Best Auguste Poems
(Re old poems)
The luncheon of French bourgeoisie under frilly striped awning.
Young fair maiden, rosy cheeks- beguiling her eyes; leans on the railing.
Amidst fruits and undrunk wine in amorous air strokes dog, a wife.
Men look askance in yellow straw hats, faces muse in blazing whites.
Quivering tints alive on a terrace, evolve in sunbathed human life.
``
Based on Auguste Renoir's painting - ''Luncheon of the Boating Party''
Categories:
auguste, art, beauty, boat, people,
Form:
Ekphrasis
Blindly chased success
had to stop and make a choice---
Life with a purpose
28 June 2015
Senryu on Your Own Existence Contest
Sponsor: Marvin Celestial
*Image of The Thinker, a bronze sculpture by Auguste Rodin
Categories:
auguste, introspection, life,
Form:
Senryu
Inspired by:
She Who Once Was the
Helmet Maker’s Beautiful Wife.
Sculpture by Auguste Rodin
nude glory, she of uncrannied pelt,
stroked by many, might not know
she’ll sit erelong on stone as
wrinkled bronze
waiting yet to be touched.
muscle melts from bone,
hair, once auburn-splashed on brow,
turns colorless now and dull. Who sees
the girl with rose wine cheeks, the
prime of a daughter turned old?
Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
April 14, 2013
Categories:
auguste, art,
Form:
Free verse
Sicut Miles Christi I stand tall
Sicut Miles Christi I give my all
To a Man who deprived the devil of his will
To a Man who tumbled Jericho's hill
I'm a soldier in the army of my Lord
Equipped with the Spirit’s sword
A battle I’m called to fight
For the glory of His light
Sicut Miles Christi I’m never alone
Sicut Miles Christi I build on this stone
A soldier always in a battle ready mode
Designed to break and decipher the devil’s code
Yes! I've prevailed in the battle fray
His blood brought victory today
On Calvary Cross I fix my eyes
So I can attain the promised prize
Sicut Miles Christi I'll fight to the end
Stand steadfast my faithful friend
Fill my heart with bravery oh my Master
With unflinching faith exuding like a blazer
Sicut Miles Christi what should we fear?
When the Lord has conquered with His spear
As a Soldier of Christ be vigilant in thy task
A selfless sacrifice the Master dare to ask
“Endure hardship with us like a good soldier of Christ Jesus.” 2Timothy 2:3
Footnote: Sicut Miles Christi (A Latin phrase, it's Literal Translation is: “As a Soldier of Christ”) is the motor of my Alma Mater Bishop Herman College. It was established on 28 February 1952. It was the first secondary school established by the Catholic Church in the Region.The College was named after a French Catholic Bishop , Auguste Herman. Bishop Herman had impacted me more than any school. In fact I am proud of my alma mater.
Categories:
auguste, bible, christian, courage, soldier,
Form:
Quatrain
Auguste Blanqui was correct to assert
"Revolutionaries aren't born, they are made"
They're being made everyday, but Sunday,
At the hands of a corrupt State,
One they've tirelessly helped to create
- If we are to become its product
What then can be expected of change?
In a world full of self-made victims
Responsible for their own problems
- Brutality, usury,
indoctrination and assimilation:
The end results of our inaction!
Don't tell me about the problems
Try explaining how you never saw this coming!
Complain about the times
And I will come to remind,
time and time again:
"You have no one but yourself
to shower with your blame;
For being seduced by the corrupting ways
of an inhuman system
by subjugating yourself
with the oath of a vote to its authoritarian state."
- And them right there is "fightin' words" in a "civilized world!"
Don't bemoan about the awful smell
After building your own jail cell;
Otherwise,
Don't tell me:
"If you don't vote don't complain."
- Because these two things
are very much the same...
Categories:
auguste, angst, humorous, irony, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
(a love poem for my son)
Dreams spill out of sleep
sift across the hardwood floor
covers the window
in colors of May
slamming me back towards childhood
or perhaps just to the ashtray.
One forged with labor
in elementary school ceramics;
patient fingers size up,
roll the earthen clay,
pinch it to perfection,
this unusable object
is made with skill,
crafted uniquely for my father.
A tribute greater than mountain carved faces
monuments of life’s reward.
Baseball camps, tee-ball games,
selfless Sunday morning catch,
sitting in question
understanding Auguste Rodin,
your etched piece of history
proclaimed in this ashtray.
The long afternoons,
bedtime stories,
day dreams of musketeers
tree-forts and bandaged knees,
wisdom contained in a receding hair-line
without the restriction of bookends.
This is your medal
placed with vigilance
impatient in time
yes, a five pound ashtray.
Reflections of your accomplishments
schematics of fatherhood, fired
painted with magnificence
useless to anyone but you.
Standing at the door, a lone sentry
hands outstretched boastfully,
here is your prize
an ashtray!
The reception of kings, grins of rum soaked pirates,
you calmly seat me down with the tale of tradition,
rite of passage
generation to generation,
the tribulation of the ash tray
passed from father to son.
Thirty-something
as I lay in bed
the warm morning symphony
shines bright upon my medal
like a polished chrome hood ornament,
I too have taken my place
among the tradition of the ashtrays.
Categories:
auguste, love, nostalgia, satireme, morning,
Form:
Free verse
when on a lark, this primate shut his eyes
until sight formed slits doubling up as a wink
this earthling stared hard and scrunched brow
unintentionally mimicking,
the familiar Auguste Rodin statue
likened to a pose when one doth think
perhaps said captive pose pondering
(similar to me) about life on other planets
while I stared at lunar surface
akin to a disc or dime sized skating rink
awash with luminescence
and imaging himself whisked away
by an alien, synonymous
to the peculiar millions miles distant pastische
manifested entity than didst slink
a non hue man feline looking cat in the hat
comical creatures decked out entirely in pink
soft halos conjured up saintly mink
or...a far fetched thought suddenly
came to form in my mind,
that this har creature a found missing link
whose nocturnal glowing facade exploding charade
possibly a message
or motion nothing more
than routine smoothing out an anatomical kink
on front and back oh head resembling
a Doctor Zeus characterization,
viz a harmless rat fink
hm...maybe a vestigial progenitor
of former birth by Gaia now extinct
though from afar, the b52 shaped being
aye espied as fur ball affixed
with a long elephant like snout to drink
and appeared to lack occipital orbs,
yet evinced possible mode to see via a chink
impossible to restrain me noggin
appearing to nod and blink,
--------------------------------
hence entranced my attention fixed
from faint (perhaps a feint)
flickr ring meant as playful faux
role playing lunatic humorous acting wry
impossible to decode explicit antics
(of spacial cosmic guest),
no matter eyes nearly shut tight visual
wondering if non verbal communication
of mine correctly interpreted
meant to kibitz and vie
despite impossibility to validate,
a continuous effort yours truly did try
fixing thy gaze, nee straining
with alm aye might to esse spy
if cheap trick concocted entire visage,
which might not constitute life form
(admitting this chap to prevaricate,
and be full of baloney),
himself prone to confabulate
(dropped one to many times on the head)
when this rocky lunar image,
a moon scape comprising nothing
boot ham and cheese on rye.
Categories:
auguste, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse
Festive party
Celebrate something;
Warm humanity
~~~~~~~~~
One by one
People walk pass;
Lonely man waits
~~~~~~~~~
Dog walking fast
Master in tow;
Barks fine command
~~~~~~~~~
Two sparrows
Practice on wood bench;
Gospel of birdsong
~~~~~~~~~
Sea of faces
Hurry takes a break;
Crowded lift hijacks
~~~~~~~~~
Old shop houses
New paintwork shines;
Ancient looks new
~~~~~~~~~
River walk terrace
Rows of watering holes;
Tipsy aftermath
~~~~~~~~~
Financial centre lobby
Bust of The Thinker;
Auguste Rodin figures
~~~~~~~~~
Play primal proof
Watcher glimpses;
Stillness resonates
~~~~~~~~~
Sea waves bleach
Sand grains moist;
Salty gems sparkle
~~~~~~~~~
Telephone connects
Bridge distant spheres;
Familiar voices tint
~~~~~~~~~
Small little girl
Don't grow up;
Beauty is fleeting
~~~~~~~~~
Old hunchback lady
Lifetime of toil;
Time shows up
~~~~~~~~~
Moody man mumbles
Talks to a ghost;
Moving picture
~~~~~~~~~
Song of the sea
Windy ode unspoken;
Fleeting echoes
~~~~~~~~~
Morning psalm
Skyline hues delight;
God speaks in colours
~~~~~~~~~
Too quickly time fades
Moments on the wind;
Zen in bamboo
~~~~~~~~~
Do you hear
Whispers unseen;
Emergent rapture
~~~~~~~~~
Bougainvilleas here
Beauty in bounty;
Dazzling colours speak
~~~~~~~~~
Plumerias sparkle
Words cannot reach;
Soul wanders here
~~~~~~~~~
Tears in your eyes
Exquisite pain;
Etches new lines
~~~~~~~~~
Haunted house
Bizarre rumours taunt;
Unfinished business
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
24 May 2015
Singapore
Categories:
auguste, change,
Form:
Haiku
It was the late 18th century and Abegail was twenty-one years old,
She was about to be married soon to an older man of thirty-four;
Her family was considered middle-class yet they owned a lovely home,
A gothic residence and nestled within was an large dusty library.
Abegail had a deep love for books and she found a secret way,
A passage was hidden by bookshelves to a labyrinth of books;
Women were discouraged from reading, it would damage their mind,
She should concern herself with needlework, marriage and music.
The library was full of books of all descriptions, some just old,
Some were rare and some just interesting with fiction stories;
The books took her to far off places and to tales so romantically sad,
Abegail loved the aged and yellowed volumes with tattered pages.
Sometimes she would just walk around touching the volumes,
It was an impressive collection with books in wooden shelves;
A place of acquirable knowledge, of deep discussions with her mind,
She loved to snuggle up with some books and just fill her brain.
Oh the library was utterly gorgeous to Abegail with its collections,
And not just with books but musical manuscripts and photographs;
She found old diaries of her ancestors and was full of book enlightenment.
But, tomorrow was her wedding day and motherhood and wife her fate.
______________________________
August 1, 2015
Poetry/Narrative/Abegail In The Library
Copyright Protected, ID 15-696-539-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Inspired by the painting by Auguste Toumauche
Dans la Bibliotheque or In the Library
For the contest, In The Library, sponsor,
sponsor, Isaiah Zerbst
Second Place
Categories:
auguste, books,
Form:
Narrative
I played the auguste to Coco the clown.
Acting charades, with a smile and a frown.
Crowds clapping, and jeering,
Loud laughter, then cheering,
When tumbling over, my trousers fell down.
9/ 16/ 2017.
Categories:
auguste, fun, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
locked in cages for study and further experiments All for comic relief of a tragedy, we would not want them to sad, would we? As you walk, to your left you will see is a fool and jester typical habitats were in king's courts making, them laugh no matter the cost On your right. You will see the commanding face of The Whiteface Clown, yet the faces may vary, as in the Auguste Clown straight ahead the most comedic but wilder Careful!, not to close he will hit you with his slapstick, an evolutionary trait. Going up the hill you will see, the Tramp or Hobo a poorer cousin, yet not without his highlights. The chameleon clown or character clown, assumes many different careers, all to make you laugh like hyenas and then there are these lurking, in drains or woods the Evil Clowns, somehow got away but the doctor will exploit these creatures, to enhance and laugh us into world domination. Is there a little bit of clown in all of us? A Zani zoo for you woo wooo A Zani zoo for me heheee Give me control of your funnies and I will rule the world
Categories:
auguste, allusion, funny, humanity, humor,
Form:
Free verse
“The lives of stone How rich they must be”
-Delphine, wife of Auguste Escoffier
Betrayed by ghosts
Alive in drifting candle smoke
Stain memories relinquished in time
Gathered in joyous gildings, now lost
Truth is not welcome
Only the essence of imagination
The essence
Of imagination
*Dedicated to the King of Chefs- Auguste Escoffier
12/29/11
Categories:
auguste, dedication,
Form:
Free verse
KISS OF RODIN
My body rages with your close proximity
You heed the heady breathing of my heart
A lover’s touch, rose petals of magnanimity
The Kiss of Rodin’s rapturous sculpted art
You heed the heady breathing of my heart
Becoming vulnerable with aching breast
The Kiss of Rodin’s rapturous sculpted art
Limbs wrap around me, our lips pressed
Becoming vulnerable with aching breast
Voluptuous emotions, a mind-blowing high
Limbs wrap around me, our lips pressed
Rhythmic movements of the earth and sky
Voluptuous emotions, a mind-blowing high
A lover’s touch, rose petals of magnanimity
Rhythmic movements of the earth and sky
My body rages with your close proximity
5/30/2017
Pantoum Form
*The Kiss was sculpted by french artist Auguste Rodin
Categories:
auguste, longing,
Form:
Pantoum
(Fact not fiction. True research).
Birth place creation from France
The one and only Queen of freedom
Along side of Queen of England.
Sculptured design by Frederic Auguste Bartholdi
The statue of liberty was and built by Gustave Eiffel.
Arrived in 214 in a package case from Roven France.
I can imagine that was a lot of weight and work well done in deed
June of 1885 the completed Statue became dedicated.
Of course it was dedicated on October 28th,1886 by president Grover Cleveland.
designed as a National Monument in 1924. and becomes the Americas most famous symbol of freedom. with it star of it's own.one of a kind even I would want one of my own.
Beautiful for sure the statue will always be. I've seeing it up close it's taller than a tree.
All statues have a history that means something to the world
Of what was then and now without them all we would of never now what was then and now having a art to go with the books.
Categories:
auguste, books, education, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Words, words, words.
I want to be a poet so bad. But the leters can't make the right chords. To make the melody evenly sad. To flurish it with a spark, big words, ornaments, or some genius. Competing with myself, perfection itself, I am left speechless.
Stroke feathers of a lamb lit fire in a lamp. Nothing is impossible. The possibilities are endless. Endlesness is endless.
I want to touch souls like mine. The universal language of love. Spread understanding. Or find it. When touching it, light it on fire and watch the flames bloom. Methaphors, conections, puns, and games. In a sharp mind, all may be relevant. Thus am I so frustrated. Pride and prejustice, teach me your ways. Foxes, teach me your ways. Shamans, teach me your ways. Please, please, let me be the soul I want to look at. Sharpen me like a knife. Knife that can carve a Venus and David. Auguste Rodim, make me your thinker. Catch me before I fall. Please. Until it's not too late.
Categories:
auguste, confusion, emotions,
Form: