around.
Especially when I am gearing up for Ireland’s favorite holiday.
My mother was a McCormick. I am in the throes of painting shamrocks,
Irish flags, leprechauns, mushroom houses, ivy, moss; I need green!
Colored pencils
Pastels
Sticks of chalk
Too light for me
Water colors
Doing what they want
Dribbling all over the page
Wild and free
Oil paints
Vividly beautiful
Take too long to dry
I am too impatient
Acrylic paints
Give me fluorescent colors
I have black lights
They make me happy
I take a step back and look at my canvas with inches of acrylic paint piled on as a result of trial and error.
Something is off.
Are the tones mismatched?
Why is it unbalanced?
Do I no longer like the subject matter?
I bite at my nails, I bounce my leg, my eyes dart from corner to corner.
Did I do something wrong?
I inhale and fixate on my palette.
Charcoal Gray, Crimson Red, Canary Yellow.
Beautiful, but wrong to me.
My hands open and the colors drop to the floor.
I rummage through the additional shades and pull out the one that is identical to the canvas.
The canvas I haven’t seen in years. The canvas riddled with subjective mistakes. The canvas that endured a lifetime of experimentation.
I untwist the cap, dip the brush directly inside, and slather the canvas.
Though the acrylic grew thicker and the texture of my previous strokes remained,
I was starting new.
Just a simple dancer
with a single voice.
A single trail of footsteps
A secret path to the sky.
Ballerina
~
When rain keeps falling like diamonds
my muse is finally awake,
If I fill my whole world with glitter,
A single shine is all it takes.
Glitter
~
There was a time:
when we were younger
when we flew in all our dreams.
Much time has passed:
no longer children,
But flying is still a dream.
Will you hold my hand and take me to the sky?
In the night when no one's watching can I fly?
Let's not be bound to things that we can't do.
Find me wings so that I can fly with you.
Fly
~
Even memories have become too big
to be held in my tiny heart,
And if you're here I can paint it all
With the colours of a rainbow dance.
All the colours of the rainbow
~
Under my bed,
drifting away,
falling apart,
Memories old.
Lifting them up,
I'll decorate,
giving them life,
those cobwebs.
Cobwebs
~
I may not be the talent,
I might not be the best.
But I still have an artist,
hidden within myself.
Artist
* A little side project of mine. These are incomplete songs that I've been writing. For some reason I can't seem to complete them, especially ones of this book.
Book: Acrylic
Theme: Finding beauty