Best Acrylics Poems
Color my day magical, paint my day lavender.
Throw in some glitter, some glitz and some fun.
A day with good friends, who laugh at the right times,
Who know when to hug, and know when you need to cry,
Staying silent, standing helpfully, lovingly by.
Color my day joyful, and enthusiastically prancy.
I know my friends are coming, so I am feeling quite dancy.
Color my day exciting, color my day glittery with acrylics and neon.
Paint it in fun, wholesome and spectacularly freeing and fine.
Color my day.
Paint it lavishly with oranges and purples.
Throw in plenty of pink, of the hottest and happiest hue.
Color my day magical.
Color it marvelous.
Color it wonderful.
Here are my friends.
Let’s paint them,
But save some of the color
For me, as I want to be as magical
As possible. Rainbow me up. Be daring and wild.
You cannot hurt me; I am a rainy-day child.
He is silence,
crowned in rosy rhymes,
sprinkling balmy rain
upon frail flowers.
misunderstood, yet
beneath his armor,
is the selfless moon,
bestowing starlight.
when darkness unfolds,
time may be cruel,
but seasons can't wilt
soft-spoken sagas,
echoing amidst
hushed sanctuaries.
he shoulders the weight
of a true savior.
suppressing his need
to be heard and seen,
in a world so dark
and misleading,
he remains throned to
an emerald
garden, that glows
as the king of
picturesque patience.
painting the wrongs right
through butterfly strokes,
of everlasting
acrylics, in gold
across mourning skies.
T i m e stops for no one,
as searing seconds swerve
through seasonal squalls,
thawing frost that sleeps upon
the necks of onyx roses,
where pain is etched in skeletal sins~
across pruned plumes,
fleeting through amethyst air,
merged in changing frequencies
of wind and waves,
carrying ballads of a bruised bluebird.
But I have long known grief,
and I’ve tasted the bittersweet
cocktails of life and love.
I am s i l e n c e,
swirling amidst the wheels
of dusk and dawn,
like the unseen flares
of blazing boulevards,
for I am made from ashes of steel,
strong to the eyes
that see not beyond bleeding sighs.
I waltz faster than
my fears can grasp,
the obsidian t e a r s of petals,
leaving each abstract sunset
sketched in acrylics
on murky meadows,
thriving with grieving geraniums.
O beloved moon,
I see lakes of Elysium
through the chained windows
of my tortured tower.
I breathe against the
crystalline concoctions
composed from the ink
of curved constellations,
erasing kismet calligraphies,
cluttered with chaotic conclusions,
sailing toward an astrological sphere,
where colors of love
run free against
the gravity of diabolical dust,
designed on rings of rust.
So let me save the twilight sage,
before the last drop of wintry rage
is no longer tamed by the
treacherous tongue of fate,
for I am armored against
the demonic drumrolls,
luring the splitting sea-surge
to a bioluminescent shore
where Lucifer’s footsteps linger,
caressing the edges of snakeskin,
mimicking merciless mantras
of Medusa melodies,
orchestrated in seething strings,
oblivious to the t r u t h
that I am more than
a wounded warrior,
dressed in whimsical wisterias.
I’ve learned to let go
of every faltering feather,
that blinded me,
pushing my patience
into a labyrinth of tilted tulips,
tainted with twisted tones
and hues of hypocrisy.
Remember,
I am more than the splitting paranoia,
running through corridors of uncertainty,
I am flashlights in the monsoon sky~
emanating petrichor pastels
upon nocturnal nightingales,
singing without words,
dreaming amidst trickling chords.
~ and this is the truth of trembling t i m e
that halts not for the sleeping supernovas ~
I d r
e a
m away
from the golden-laced drapes,
tracing smoke-veiled cloudscapes,
reminiscing rainbow reveries,
raining with musical laughter,
mirroring the sun within
my maternal spirit,
drawing cerulean smiles
across the kaleidoscopic sky
with initials of my
beloved June child.
As in acrylics, I find happiness,
and in palettes of pastels
I feel the twilight twinkles of time,
revealing rosemary reasons to rhyme
in rhinestone radiance,
releasing runes ~
ricocheting colors
of my hibiscus heartbeat…
O kismet constellations,
I breathe glitters of gratitude
to the sapphire stars
and swirling sparks
drifting through shifting monsoons,
cradled in the
blissful sighs of my son.
For in his presence,
murky mists of melancholy
fade into neon nothingness;
in his words,
a thousand gardens glisten and glow;
in his eyes,
I see hues of hope ~
ballad of a seraphic summer.
Perhaps, the voice of this
unconditional love remains
the synonym of happiness,
the syllables of zen,
and the metaphors of euphoria,
bound to the skin ~
of rooted truth,
truth of a mother
dressed in the dulcet dews
seized from the dawn
when he learned the light of life…
So let me rephrase,
in redundant dialects,
to write in coherent cadence,
of the warmth I weave,
of the peace I paint,
within jeweled lines of lavender…
I smile not because I see no sorrow,
but because my existence
is a mere iron-arched
gateway to guide astral rays
above the island shores
where his footprints echo,
porcelain patterns,
erasing fringes from
the blemished blurs
of grieving moonlight
caressing the sanguine sea
rippling with turquoise tranquility ~
a tale of teal tomorrow...
Written: January 06, 2023
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Nighttime hypnotic dreams flow
a starry heart swirls
heavenly sequins sparkle,
gold moonlight reflects off crystal seas
an evening full of wonder
an exquisite tapestry, a secret story,
pure opal-colored mist
as you moonwalk, be astounded.
A whispered melody carries
the allure of a summer night
pearly moonlight falls on trees,
a gleaming breeze-kissed track
lucid, synchronized star trails
floating akin to a precious gem
origami nebulae with avid care,
sparks seldom appear quiet
dwarf firefly with jewel-like lights
fliers soar through the night,
exuberant filigree wings
their gentle glow soothes Void.
Amidst the mayhem, we have visions
a global canvas upholds hope
vivid acrylics fit well with warm ochres,
creativity abounds as the sun sets
the glow of a fantasy is stellar
a soft glow leads the way
glitter and dance are in sync,
Incredible for everybody
night gradually awakens
this grand adventure fuels dreams,
fireflies are lighting up our path
woods and meadows hide secrets
light reveals verdant grass.
altering the location.
Time: Out
A ripple in the fabric of the universe.
Forward and backward in time,
It's only been a couple of weeks.
Cycles.
Clock’s ticking.
Breathless, the cold entrance of space.
Two hands without any hint of motion,
a blue star no longer scattering sunlight.
Time: In
Closing the curtains over stained glass.
Lillies and lotuses blackened with acrylics,
a plaid dress with white and red paint.
Nocturnal notes fill the air with uncertainty.
Forward, back, continuous unconscious motions.
Cracks exposed on sidewalks, walls, and my skin.
The things I could’ve done,
we’re gonna scorch the planet in fire.
Time's up.
Lost in the madness (that always is you)
Nightmare acrylics in lipstick stain passions
Blush on the fingers as mist falls the ground
Silhouettes linger in street shadow fashions
Nowhere is everywhere, you can be found
Gripping these sheets as the echoes are haunting
Calling the moon every name in the book
Hearing your voice, in my head loudly taunting
Beyond the glass it is so hard to look
Angst lends a tear, as if I might need any
Tissues fall stained of the puddles that seep
Hours now counted, like minutes, too many
Endless, the thoughts fill the sorrows I keep
Trying to stand but the weight leaves me bending
Exhaling breath when I barely can breathe
Needle and thread, here’s my flesh, start the mending
Truth, now a lie if that’s all you believe
Steady I run as the alleyway crumbles
Cobblestone darkness, my fears come to chase
Once this was life, now a staircase of stumbles
Memories etched that I cannot replace
So here I lie with my eyes to the ceiling
Outlines of yesterdays, my only view
Midnight confessions, an uneasy feeling
Lost in the madness that always is you
I’m a wild tulip, bending but
breathing beneath
a star-burnished breeze,
skimming the blazing
silk of supernova dust,
as sirens ricochet through
honeyed silence,
as though no dream has forgotten
the music of my muse,
whilst I sip from
the sky of ethereal ink:
his skin ~ my orbit,
his eyes ~ my ocean,
his lips ~ my universe,
pulling me to the
depths of desire,
for our light sings amidst
stillness that floats through ~
like an aquatic garden,
where water orchestrates
tides of temptation
and trembling tercets,
composing currents
of careful devotion…
O mystical moon,
must I serenade the sparks
that bloom beneath
your cosmic gaze?
I feel the astral frequency
of galaxies within veins,
like whimsical waves touching
the shifting shades
of shimmering silver,
whilst I remain apologetic
for the erased cadence of charm,
unlearned in quietness
amidst unseen constellations,
quivering in sync
with the quintessence
of quenched vows…
I was never a promised island ~
but a forgotten home,
with walls aching to be heard
beyond avoidant acrylics,
framed in rhinestone regrets.
So take me ~ twirl me,
like a swirling sapphire
carrying chaos of celestial flickers,
twisting and teasing
through traveling time of tornadoes…
Forgive me, as I relinquish
the mythical waterfalls,
their addictive affections
falling too fleetingly
for Capricorn captivation.
I am more than a mere vanilla version
of a vision illustrated in loneliness,
sugarcoated in rose-ruffled mists,
when dusk itself
drowned in drumbeats of disarray…
Written: January 06, 2024
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Shimmering swaths
of cerulean sea
ionize comely light
purple-tinged sand
strewn with tattered shells
during low tide,
summon imperial thrones,
tartly lovely youth
amid sparkling Tyrian swells,
whilst peering
solace amid
vibrant splendor
of landscape,
as serene slopes
and lucid pleas prevail,
I wait with ebbed breath
for an ethereal grace
to ignite a spark
of hope.
We haven't touched yet,
we're just syncing
over ariose love song,
as warm rain and clouds—bow
"Salut d'amour",
violins string opalescent tones
that rise and fall in pitch,
as a link to ink
an iridescent origami doodle
of a jewel-lit song,
summer nights of
ochre acrylics—a plethora
of fairy flickers and fireflies
amid a flurry of filigree,
to inveigle her into playing.
We draw on our kinship
as we float freely,
over crestfallen ocean
a pen swayed in time,
with an Elysian rim
on my horizon,
I whirl my love whims
and swirl the walnut wood
in disconsolate loops,
In a spice grist mill
sprinkles to spice my life.
Keys and gaunt codes
to demure this dalliance
served with Mirabelle tart
and for the sake of Muscat,
as the breeze tickles
those are my shutters
I fantasize about lying,
over her fastidious breast
as empyreal lee of
a sun-kissed knoll,
should she ever grasp
my hand and our
lips converge,
in an esoteric way
would we fit snugly?
as a dovetail joint in unison,
or would we plummet?
to our deaths
in shattered light?
8th place contest winner
In realms of peace I do release for my thoughts reveal their pathos
In a melancholy state a wasted weight I encroach the chronic chaos
As unpredictable I am invincible a valiant warrior to keep serenity
Forevermore in search of calm a poetic psalm an ambient amenity
And thus I walk and tastily talk thru natures floral flourishing fields
Above azure skies that fill my eyes with wonder and youthful yields
Then in a gloaming graze like a crystal haze I fall asleep by rivers side
Frosted dreams near river streams sprinkles of Angels as they stride.
Aug.09.2017
Eight word challenge
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
1.Crystal 2.Gloaming 3.Frosted 4. Forevermore 5. Pathos 6. Valiant 7. Melancholy 8. Unpredictable
Illustration by same poet...markers and some acrylics...a quick rendering...
Marble hatched haven communes; helixicly hewn canvas' brushed within
Acidulous acrylics of adumbrated conjectual forms....
Spawn tipped dippings upon the collateral cliffs edging these, layaway hues?!
Deciphered shades in monochrome pitch pigments beneath the jaded jejunes
Manic manifestations, over-looking the colourant gangrene valley below
While as maritime merchants lifted from the pedagogue palettes of
Row your boats....
Climb their municipal born mast in marauds malice from afar
Signaling unto the watchtower through their Socratic spyglass optics
Inceptions intruder, standing tall and coming ashore; red rum....
...."Hurry, someone save the Queen!?"
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Rembrants lost rocking chair moment in, artistic meritime manifestations ~
Note: Smile ~ I thought that I would offer up a bit of hopeful ice-breaking
and light-hearted humour upon this glorious and lovely "New Years Day" ~
Smile ~ "My 'Love & Warmth,' Always," John!:) ~ Ps. "En' Si Viod" ~
When nylon nights
trade crystal colours
in the stalls of nimble
butterfly wings,
I blossom as an
irenic origami
fervently fabricated
with snowflakes of
greedy gloom,
stealing royal violets
from the smokey estuaries
flowing beneath the
heavens befogged
with indigos, glistening
in periwinkle-arcs of
abstract auroras.
I reminisce those
amaranth stars
that whisper
graphical pantoums in
pearlescent pixels
of plum pentagon-
shaped skies,
as everytime when
porcelain acrylics
get spilt upon mauve
pages ribboned
with hydrangeas,
my orchid lips spin
a twist of leathered
spells amidst
frozen fahrenheit of
frostbit textures.
Painting heliotropic
oxygen with brushstrokes
of peony petals,
I carry unspoken
words of iris,
so that artificial aroma
within sculptured truths
remains caged
behind these dark
magenta carnations
printed upon
cashmere curtains
of hallucinating hyacinths.
Do photogenic pansies
never get frozen in iced pyre
of parched patchworks?
For, I believe that,
drowsy poppies
too have streaks of
wine stories
to narrate in their
ages of ache.
Perhaps, I'm a
glasswinged sorceress
of arctic hailstorms,
tracing phlox-
fluorescent forests
with tropical crayons,
as oiled hues of
multi-dusks flutter
across lavender orbs,
sprinkling mauve
dewdrops upon
watercolor dusts of
pencil-shaded luna
who unlocks
silver secrets
with skeleton key,
washing my bones
with lilac fog.
So, when these
thistle shaded leaves
crack their crystal
cocoons and
the sun sheds its
fluffed feathers
of hibernation,
meet me along the
horizons where
bright Veronica
takes the shape of
the moon and
reincarnates as a
crocheted sangria
memory along the
translucent sleet of
snowy sights.
My skin is softer
than raisin pearls
of mulberry seas,
as my spirit is stained
with glamorous grape
dyes and amethyst-fresco
distemper across bitter
skies has discoloured
every apathetic shade
that doesn't seem to
define my airbrushed
heather heart.
Paint
Pictures painted with acrylics
Finger paint or watercolours
Paint on walls
Not on floors!
Faces smeared in war paint
Finger prints smothering everything
Picturesque paintings
Hanging proud
The centre piece for all to see
Paints in all the colours
Red, orange, yellow,
Green, blue, indigo, violet
Black, grey, white
And brown!
Paint spread from wall to wall
On paper, posters
Canvas and card
All sorts of paintings
Covered In paint
So many ways to colour this world
Paint, fabulous paint!
a 1 2 3 4 is not a 1 2 1 2 nor a 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8....ok then hum....x
A house trained duck could run amok in even the most tightest fitting apron but alchemy weaving leathers are best placed on legs measuring over an acre. It is to be acclimatised to a storm pattern syndrome of striped sun on a grey background but it could also be ascertained that travelling backwards at high speed down a motorway slip road is best achieved carrying one potato, a giant melon tree, and a tricycle. For to dare is to do and to do is to drop dig dreaming dramas dramatically. And to add to such fine grammar one might also assume that a locked gate is as abhorrent as a shut and bolted door. For it is as the horse trots. As the pig whistles. And as the barn creaks. That the fine acrylics begin annual waltzing duties with the glasses of peanut juice. Great. How very marvellous that is. Is it not the hidden virtue of every acolyte that hides the hidden and haves the heaving holders? Is it to be beholden or frenetically ejected via pulsation? The sanctimonious baby sea lion is sat on a third angled throne. In deep contemplation but writing memoirs to a shoal of snowmen is often a worthwhile endeavour. Painful plant pot planting pickles. And a wonderful world wide deity in an orchestrated diagrammatic map. Oh how poignant the points of the programmable playlist playing pianos. And yet the mop moves monotonously and the cloth cleverly cleans. Fantastic news for frog shop fans at a baseball game. Ha. Now send that sponge by rail not plane. Hahaha saviours swinging speedily hahaha Astronaughts and whales balancing. Xxxxx brontosaurus Z z z z
Clouds spiral down and curl around to touch me
—not those western drizzle shrouds
baring a soul of misery mizzle
...though I adore a good wallow in sorrow —no
these clouds come from yonder bluebird wilds
white cirrus wispy and whispery dance around me
I steal one to wear across my shoulders
like a platinum’s blonde’s faux stole
they come to me like papier-mâché angels —no no
that’s too cliché… and passé for I’m far beyond
the Godly touch of angels… hmm.. they come to me
like a lover —no too easy …like a heartbreak-er lover!
yah I’ll go with that and get a taboo tattoo of his name
anyway the clouds they find me where I stand
dissatisfied with being satisfied
the result of my cool cat face seduction
I wear a crimson bee balm boutonniere
display it on my plunging V lapel but
it attracts wasps instead of honey bees; I find
danger brings a secret pleasure to my displeasure
my leopard print pants (red sky colored)
stirs sir knight with his bridled gaze and walking stick
he watches my next move on the chessboard
tries to guess my breezy strategy
my hands behind my head legs crossed
maybe it’s a white crested ocean I'm floating on
—or wrestling with— either way
I’m here to play and paint a displeased scene
watercolors? they’re just transparent hues
applied to my white background
depending on the mood of my mood ring —but
when acrylics bleed it’s harder to see the scene
colors escape their space creating a slurry
of what is where where is when when is why
and why don’t know why ..what?! but I know how
blurry lines take on a life of their own
and shapes a new fate from ‘no gesso’ mistakes
I could switch my style to snarly tiger stripes today
and gladly take that horse-headed knight down
that wooden old guard has new orders
he’s suspicious of me scrutinizes me
but only half as much as I’m used to
his right hand on his monocle
—the other eye blind
just beyond the reach of his walking stick
I free my torso of its purple grapevine corset
uncinching my fake waisted form —I muse
if my time as a wastrel was wasted or invested
oh …the monocle is telescoping me again
I shimmy lose my butterfly wings
slap him as I flap them and fly away
it’s hard to know if I’m still beautiful
or if I’m just broken
—either way I embrace the rainy side of the rainbow
happily discontent