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Heart of Prajna Paramita Sutra Art Poster Version by Chung, Brian
Twist The Art by Goss, Christopher
The Art of Kazoo by Wolf, Gershon
in a great art by sharma, anurag
LIFE OF ART by Kyle, Rouna
The Art by Gupta, Probir
Art Of Silence by Goss, Christopher
Art of my own by ramos, alyssa
Natural Art by Asuncion, Bernard F.
The art of movement by wade, fauxcroft

View all new Art Poems

The Best Art Poems

Details | Art Poem |

Alice Sweet Alice

      ~Alice Sweet Alice~

        *Like Sisters*
   Everyday -- Holding Hands 
Sunday Dress -- Pink Ribbons
         *Alice And I*


How can they say she did not exist?
This Sweet Girl I Named Alice

The way she looks at me
-Her eyes tender green
A body figure I can't describe
Together we played hide and seek
We swung in ways no one could see
This girl with pretty red curls
Who enjoys the sound of pouring rain.

Together we slept under the same breeze 
We carved our names on the same tree
Side by Side it Read Alice & I!
She whispered the day I fell off my bike
Alice Sweet Alice loves the way I look in red!

Every day I face the mirror
Alice puts her left hand on my right
We share the same identical scars,
Under the right and left palm.

The way she held my hand
Healed the scrapes in every fall
Beating from the bullies, she screams!
Again, Alice, whispers--- "Kill Them All!"
No one ever said a word,
When she stood by my side
Alice knew me in ways no one else did
She knew my eyes -When they cried!

Now I can't sleep,
Since, Alice has fallen back into the abyss
Forever conscious in a self-hug
--- this is no dream, it is real!

The rage inside, burns.
It took place the day she left!
Burning curtains 
Empty mirrors
This Girl Named Alice spoke of darkness,
then disappeared 

When I hear the sound of pouring rain
I stare at the shadows on the wall
Nothing feels the same,
I allow myself to soak in a darkness where it began.

My hair of red is not the same
These cuts are all that remain
The only clue in which Alice, was here!
Holding on to stainless blade, I sleep

ALICE SWEET ALICE! 
Please call my name!
Why do they whisper?
Why are they saying she never held a breath?
I know she is real, she's exist
Why else would I let her cut my wrist?

This Sweet Girl 
"I YELL FOR ALICE!"
Finally, visits again ---
But, who is to believe?
For everyone says 
Alice lives inside my head.

By:)

Details | Art Poem |

Starry Starry Night

When Wishes were made on a shooting star
The Heavens looked down and smiled
With sprinkles of stardust on a whisper of moonbeams
They created for us a child

Soothed you were by twinkling stars
In a crib that faced a velvet sky
Did Queen Cassiopeia sing you a sweet lullaby
As she heard your cries from ever so high

In the years that followed you blossomed
Joy abounded at the Wondrous You
A rare jewel that we could hardly believe was ours
A beacon lighting a path so True

We named you Vincent - Our shooting Star
We felt with the artist you identified
a gifted creativity - an affinity with stars
Sharing a world of art personified

The ‘Via Lactea’ expanded into names defined
Elliptical galaxies pondered while star gazing
Sirius the Dog Star the brightest of all
Followed by Canopus and Arcturus - Amazing

Vega - Alpha Lyrae - the Soaring Eagle
You dragged us into your nightly game
Willing participants we soared with Him
Our mundane lives now never the same

Tents were pitched on ink black nights
Constellations on high seriously contemplated
Of Draconis, Capricornus, Gemini and Aries
The Heavenly hand that had so skilfully created

You captured the Milky Way in oils and canvas
In a fashion shared with artists of old
Your palette made up of hues and shades
With flaming strokes of colors so bold

And then it all Changed 

Why did it all change? You drew within
Shutting us out despite our pleas
Your palette changed to blacks and greys
A boat rocking on emotional seas

We begged and pleaded - you shut the door
Leaving us baffled at what was wrong
Your light grew dimmer by the day
Our sorrow sang its own woeful song

And then on one starry starry night
The final flame - extinguished by you
Leaving utter devastation - bereft in its wake
Your parents’ hearts broken in two

Time heals all wounds so they say
Your farewell note being read and reread
Through tears of sadness, the hurt replaced
With acceptance and forgiveness instead.

And now as we sit years later on our porch
Staring at one star that sparkles so Bright
The words of Don McLean’s echoes in our minds
Of Vincent and his Starry Starry Night

‘For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left in sight
On that Starry Starry night
You took your life
Like sometimes lovers do

But I could have told you Vincent
This world was never meant
For one as beautiful as you’

Footnote: 
Though fictitious, this is a story that truly represents teenage Cyber bullying suicides all over the world including Asia today. The innocent victims fear blackmail and repercussions refusing to talk it over with parents or mentors. 

The parents are not even aware sometimes of the dark void of despair their child is facing and trying to address by themselves of which they have no experience and sometimes think the only way out is to end it all. 

In this cyber age, these cowardly bullies hide behind anonymity, targeting their innocent victims, spreading and sharing lies and venom. 

Hat’s off to my friend Kate Pennington of ‘Beyond a Joke’ Anti-Bullying Centre, in Sydney Australia, an amazing lady dedicated to helping the youth. 

No real names of victims have been used in this piece of poetry and any resemblance is purely coincidental.

POTW 23rd April 2017

Details | Art Poem |

KING ARTHUR - A collaboration with Darren White

He is the king of words and poets alike
Assay as you may, this man you won’t smite
His armour sparkles in night or day
Defending those too meek to say

His table is round, there's room for all
There are chairs with wheels so no one will fall
He hands out bronze goblets with sparkling wine
This king of lush gardens has spine

Renowned through the kingdom, for deeds he’s done
There is no battle, he has not won
His knights are loyal to a fault
So you better beware who you assault

Lancelot and Guinevere are by his side
Uniting followers far and wide
So sit and drink with us in harmony
And enjoy food presented artfully

Details | Art Poem |

Artillery Rain

~Perfect Rain~

I can see!
All the tribulations around
A rage against the burning wind
Nobody hears the crackling sounds in my voice
Everybody avoids feeling the smoke hidden within
A rain so deep it burns all the enamel off my skin
A rain that cut my soul in half
Two-piece that will not entwine or merge down a dragon path
I feel this eternity has no ending blaze
Trigger happy rain, extinguishing a bonfire around my rose.

I will sleep under the artillery stars tonight
With the perfection of my fiery crystal lava teardrops
Washing the ashes of my face,
Suppressing the overwhelming fear
Knowing no one will ever, "BLAME IT ON THE RAIN!" 
As long as the torch keeps loading another artillery round.

~*~
PD
4/12/12
Trashed  #3, sponsor, Broken Wings
Date Trashed November 2nd, 2015

Details | Art Poem |

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis

ONE WORD~

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, 
Running through my mind,
Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, 
Running through my veins,
                                   
A silica odor, dust walks through a fresh desert night
Cool air beneath and above the sea
A warm furnace smell, I don’t understand
Intricate to rise and receive without knowing
Up ahead in a virtue distance
A mysterious poisonous effluvium light-     
My face feels like a leaf'
My sun holds up its own pendulum rods
Inflammation comes and settles in for the night,
There it stands in a pertinacious manner, with quality
I resurrect this air created from madness, all over again
Twilight, rain stranger than strange
Visions, pursue my path into an infested dark pasture
"From the red Heaven I fell into the waters of a cobalt Hell"

Perhaps this venerable moment, will pass slower than slow
PERHAPS NOT!
If I accept, and then decline
Would this balance the precocious state I live in?
How about when wrong directions follow my promiscuous ways 
Is my conglomeration of ideas, no longer safe?	
When I no longer value the values of the young
Will I sleep at the mercy of his ancient heart
They're the voices give and take from our health

Today, those soft, perfect eyes are calling from far away,
Ashes high, vapors and infection welding me
The bright skies swallow every thin silver line,
Where the clouds sit somehow~ in bacteria
UNITY! 
   UNITY! Like a common curse
Always, wanting more than love can touch

We are living' it up with no alibis!
A way to be and not to BE!
The champagne leaves their cup
Awaken in a life, disturbed ~ NOW INTERRUPT!
Only in this world, lava will reach her lips
Prisoners and doers; 
All night…. Too late for a treatment
Lungs, decaying, evil rats
Direction, affection, ending all the inhalation

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, 
Running through my lungs,
Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, 
Flat-lined my life ____/\ /\___ ___/\______/\___ _______________

By: PD

Details | Art Poem |

A Poetry Collection


Hourglass

Sand falls
Through the glass
Love falls
Within the past
Memories dance
They never last
Head in my hands
As I stare overhead
At the hourglass


Falling Down Stairs

Stairs broken
Wheels unspoken
I fell
Grasping for air
Are you there?

Piano Keys

Playing me
Rhythms dancing free
Clouds in air
Notes tossed in despair
Are you there?


Voices

Echoes
Broken wings
Wounded sparrows sing
Clinging to clouds high in sky
Chirping symphonies
Knowing not at all the why
Never loved…
Never loved…
Never hugged
In solitude wonders fly
No one
No one is there



In the Key of Despair

Tap tap
Music in the ear
Flowing freely in the salty air
Beethoven, are you there?
In the breeze, I hear the notes
My mind runs away, it floats
Pain drowned in the river
Limbs frolic on shores of hope
Keys somber in black and white
As I touch them
It conveys the fright


Strings

Choking, not me, but the air
Credenzas and waves
Washing away the realities
Of all your trivialities
Whilst I whither and fade away
Inside a musical symphony
Strangled on lusty desires
Are you
Are you there?


Sleep

Notes hither and floating in the breeze
I look up
The moon
My last breath
My last hope
My last wish
A kiss from the one I never met
The moon hides under cloud
My eyes in tranquility close
The beat no longer in time
No longer there
Where ever I am going
My last thought
Are you there?






Violins and Other Things

Distractions
Deformed from loves inaction
Teardrops falling on time
Rolling down passages
Where darkness does dine
Notes high, notes low
Treble as I grasp the clef
The conductor knows all that is refined
In the end
He shall consume the wine
As I, was consumed by time


Masterpieces

The piano full of dust
Brushes dipped in paints
Now turn to dust
There is a poem over there
In the corner
By the naked painting
Of my Caribbean liver
That cried and wept
Day and night
Night and day
When willows swayed
And the raven landed
On the sill
Of the empty room
For I am no more

Silence whispers
Are you there?


Guitar Strings and Clouds

I caress the strings of discord
Melodies shouting
Displeasure
Credenza’s and interludes
Wine intrudes
The senses squished like sour grapes
Emotions boxed in crates
I caress philosophy
As my garden sadistically does undress
Taunting the desires of my illusions unrest
The rose and the rain drop
Embrace
I cry


Last Act

Once was life
One…… tear…   one tear…… drop
One gasp of fear
Fate licking……………………… deaths ear

Details | Art Poem |

Hidden Treasures

Listen to poem:

* * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * s * * * * * * * * *
* * t * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * *
* s t a r s * * * * *
* * * * * * * * *
* * * r * * * * * *
* * s * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * *

A
fine
Parrot Tulip
in vibrant intensities
with unique undertones
of green acquirable only in a
few forests. A ruby red swirls within
its petals beckons awareness of those very
strokes that live in the luster of your shapely lips
like fantasy realized. Mirthful yellows in all those lacquers
barely ever seen as one would scorch their eyes to gaze lastingly
directly at the Sun - though I have been fortunate to witness identical
iridescence in strands of your hair you unintentionally flip and like dainty
fingers wave me on to move closer to your flawless frame - memorized easily.
A
special
fuchsia sparingly
paints the flower they
say exists only in certain
singular gemstones yet l know
this tincture for I have seen it in your
cheeks when we play and laugh. Oh your
laugh how it fills me - replacing noise surfing
the waves of sound in the surrounding atmosphere.
How enchanting when your laughter there - dwells to
tickle molecules invisible to the eyes but felt by the human
heart. Parrot tulips with their soft myriad shades become stunning
against a deep black backdrop which shimmers bright like your ebony eyes.
Sparkle like your smile and I grin happily just thinking of you, just thinking of us.
A
pearl
white that also
adorns the flower a
special light effect I have
found in your complexion - dazzles
my mind each and every time I see you.
Parrot tulips a miracle of nature, a special
breed I admit are as remarkable as any offering
that grows in our gardens but rarer still - you the flower
I share my life with. No one, no thing, no life compares to you,
your approach - for every time I even think of you, the joy it brings
completes the meaning of my existence full. If not for you no other delight
would have that extra zest I feel from the sharing of your love and light always.
A
Parrot
tulip oh
what joy it
brings. How the flower
draws these words from
me. Ironic how true allure felt
fills our glass so I thought I'd share
with you how it uplifts my days - knowing
confident in our love as one - you'd never resent
me speaking of an elegance other than yours. So you may
know - understand what the fibers of ones constitution compels
them to write. Now - about a mystique other than the one you sport with
humility. Finally I can not write a poem on aesthetics that does not mention you.
A
closing
monologue.
Just above and
beneath the dirt grows
riches unimaginable. Made to
be absorbed by senses recognizable
only by a few. They are free for the taking.
An appreciation, a love of a natural essence.
A flower, a person, romance you breathe incomparable
to anything real or imagined. It alone are the wings we humans
seek...as real and as precious as all else consumable. How lucky I
am the magic handed out daily on these pages. The people I could never
find anywhere else then here. I am in love with their words in love with them.
barkbarkbarkbarkbark
barkbarkbarkbarkbark
barkbarkbarkbarkbark
barkbarkbarkbarkbark
barkbarkbarkbarkbark
barkbarkbarkbarkbark
barkbarkbarkbarkbark
barkbarkbarkbarkbark
earthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearth

the refrain is a parrot
tulip hidden under f
this majestic a
evergreen e
with a l
dew f
d a
r e
o l
p
s
t
e
m
earthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearth
r r r r
o o o o
o o o o
t t t t
s s s s

Details | Art Poem |

The Park Bench

The Park Bench

I wish I was a poet
With magical words
To make people see all of the absurd
Tears fly, paintings in pastel die

When we look into our mirrors
We sometimes miss
What love dumps upon all of us
We shed tears, for we forgot to shed fears

I have no legs, nor any crutches
So my voyage has ended
I only observe
Sadness upended

When goodness is confused
When gestures are refused
When the kiss that could have been
When a poets tear seems obscene

The one who hears is often deaf
The deaf sometimes have nothing left
If I could give a kiss away
I would give it to lovers with hearts that sway

Drawing love on paper in may

Details | Art Poem |

In A Sad Blindness, One May Yet Find Hope

In A Sad Blindness, One May Yet Find Hope
           (The Solemn Prayer)

Raining splashing, fierce winds blowing and huge trees sway
I pray not for all this, on some other black day
With dark blue shadows plotting my early demise
I seek deep wisdom from sages worldly and wise
Not just some clever words to soothe this shattered heart
Instead sweet hope, light in words, to this life restart
With power to waken these world-blinded closed eyes
Stop salty tear drops falling from splintered skies.

On this day, life should see past these looming black-storms
Find solace in love, hope and my loving wife's arms
Yet that stone wall, yields to nothing but great power
Far more than this broken soul can muster this hour
When thus lost, can one ever find again that Light
Healer of dagger stabbed wounds, found on a dark night
I pray, gift wisdom to walk that one true-lit path
Release this sad soul from, this evil, wicked wrath.

Raining splashing, fierce winds blowing and huge trees sway
I pray not for all this, on some other black day
With dark blue shadows plotting my early demise
I seek deep wisdom from sages worldly and wise
Not just some clever words to soothe this shattered heart
Instead sweet hope, light in words, to this life restart
With power to waken these world-blinded closed eyes
Stop salty tear drops falling from splintered skies.

Robert J. Lindley, 2-07-2017

Syllables Per Line: 
12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 0 12 12 12 12 12 12 12 12
Total # Syllables: 288
Total # Words: 225

Note-  I decided to write this poem, this morn. About half had already been composed in my head yesterday afternoon and I finally sat down now to put pen to paper.
Believe me, in that it was not an easy task to finish this and be satisfied with the results.
Maybe I am just tired and stopped because of that.
I don't know. Maybe on another day, I could have and would have thought this lacking and rewritten it..
But today, I have only enough to say, this is as it is(and thus it may stay), hope you may find it agreeable and not fault me too much .......

Details | Art Poem |

The Forest

"What happens in the forest stays in the forest"

The trees are trimmed, 
The leaves on the ground 
Proposing passion, sweet mist
Naked with nothing to bare or wear
Nature's breath lightens the atmosphere
She breathes in, he breathes out
The auditory sensation of rain 
   - drums down and deepens
The course is near its end, 
Deep in this forest night
A Gentleman among the trees, 
Hibernating new seeds 

"On the other side of the forest"
He guides a path, with ebony eyes
A convincing vent, I accept
The fear is broken, I sleep in glee
The whispers disappear 
Drying in peace by the secret bayou 
Broad leaves lay under raw landscape
Lulled by the chills he quills
A quarter past midnight 
Mr Romantic
   - prepares the new sheets of Winter. 

11-11-15
~*~

Details | Art Poem |

Try

Try to live
Try to feel pain with no tears
Try to remember years past and often lost
Try, oh try to know life need not be cold as frost

Ear not the words of those proclaiming silence
Listen to the rhythmic melody; give voice to a new start
The world will follow when you sing from your heart
Believing in things that some may only try

Try, to see, the truth is musical to you and all of thee
Telling histories with music, as soothing as can be
When you sing, and when you inspire our romance
Ones on crutches, they too shall rise and dance

Try, I beg
To see as eye
Even the ear is lost in the sky
Purest of hearts, they never die

Note: If you cant open the video, as sometimes different Countries have different copyrights, just search YOUTUBE for "Mandy Harvey: Deaf Singer With Original TRY"

Details | Art Poem |

Floccinaucinihilipilification And Very Little Bread

Floccinaucinihilipilification And Very Little Bread
       ( First of Three Poem Trilogy )

I

I've no problem with bardolatry fans
their barmecide and oft humorous rants.
Give me golden words not found in empty cans,
not bawbee's from those with sad, empty pants.
Truly I enjoy, bright golden attic wit,
creators of canorous verse that soars.
Those I may share bumbo and be a big hit
not with callithumpians that so sorely bores.

Nor do I fancy to become a bichon frise,
beholding to those with comminatory ways.
Finding some will cut you off at the knees
as a criticaster dariole for fugacious pay.
Floccinaucinihilipilification,
judged by Flews that chatter in morbid tune. 
Give me saudade and a sandy beach vacation
with very little scrippage in the month of June.

Aye, no snollygoster soucouyant will do,
for my heart and soul begs sun-grazing songs.
Not a superbious umbriferous critic or two,
with the poet's soul this body truly belongs.
Seeking no uroboros legacy my ink doth stain
as a soulcatcher with a selkie as a muse.
Alone, in this rawky terrain my life will remain
for solitude and honor my poet's heart doth choose.

I've no problem with bardolatry fans
their barmecide and oft humorous rants.
Give me golden words not found in empty cans,
not bawbee's from those with sad, empty pants.
Truly I enjoy, bright golden attic wit,
creators of canorous verse that soars.
Those I may share bumbo and be a big hit,
not with callithumpians that so sorely bores.

Robert J. Lindley, 3-21-2018
Rhyme

Note: 
Make of this what you will,
I give thus and surely shall send no bill
Yet in my poet's heart my soul oft grieves
for the Autumn colors not the decaying leaves
For the heart that yearns to write and truly give
and the mortal soul that writes to live
With inked symbols and a mind tired of toil
wading through worlds filled with pride and hidden turmoil
I write with purpose to give to others, not to take
tho' oft my poet's heart over burning coals some gladly rake.

Details | Art Poem |

The Angel Inside

Coral life forms in copious swarms
feast in the Cambrian chyme,
dividing their cells and forming their shells
to end on the seafloor as lime.
Tectonic churning and magma upturning
renders marble whiter than bone.
The marble is mined, but the cutters are blind
to the angel confined in the stone.

A young sculptor arose, with a bend in his nose
and a transcendent creative spark,
charged with ambition to fulfill a commission,
an angel for St. Dominic's Ark.
An artist sublime who will live for all time,
his genius is to see things not shown.
For an angel to achieve he first has to perceive
its splendor enclosed in the stone.

At dawning's first glow he surveys the tableau
of the blocks the stone cutters supplied.
In some he sees dreams of potential themes,
but only one holds an angel inside.
“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain 
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
The block that he chose was rejected by those
who then lied and claimed to foresee it.
 
With talent and skill he falls to with a will,
surrounded by rubble and relic.
His method you see, for the angel to free
is to remove all the bits not angelic.
Michelangelo’s art for all time stands apart
but there's something further to heed.
For there's a bit more to the fine metaphor
in the tale of the angel he freed.

“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain 
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
For in all our insides a bright angel abides
and is just waiting for something to free it:
to remove all the parts which harden our hearts,
to chip out the darkness and pride,
to smooth the rough patches, to polish the scratches
and unshackle the angel inside.

© January 26, 2013

Details | Art Poem |

Suicide Masterpiece

Suicide Masterpiece

Sweatdrop
On top
Trigger pop
Written note
All I got
Hang knot
Body rot
Suicide cop

I hope not
Cry out loud
I think not
Body's hot
I am too proud
I am loved a lot
Rooftop.
Suicide bride

Heavy rain
Your game 
the same
Trapped shame
Gone insane
Who's to blame
Red stain
Suicide rain

Addictive dope
Needle hope
Poison taste
Drowning beer
Gunshot
Painless fear
Powder nose
Suicide dose

Razor blades
Flame stare
Pain fades
Sadden tear
Candle wax
Smoke dare
Burn down
Suicide flare

No bluff
No name
War zone
Innocent prey
Soul blown
Cry all day
Set mind
Suicide bomb

Terrorist 
traffic jam
Plane jack
Headstrong
Help protect
Customs wrong
Dead plot
Suicide stop

------
stop the suicide 

by:-)

Details | Art Poem |

BASTARD

"All Children Are Beautiful"

His heart of white,   deep shallow wells,   -yet beautiful
He smirks with a grin,  an ego that won't let me in' -he's beautiful
Bastard of beauty,   running ashes without a name
A face with no claim, a young man pound from shame 
What is his sin,  -he's beautiful!
I want to breathe from his ashes, swim through his veins
I want him to come into my light, like a good man

I sing and tell a tale, "A Bastard through the night"
His eyes I wage a thousand times,  young and poor, I felt saved
Lying down in the arms of my white knight
My hair perfectly caressed,   he came to my light
The furnace burned, the night was fast becoming trite
A lover,  he did it well,   then went back to his wife
A moment of gold,  the ages live,   his son is born
   "He Was Beautiful!"

Another Bastard brought into this world

Details | Art Poem |

A Man's Tale

A man’s tale 

With mind control there he was,
A man for sale…
Hearing the vocal sound from this wordsmith, 
A man in his own tale…
Currently, he was sitting and calling upon the earth.
Prior rumors about his love for the Queen.
Yet to come would be a bard, singing for Her Majesty-

A fool wrapped in a cowardly way.
Flowers and scars sat on his floor.
A torn heart, making its way out the door.
He caresses the image of her in his mind.
This man, this bard, sang a song for the blind.

Releasing a soft note, she turns towards the sun.
Forgetting the ferocious rage of the king.
The man kneels with the light flashing in his face.
He drinks with his eyes, one moment of glee.
His headlands under the moon's winter space.

Never again, will he spend his days thinking.
Never again-
 will he feel the shivers when calling upon the earth and her beauty. 
Never will he know, he was the tune that eased her thirst.

A man’s tale always ends under a woman’s spell. 

by;PD

Details | Art Poem |

The Blind Painter

There is a part of me missing
There is a part of me that shall never be
Inside of this dark sad brooding mind
Is the painter who will never see

So I take my pen, and vaso of wine
I contemplate
I get lost in the drunkenness of time
Stooped over my own memories on a sour palette

I had the brushes staring at the naked breast
My paints were frozen, at such beauties unrest
Erect and tall, at her feet I did fall
The blind painter, who lost it all

So now you see I am a poet of some seedy sort
Painting Braille, is poetry of my last resort
I write down words with the flourish of my pen
The Braille poet, cause painting I could not fend

I take words and wish them bountiful explosive colors
If only I had talent, a painter and not a story teller
So for me, in pain and clad in the cloth of sadness
I write words, for this painter has only Braille

I have no painting brushes
I possess no smile, wandering along on wistful miles
Of blindness, blowing in the winds of the frail
No map for the future, and yet I set sail

Hoping my words one day will be seen
By an artist who paints the soul and the serene
She takes my blindness and paints boldly my dreams
Taking my words, from Braille to bright pastel creams

Details | Art Poem |

Humanity

Shadow not over the words of love
Love is a language known only to the heart
Hear it in the wind and the birds above
Paint it on a canvas skin and call it art

Eternal beauty walks among us all
Seekers of knowledge may know its name
But true wisdom lies in hearing its call
As the oceans causes the moon to wane

Its gentle touch, abundantly crystalline
Euphoric in nature, its secret is kept
With its healing powers all part divine
Though many an angel from love has wept

Compassion and caring, make love's trinity
And kindness a guide that leads to bliss
So make love your one and true reality
For you are worth much more than this

Details | Art Poem |

Your Smile Sends Me


You were sly with your wanton  stare 
How you seduced me with only a look
Neither classic nor found in any  book
Unique to you it was somewhat unfair
While I was naked just standing there

The strokes so quick we barely...met
I do not know how the pallet had felt
But I feared my whiskers would  melt
As I kissed the canvas, us two a duet
A miracle occurred as the paints...set

I the paint brush marveled at your smile
You - The Mona Lisa the epitome of style


01~13~2015
Sponsor: Rick Parise
Inspired By The Mona Lisa
Painted By Leonardo da Vinci

Details | Art Poem |

Moonlight Madness

MOONLIGHT MADNESS

The moon falls out like a secret above the frisky clouds
Daylight and night the stars come in crowds
Like a glistening diamond, I can't stop staring
Mixed-up in that moment that has no time sharing

Holding onto the tip of the tree limbs like a puppeteer
I can hear the words the moon whispers into my ear

TONIGHT! 
I will illuminate into a world only I know of
My very own little secret sparkling island getaway
A world where beauty hides the beast
I'll be the only exile under a sunless night feast

TONIGHT! 
I'm going to pass on all my secrets away---
As I have on my dreaming moonlit gear
Comfort upon this mundane wonder, astronomical sphere. 

TONIGHT!
I looked one last time at the mooned night
I will close my eyes, and find myself in a box kite flight.

TONIGHT! 
I will lay myself down to sleep, 
Not allowing my imagination to rinse off with wild sheep
Like a Nightingale, I rather sit and serenade myself to sleep
With the refreshing thought, the moon is like the pillow I keep

In this mad, mad world!
The moon seems to be the only object that holds it's sanity
Arousing me with it's inner peace and spirituality

Details | Art Poem |

India

I hear much joy in the music,
View elation in the dance
Feel happiness in the laughter,
Soulful spirit in poetic romance.

I feel love in the language
Swelling in my heart.
Reverence for God and Goddess
In beloved families far apart.

I love the customs and the people
As they celebrate each day
Living life to the fullest
In their honor I wish to pray

That I may learn to be as humble
As loving and as kind,
To be blessed by elder wisdom
In every senior that I find.

This is a gift to give my children
To open their sleepy little eyes.
To see the value in rejoicing,
To reach for stars up in the skies.

When they learn this knowledge 
To listen well to the sages,
They will know of sacred secrets
Handed down through the ages.

© 2014 Connie Marcum Wong

Details | Art Poem |

- A Most Beautiful Symphony of Love -

 
Rhythmic tones form a most beautiful symphony of love 
A shining star as nature's splendor reflects Heaven’s light 
It’s my destiny to learn a passion and purpose to use now 
Even for a moment, I would not change for you’re my love 
And love is a blessing, an eternal gift that keeps on giving 
Take your wish, shattered dreams—leave this world behind 
And we shall seek and find a togetherness with lullabies pure 
For each new emotion my heart shall always find you dearest 
 
Sending warm golden stirring echoes dancing into your dreams 
Softly lips whispering so gently in the air as a loving tune sings 
As the warm sun lights up our footsteps treading on golden sands 
Perfect maiden you’re the siren ringing bells for midnight chimes 
True precious bride inside the heart you have keys to all the doors 
Walk with me hand in hand as the soul breathes and butterflies sigh 
Ocean waves crash—kissing salt of the earth as windows flutter free 
Safely sitting on the throne as the crown graces a fair maiden queen 
 
Our special music reflects the precious nature of our love dearest 
As we share enchanted moments with each other so real and pure  
When I take your hand in mine, I feel the magic warmth of passion 
When I gaze into your eyes, I sense the depth of our love forever 
The delight I share with you dear one defies all human description 
And so my love—enjoy the oneness we share as two souls together 
As we bask in God’s own heavenly light and music in His Universe 
Our hearts unite as one in forming a most beautiful symphony of love 




 
Anne-Lise Andresen, Liam McDaid, and Gary Bateman © 
A Collaborated Poem – June 22, 2015
Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Details | Art Poem |

The Gift of Poetry

A poet enters a private sanctuary,
A sacred place where the imagination
Dwells with a mélange of emotions
Conceived by aesthetic beauty,
Often divine and esoteric in nature;
That comprehensive longing to
Express through common language
That which is so vitally uncommon. 
Words that seek to form a bridge 
Between intellectual abstract thought
And the world of the inarticulate.

A way to express the depth of sorrow
While having it become a cathartic
Release, thereby relating to others
In commiseration and heartfelt empathy.
Poetry has the ability to help, to heal.
To reach souls enduring that same pain
May be a blessed gift poetry genuinely
Offers in a nonintrusive manner, helping
Lonely souls know they are not alone.

No-one escapes the loving light poetry sheds.
It dwells inside each of us, realized or not.
It teaches with simplicity, expands the mind,
Ingratiates itself without any effort when
Expressed with forethought and integrity.
It may stir emotions from the most stoic.
Speech itself, lives and breathes, and is poetic. 
Acquiesce to that silent voice inside which 
prevails upon the heart to be released in verse.

Poetry may elevate our spirit with such intensity 
To generate a feeling akin to euphoric bliss.
Poets, honored in past glory with the status of Kings,
Now dwell in a world often misunderstood by the
Masses too busy to take the time to regard its worth.
How fortunate for the insightful who appreciate and
Embrace the ageless, immortal soul poetry provides.
They are blessed and will give birth to future poets.

© Connie Marcum Wong

Details | Art Poem |

SHADES OF MY GLOOM


In vertigo of night, in their riddled trance 
Boldness of petals melt on washed-out shades,
As faces etch a quiet gloom in varied hues
Capturing splashed oil, neutral and bright
While I gaze longingly at a portrait…
Man and wife , as if  holding a child almost
Unseen …hidden through a float of blue-white.

Through dimming pain, a view lights up for a time
Where orange of moonlight quietly slips
Amid this rosette outburst and aching gray,
With blossoms strewn along pale candlelight…
How languid colors begin to mold my thoughts
Drowning in a pang of loneliness… I ask 
In silence..are the couple ,the babe dying?...dead?
And the fusion of tender, lonely motif allows me
To weep inside, captive in a gasping moan... the kind 
Which shapes a tone between life and elegy.



---------
Frank Herrera's  Contest: YOUR PERSONAL BEST of 2016
Written 5/09/2016        Re-submitted 10/18/2016
POTD Awardee
------------------
Inspiration from the painting, Les Amoureux en Gris
Artist: Expressionist, Marc Chagall ( illustration included)

Details | Art Poem |

Yet My Mind Holds Invincible Summer Hues

Yet My Mind Holds Invincible Summer Hues

Bitter cold, ice ravages red-cliffs in my veins
Yet my mind holds invincible summer hues
O' Darkness thy black-hand my spirit restrains
Tho' thy power rages from thy dark Lord's pews

Flee thee far back into thy dark Lord's abode
Plead thy master, at Byrnhilda's rock for aid
Summer's warmth, my fiery embers sent explode
My Viking blood, proves I am iron made

With such power I banish thee with one breath
Tho' thy great wealth of evil is fierce and strong
Birthright, I draw residues from Odin's death
Epic strength and power from Valkyries's song

Bitter cold, ice ravages red-cliffs in my veins
Yet my mind holds invincible summer hues
O' Darkness thy black-hand my spirit restrains
Tho' thy power rages from thy dark Lord's pews

Carry thy dark master this warning I send
With shields of truth, and armored Nordic powers
And with soul's all, and all my strength I defend
Against stones thrown from Dark Lord's brimstone towers

When Valhalla's halls open for my passing
And Odin sits with mighty Thor at his side
Few will have entered in this pledge surpassing
Held firm, courage, loyalty and Viking pride

Bitter cold, ice ravages red-cliffs in my veins
Yet my mind holds invincible summer hues
O' Darkness thy black-hand my spirit restrains
Tho' thy power rages from thy dark Lord's pews

Robert J. Lindley, 8-19-2016

Syllables Per Line: 	
11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11
0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11
Total # Syllables: 	308
Total # Words: 	221

Note: I was bored this afternoon, decided to finish last 12 verses to this poem.
Begun as a tribute to my Viking heritage..
Hope you may enjoy it my friends..