Best Artists Poems
Scribbling
on scratch paper
poets paint their
poems
with colorful word pictures
each palette penned
image a
a stroke from the
artists brush ready to
hang
in a gallery of minds
"Crazy is as Crazy does"
Crazy is as Crazy does
poets and musicians
come undonne
fresh plots
till the soiled, their artful
passion twists
a je ne sais quoi
madness in the measure
of their melodies -
there "It" sits within, an articulate
climbing ivy de Sadeness, when
silence comes to this
words paint a wall
like flowers blooming
tale feathers flying
angels and their demons
swooning,
dance enthralled
across white territory
open spaces
close tired doors
the dead, fuelled and reborn
surrender red flags
in bed with the
romance
of new frontiers
where ancient lovers call
Crazy is as Crazy does
poets and musicians
all cultivated mercenaries
eventually
come undonne
hungry monsters
to speak and sing
of war and love
times past
long ago, and history
yet to come
words worn like
monks wear habits
hearts are verily
strummed warm
then rolled over raw
seeds and wild oats sown
thoughts like manna
placed in others' minds
and on their tongues
to speak and dance
of never-nevers
and cloudy
kingdom comes
impress to all,
heed this, they espouse
it's all quite quite
quintessential
perfectly prophétique,
murdering ALL their
little darlings
fresh plots
till the soiled, their artful
passion twists
Crazy is as Crazy does
the loons all hum and nod
when
silence comes to this
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
the artistic ability to see in view,
behind the lyric, behind the tune,
the detailed painting always shares,
the soul in lyrics that take you there,
the different chords, the high pitched scream,
releasing the heart of everything,
the freedom felt within the pen,
the sound in voice of heartaches mend,
unlocked to see what words aren't there,
from deep within...the heart we share.
Rolling hills and dappling willows
Magnolias bordering each side
A mountain range set the background
Beneath a luxuriant bright blue sky
With wisps and trails of tiny clouds
The bright sunlight it dazzles my eyes
The blades of grass between my toes
These sensations make me realise
That within our minds we can create landscapes
And masterpieces of wonder and awe
A dog runs past, a aquirrel scampers up a tree
Butterflies fluttering everywhere I can see
Bees pollinating wild flows
I feel the freedom of beauty as I flows through me
We are artists we are designers
We are lovers living imaginatively.
artists feeling with eyes of soul -
chromatic truths
Fellow poets, when you write, you put down words, of fact or fiction.
With conscious thought you select letters to make words in diction
Words strung together in rhyme, pearls of wisdom, marking the time
You create the thought, the flow,you're painting pictures as you go.
What would you say if I told you, it's all a lie, Shakespeare never existed
His works arrived by chance, perfectly phrased, not tongue tied, or twisted
Letters assembled themselves into words, then words in perfect succession
Formed themselves into rhyming sentences eloquently said in progression.
DaVinci too didn't exist, he's just a figment of some wild imagination
Mona Lisa was only a chance meeting of paint and canvas in congregation
There was no artist, with stylized strokes of brushes and pens in harmony
Ink and paint just flowing freely, creating their own masterpieces randomly.
You wouldn't believe it if I told you, because you know it's just not true
But when they tell you God doesn't exist, what do you think, or do?
Some say that life evolved by a chance meeting of cells and molecules
Natural selection, started chaotically forming an organic cosmic soup.
Does that make sense when you see the beauty and artistry all around
In the sunsets, oceans, lands and seas, where life teems and abounds
The universe with a complexity of it's own, a cosmic timepiece of majesty
Saying order comes from chaos, is a disgrace to the Artist, a real travesty.
When an artist paints a sunset he is just copying what he sees with his eyes
It's not an original work, but he signs it anyway, maybe he doesn't realize.
The complexity and order in life should tell you we were fashioned by design
Faith in the Designer comes not by chance, but by choice, read the signs.
John Derek Hamilton November 20, 2015
“Santa Fe”
Santa Fe, Santa Fe,
Oh Santa Fe,
Take me home to Santa Fe.
Where mountain peaks
Are bathed in gold.
Where artists and seekers
Come to unfold.
Where natives live in ages past
Stair step terra-cotta
Rise on desert floors.
Where artists come to paint and play
Calling all to Santa Fe
Dream maker’s dreams
Come true in the
Travertine
Aisles of Canyon Road.
Take me home to Santa Fe.
Zuni, Navajo and Hopi jewels
Laid out on woven throws.
Travelers come to barter
For jewels upon their wrists.
Sculptors, painters and weavers
Silversmiths, potters and glass blowers
Excite the spirits hidden deep
Within your soul.
The joy of beauty unfolds.
Galleries upon Galleries;
Artistic nudes,
Golden sunsets and landscapes.
Glimpses through storefront glass
Play on your senses.
The sun shines bright in Santa Fe.
Boxes carved in walls
Deliver stories from the past.
Colored doors tell tales of lives within.
Many an O’Keeffe have come and gone
Yet they linger in the spirits
And walls of Santa Fe.
No other place inspires
Like Santa Fe.
I dream of her
Whenever I’m blue.
Take me back to Santa Fe;
Paint a picture on my soul.
You wake up my senses
You beautify my soul
You heal my sorrows
You bring joy to my life
When I die let it be in Santa Fe
There is no better place
To lay your bones
Than dear old Santa Fe.
Take me home to Santa Fe.
Lon 9/24/2021
Although amateurs are annoyingly apt at aping another’s avocation,
All artists accord another’s art acceptance,
As any artwork asks appreciation,
And after all, all artists are allusive, anyhow.
October 21, 2019
Reformatted October 30, 2019
Frothy whitecaps fill the horizon,
waves crashing against the sand;
a painters view.
Capturing the blue, green, and grays
of the turbulent sea;
a canvas awaits.
Sea birds diving, casting shadows,
interrupting the light;
a brush poised.
The roaring sound of the water
fills this painter's ear;
a picture appears.
The rumble of the sea
is not easily captured;
in this seascape masterpiece.
Poets,
Scribbling soulmates, yet
Artists.
War cared not who might get hurt or trampled in the fray.
Its only thought, its only quest and goal, the battle on the way.
War engaged many fronts with might and determination.
Mainly coming from the diplomats and politicians, who
Fueled by hate and fear and greed,
Decided how the war would then proceed.
Yet, while young soldiers bore the brunt,
The fiercest battles were not waged up on the front
Nor by forces bearing arms or wearing decorated uniforms,
But by those whose hearts and minds, transformed,
Wrestled with the human devastation
Called to arms by moral justification.
New warriors raised a higher standard.
With trained eyes and hands, they commanded
The weapons proved most powerfully
Were those that writers and artists carried commonly.
People are neither good nor bad.
We are both; to different degrees,
At different times, with different people.
Some feel harder than others.
If they are wise they become artists,
Musicians, poets, potters, weavers, decorators, hair stylists.
They cannot help it.
Their feelings have to ooze out somewhere in a creative way.
To all of my friends on Poetry Soup,
you really are a dynamic poet troupe.
Though I’m not here every single day,
rest assured I’ll not stay away.
You’ve made me laugh and sometimes cry,
when your engaging works I do espy.
I sit here now with tea in cup,
occasionally I’ll take a sup.
Prodigious poems that I have faved,
command the entire center stage.
I revisit them whenever I’m down,
for them everyone deserves gold crowns.
Within this crisis there’s time to reflect
and take opportunity to reconnect.
So Guten Tag, Ola, Konnichiwa Shikamoo,
G’day, Namaste, Shalom, Asalaam, to you.
Ciao, Yassas, Bonjour, Hola, Goddag,
Nin hao, Ahlan, Privet, Goedendag,
Witaj, Halo, Helo, Selam, Hei, too;
stay well, I do appreciate you.
Artists complain they’re forever starving
~ yet prefer wood to roast for carving
Authors, artists, and actors attract an audience!
Authors annotate and analyze articles,
Arranging an alphabet accordingly.
An artist accents acrylic asymmetrical aspects,
Always adding attention aimed at an attractive apparatus.
Actors articulate authentic accounts,
Always appealing accurate appearances.
Authors, artists, and actors are alike.