Best Artist Poems
Stillborn
a mood of aberrant colour
a stain on the Artist’s worlds
a heart pulsating with pain
a wide range of intense ardour
mixed on a fine palette
and a paintbrush adorning the world
with colours of imagination, Faith and Art
real canvases of human nature flesh
and the lifeblood of Nature
Portraits blooming in light
transcending the language of words
A language of infinite shades
shed in the heart of the Artist
a grand soul learnt to board a world
of no fences.. of no walls
In a silent dark night
he played on the hues of life
a unique music was composed
“The Starry Night”
a music that reached sombre states
unrevealed imagination.. untraveled meditation
a powerful vision and feelings
rising above what minds can ever decrypt
for a beholder
to see the depths
to feel the colours
to taste the pain
to read the music
A flow that never stops
the tone and texture of his passion
in motion..
miles away from a still life
an Artist turning his back
on the world of commas and full stops
How can a colour succumb to hindrance?
how can a hand hamper a paintbrush dance?
how can an Artist turn a dead heart to Nature canvas?
how can we fathom an ocean of many branches?
A “madman” in the mind of the mundane
Solitude, the Artist’s glorious moments in time
and boon..
A divine enchantment
a Self and Soul harmony
melting wholly in his Nature and whole
riding high in the wealth of lore
a meager body left behind
and the hand of the Artist entranced
drew a tortured portrait
his body was the canvas
his paintbrush bleeding in a crimson shade
a lost spirit in the monde of the mundane
the Artist.
*****
* Vincent Van Gogh, an inspiring Artist!
"The Artist", humble impressions on a human nature born just to create what is true from what is real..
To every Artist whose feel and language transcend the known.. whose heart and mind on a ride to attain the finest of beauty..
To every Artist who finds solace in an imposed solitude as the world of the mundane fails to decode his very unique language..
To every Artist who refuses to compromise and walks paths of wonder and beauty with a feel of torturing loneliness..
Favorite Artist,
A romantic,
A dreamer.
Choice for a favorite artist,
that would be,
Me.
~
I grew up in a family of seven children.
As the oldest I found myself entranced and driven.
Then, other times in a pensive mood
to be alone, in a quiet place, bliss of solitude.
I would sneak away and hide in different places.
No, sound or faces; leave no traces
just my chalks, pencils, and drawing pads
drawing traces of faces among them mom and dads.
As I grew older, I used my talent
to earn a living, every day was a brand-new challenge
discovering new things about me.
Excited and amazed of my talents, I started teaching
reaching for those that had talent, but lacking
self-esteem and making their dreams come true.
Then again, another phase of my life, I pursued
finding myself as a poet, a healing of my soul,
a journey to the depths,
food for substance that made me whole.
~
Being an artist has let me see and feel into my human self
with more meaning and understanding to life.
11/11/2019
Confusing thoughts in Fall, me ceased to stalk
worries into the heart, floated and stepped aside
wonders from afar spreading their smiles in a flock
along with October breeze, pleased to go for a hike.
Worries into the heart, floated and stepped aside
Autumn, enthroned in the soul empire, would set its fire
along with October breeze, pleased to go for a hike
walking paths trodden by shades of foliage, nothing dire.
Autumn, enthroned in the soul empire, would set its fire
a painting of no formal learning, that's Nature the Artist!
walking paths trodden by shades of foliage, nothing dire
a soothing harmony awakening the muse of a harpist.
A painting of no formal learning, that's Nature the Artist!
wonders from afar spreading their smiles in a flock
a soothing harmony awakening the muse of a harpist
confusing thoughts in Fall, me ceased to stalk.
A great pleasure to write this poem after reading Vijay Pandit "Autumnal Flame"..
In the know
With Van Gogh
You all think you know him
But who channels him?
Who swims in color?
Who has paint on their hands in a perpetual way?
You all think you know him
I live him.
The Lord weaves His grand tapestry across the skies
He outlines charcoal colored clouds with silver threads
sews the sunlight of dawn into rays that caress the sea
and folds ocean ripples into fans of intricate patterns.
Each morning God’s canvas awaits His ready hand
a master Artist, His creativity knows no bounds
He dips His brush into the spectrum of rainbows
like a whirlwind, He mixes and paints dazzling designs.
God deftly blends pastel shades to greet the rising sun
He sweeps white, cotton clouds that hover over land and sea
He paints the morning light to touch lush liquid waves
and adds violet colored shadows that fade into the horizon.
His living canvas continually changes its hues and tones
each moment rearranged by heat, wind or sudden storms
a cornucopia of shapes sweep across the heavens
like rapid time frames that move within an eternal film.
Will not many among the nations fail to see His mighty wonders?
Will not many among us look up to relish in His majestic sky?
God’s handiwork daily displays His infinite creation
may we lift up our eyes to behold His unending glory.
Written on 1/17/2021
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. Can he ever capture the beauty of her eyes on his canvas?
How does one describe, to a sightless Lover the beautiful colour of her eyes shifting hues and paint them. It makes me realise how fortunate we sighted people are to be able to see. Though, perhaps the sightless have developed that 'Third Eye'.
The video is great to watch on your home screen also with full sound effects if you get the chance on YouTube . Thank you for your visit.
The Colour That Defies - La couleur de tes yeux.
LYRICS
I see beyond green treetops
an emerald that makes me sigh
I see beyond the cotton clouds
a cobalt that sends me high
I see beyond a storm-lit wave
a mercury gleam drift by
I see beyond the blackened dusk
an onyx peint dans le ciel
painted in the sky
But I see beyond and never find
the colour that defies
The only one I cannot paint
The one that makes me cry
I see beyond and never find
la couleur de tes yeux
the colour of your eyes
I see beyond the autumn leaves
a burnished gold I can't deny
I see beyond the twilight mist
a violet, soft yet spry
I see beyond and never find
la couleur de tes yeux
the color of your eyes
I try to shape it, trace its light
mix the shades, but they're not right
mon amour, couleur perdue
no pigments hold, what I pursue
I see beyond your sightless eyes
no hue no brush can justify
the only one I cannot name
the one that makes me cry
I see beyond and never find
la couleur de tes yeux
The colour of your eyes
Swiftly
On a rainbow
Rode the moonlight
Surfing on the river’s drifting leaves
Afloat upon the hopes
Of spinning dandelions
Creeping through the gray
Of tombstone chill
Shadowing the sundials darker side.
Mingling amid the stoic lovers
Teasing the silent Owl’s sight
Haunting the silhouettes of cities
This forever artist paints its endless night
Words are merely thoughts to keep flowers company;
Pictures you can hang in your hall.
But the faces of these blossoms,
Slightly jealous of your smile,
See well past the obstacles you have stored there.
There is tenderness in their contemplation of the grayness in your eyes.
And they mutter amidst the clutter,
'tis not the speed that makes the journey, but the direction that you choose’.
Whilst welcoming the warmth from your hands as you arrange them.
Watching from an old porch swing
An artist hangs from a string
Weaving without any hands
Carefully placing silk strands
With masterpiece on display
A tapestry, lace design
Up close observers must pay
Their life, on which she will dine
5-30-2018
by Daniel Turner
Artist
Color me naked with your sighs
Scribble me stripped
Stabbed
Slashed
Stippled on your skin
Paint me black
Seething in charcoal amber
Writhing in lines
The brush strokes of your tongue
Beseech
Craft me artist eloquent
With feathered quill
On the spine of desire
Etch me
Deep acid in your eyes
Brush in the sticky fluid oil of centuries
Canvass hung sacrificial in galleries
Martyred to your beauty
I am
Capture me in sketches
Paper trees and graphite inscribe
And draw me
With your soul
On the timeless wall and halls
Of love
Chiseled I am from marble cliffs
Statue pantheon
You my ancient legend
Artist
In murals cast
Upon the unforgotten forms of beauty
You are primitive
Preordained to the hand-print of stone
Set in caves prehistorical
With spit and pigment molded
Bonded
Eternal
Paint me naked
In your eyes
At midnight
silver sheen
spreads its rays
in velvet air
as pearl shadows
gleam and glow with
mystic lantern.
A silent artist
with cosmic brushstrokes
weaving pastels on
a timeless canvas
guiding lost souls home.
I want to be an artist.
I want to create a piece if be proud of for the rest of my life.
Id peel back the skin, cutting the fat away until it was the perfect size.
then id mold it - shape it until it was just right.
Pulling muscles like clay, threading through blood vessels and veins like string, digging through the mess of myself and scraping away every inch until i loved what i saw.
every flaw,
carved out of my body until all the was left was absolute perfection
when im finished, id stitch the skin back over in a beautiful mess, - tight, trembling
and standing in the mirror, ill know -
i made the greatest art piece id ever see
they say, an artist greatest masterpiece is themselves.
Let me stand where the artist once stood,
And see through this mist in my eyes
What the artist once saw, though the paint is now cracked;
Where the artist once stood.
Let me breathe where the poet once breathed
That same air, which she painted with words,
In a swirl, never static, now swirling no more;
Where the poet once breathed.
Let me sit where the tunesmith once sat,
Chiseling song from the faces gone by.
Bring back all those faces that truth may return;
Where the tunesmith once sat.
Let me kneel where the gardener kneeled,
Inhale that aroma of roses in bloom,
Caressing their petals as soft as her face;
Where the gardener kneeled.
Let me walk where my lover once walked,
And know beyond doubt’s reckless grief,
Though abridged were her days, I may find love again;
Where my lover once walked,
Where my lover once walked.
My loved one is an artist
His spirit now runs free
And though he paints in Paradise
He's ever here by me
And I can see the pictures
Of mountains, lakes and trees
The brushstrokes of a loving life
They come as memories
And I can feel the colours
So vivid still, so clear
And I can touch the passion
Of one we loved so dear
For he is still beside me
As on our wedding day
Painting dreams in Paradise
And just a thought away.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Written about an artistic friend of mine who passed away far too early.
The ordinary water that she sips
transforms into a sparkling crimson juice
of cherries, cold and sweet, upon her lips.
The blues she sees are sapphire, greens, chartreuse,
and hardly does she know the color white,
for pearl or alabaster it appears.
The fog is lilac mist, and she’s a kite
that climbs the sky while loosing mundane fears.
Consumed by wind, she does not flag. Instead,
embracing zephyr, soars. Responses of
this mortal are not common. Served dry bread,
she’d name it manna sent her from above!
Half Pegasus, on wings of beauty borne,
her other half alights, a unicorn!
For the Screwed V Contest of Rob Carmack