Best Canvasses Poems
Must you mileage chalk up in free verse speed way
For Kim Patrice Nunez*, with hope
Must you mileage chalk up in free verse speed way
Let your wheels skid by letting loose grip on wheel
Free verse range’s for marksmen trained on rondolet*
Dipodic foot pantun villanelle dactyl
Cut their teeth on the slippery run-on-line
Roll their anaepest tongue round limerick rhyme
Do not a ballad begin with aubade fine
Nor drive straight past end-stopped line’s feminine rhyme
Such as painters’ coprophilia canvasses
Hide chance ironic hidden ghostly faces
Cubist abstract surrealist morasses
Whose apprenticeships lead to trumping aces
Far too many poets love the sound of words
Yet shirk bardic tasks speeding on twisted roads
* Nunez: Sorry, no tilde over the “n” on my Mac.
• rondolet: French pronunciation rhymes with “way”.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
[Poem read at Sekoto’s inhumation ceremony at the Neuilly-sur-Marne-93 Cemetery, near Paris. Channel 4 in London recorded the reading as they did the funeral rites in the presence of his close relatives come from afar for the nonce and based their documentary - as far as I can tell - on my lead cover article on the South African self-taught painter and musician Gérard SEKOTO, published in The Journal of Comparative Poietics, Vol. 2 (Paris), 1993. Both the article and the poem were re-published in my book on “poietics/la poïétique”, entitled: Poietics: Disquisitions on the Art of Creation. Allahabad: Cyberwit.net, 2008, 214p. There ensued a general scramble for his canvasses at the Maison des Artistes where he was lodged in his declining years, and even the sketches he gave me for publication disappeared from my studio.]
III
Long are the years you have lain your easel down
Longer still the sun at Botshebelo burnishing your skin
In the soft autumnal retreat of your heart
You could still hear children playing in the mission station
You saw with what glee they jigged in Sophiatown
And bled for your brothers enchained in District Six
Away in the quiet slumber of a land you loved
You wrought the blazing colours of a secret rage
of man's will thriving in his limbs
of an enduring passion for hope
in the dance of stoic joyousness
in the embrace of a Mandela
Not a shaft of light escaped your hunt for
traces of your childhood
nor
were lost the spare airs that filtered through shanty-towns
Your world was a world of people
simple people
going about their chores with premeditated caution
oppressed people
endowed by need with the guile for survival
People for whom you lived
People who live on in your veins
uninterred in your carved canvasses
(Poem read by the author at Sekoto's funeral in Neuilly-sur-Marne, France)
(c) T. Wignesan, Paris - 1993. (Pub. in the Journal of Comparative Poietics , Vol. 2 & 3 (Paris), 1993 & in Poietics: Disquisitions on the Art of Creation. Allahabad: Cyberwit.Net, 2008.)
she is alive dreaming
limbs like serpents growing
an embryonic adult on board sprawling
spawned
learning
she escaped a naked bed
her art stolen into law school
time decorates her shoulder
clocks tickling ticking
….
decorate her shoulder
always time and numbers
nipple oozes round innocence
lost are all her paintings past lives
her naked bed cold
canvasses half complete
entangled her limbs outlined in
blue
she dreams an illusionary future
in silk and law books
she
sleeps
awake
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Art piece : She is Sleeping : Iqraa Daniels
Oil on Board :30cmx41cm
Date: 2014
Style: Expressionism
Genre: Nude
Source : Private :
Pic at website : ghairodanielspresence.WordPress.com
Blog post : She is Sleeping :27/3/26
Tossed my slippers, walked barefooted
through the alley of my wall where my paintings are adorned,
saw the canvasses lined neatly on wall
where dim light of longings path throughout the hall...
Chosen good ones, brewed best
aroma of this black coffee so crisp,
haunts me in a night's fright
of tormenting silence throughout the night!
A teaspoon of sugar is added
with this black coffee in my mug is mixed,
halt for a while to smell it's effects,
savoring the bitterness as it touches my lips.
I traced to hallway, stood at the glass window,
3: 30 in the morning, no one not even any vehicles flow,
into the streets lights blinking routinely
as my mind wander for an unhealthy imaginary.
A shot of gun, bullet on my shoulder
as I escape from a path so dark in my mind which alter,
I run...run as fast as I could
and lift the gun out of my motorbike's hood!
A shadow...laughing and running
in my mind he is chasing,
I stop, look and lean
on the dark wall of the 14th street so clean.
But wind blows suddenly steadfast,
dirt and dust kissed my face and blinded my eyes,
I am blind for a split in 15 seconds
and there the man stood afront of me and beckons!
Grabbed my arm and snatched the gun
twisted me facing the wall with his arm so damn,
I felt his anger through his breath
and say, 'Lady, end of your road, enough, have a rest! '
Then he forced me to face him
grabbing me by hand so firm,
his weight upon me, so close I can't breathe
and my surprise, his face mellowed and plant me a kiss!
Split seconds, that vision came
and I realized I am so lame,
that imaginary vision strikes me well
and brought my black coffee to chill!
A Black Coffee's Chill...!?
Inner Whispers
(I believe that visions happen in split seconds. Can this be a warning or a message?)
When the sky rains down in jelly bean lights
Colors bright, multiplying themselves through lightning bolts
Seen through their candy cracks opened loud
Like clouded green glass glowing thick
Glowing wide jello wavering in a blinding flash
Across the landscape kissed
Happiness smooths over coconut sweet trees
Orange sugar slices take on a smile candy cotton
Hurried up above, going nowhere fast
Not in a frenzy or need for speed
Shapes of clouds in the breeze
Sun light yellow orange meanders
Rainbow bands on grand canvasses arrive
Bursts into life over new seeds landed sown as sugar cane
Plants shaped like trumpets sound crisp golden notes
In Spring they sway as delicacies
Fill up the sandy hills with syrup sweet aromas
Flavors melt
Melodies come sharp with deep dark chocolate
Swirl us into thick rich passions kiss caressed
Brings us to our knees
Keen to the taste of joy
Drums strike up a fever speaking from the heart
On the horizons wide smile as laughter caught
Between each beat comes sugary sweet breezes
Through fertile trees full of the reddest apples
Delicately lifted in deliciousness on Easter bliss
Confection powder converts grass into candy
Covers every misstep covered in the past by snow
Sensibility goes out the window falling over thrilled
Children trip over themselves, jump marshmallow high
A springboard to heaven gliding by
Just within the reach of kites made out of caramel popcorn
Babies also take a chance and reach with all their might
Jelly beans beaming lights touch the soul right to the core
Jump! Take every color candied treat
Before the streets drown them in water melons mouth
Swallow up the last sweet flavors drifting down
Jelly beaming lights roll in on thunder clouds
SHOCKING!!!!!!!! WHAT? THAT?
Bad taste?
They know not what is at stake
They do as they please
Then later beg for forgiveness
A right sin
And a dismal business
Nothing is shocking anymore
To thump each other
They go to the extremes of bad taste
The exotic of the past
Is now the mundane of today
To push the boundaries of rascality
Is the new wanton game
Played by trouble makers galore
To shock is to liven up
What a rebellious few
Think is dreary and staid
But is the result of good taste?
Actions we take now do tell
A story to our future
What of our legacy?
Will our avant-garde seem
Nothing but a real shame?
Critics slam with hyperbolic feelings
Prolonging a naturally temporary phase
The rebellion against the norm
Is but a turbulent teenage phase
Desperation for fame
Pushes the tactless
To seek increasingly embarrassing ways
To force our senses to
Confront what is best left private
Books
Art
The stage
All are infiltrated by the listless crew
Who seem hell-bent on defacing decency
Nudity
Crassness
Debauchery
Bad talent
No longer have critics powerful enough to
Cauterize such abject mood swings
Of artiste who feel no shame
Extending the boundaries
Of moral inhibition is not new
Those that claim to be even more shocking
Know not the history of petty rebellion
They are just another transient few
Decency has lost its unsung heroes
Who slash canvasses
And cover up the detritus of artistic license
Those who oppose any act
That does make us think
Examine or
Analyse our existence in new ways
Are deemed too sensitive for modern life
They are accused of bleaching creativity
To be a rogue is best
To impose any limits seems
To rascals as wilful distress but
Trendsetters don’t often know best
let these words to read roll on as ramble reflections of another setting son
Shadow painted pictures in leaves of fickle breeze
Under changing skies of purple red and cloudy pink unease
As scattered words of other time stir rested memories
Close tired eyes with held back sighs
To whisper sweet goodbyes
still holding on to canvasses of simply painted words
And laughing at the devil moon who caused this all to be
with her tidal fluctuations of stormy cosmic mirth
She played and meddled in the constant gravity of Earth
I want canvasses
littering my room
fed by paint from my brushes
and lukewarm water from my brains
I want to see a billion stories
scattered all about my walls
and my carpet, and my
Television wears a happy, painted
mask to hide his blackness.
I crave marbles
melted into breathtaking glass
sculptures, and these bodies
would watch me as I saw
them through my eyes
I crave acoustic forests
where I'll fall towards my husband
and his earthen hands will catch me-
He'll wear a happy, painted mask
and every body will watch us
lovingly
lovingly
lovingly.
Remind me of magical things
Enhance my joy, my being alive,
Tiny newborn babies who thrive
Precious jewels in golden rings,
Canvasses of sentient colors
Starlit skies of deep velvet hue,
Morning grass, shimmering dew
Fresh powder-sugared crullers,
Tiny bouquets of fever few
Bows of ribbon in curly hair,
Ballroom dancing with a flair
Old cards reminding me of you.
Written June 13, 2022
"Mona, oh Mona, when will you ever understand
our mankind is not for your taking, as you smiled;
I had taken your hand." I had clearly witnessed it all;
Once I've seen sin in your eyes, humanity was to fall.
Sin had first came upon us, in a juicy form;
The taste between Adam's lips melted sensually
and at that moment this earth became of blood.
Your eyes reflected centuries of black snakes
then I knew your beauty was not of our kind;
Gorgoneion it states. "I have frozen many men,
beaming them towards the paradoxes of my zen.
If only they knew what lies behind my eyes;
My inspiration of wrath, set here to cruelly dine
In your world full of hope with a Medusa faced prize."
Speaking with her sets my body into petrification;
yet my mind is free to wonder possibilities of life,
a dawning sensation. "I'm stuck between sides of judgment,
Lights impact and dazzle me as your face glooms this moment.
Mona.. You will not wash away what is rightfully ours!
You can never rule me into your gaze of no break,
My internal clock ceases to synchronize with your hours."
Her hair plays with the Eastern-May swirls that twist
Her eyes dilate as I had gone closer;
sharing the kiss.. For I share Romeo and Juliet's tragic.
Before your poison taste could overtake, I glanced, at your havoc"
This witch knows no bounds"swallowed whole by surrounding corpses,
death has become a ravished sea upon the grounds of land.
Then I knew.. As to why you were one of his canvasses.
It is the origin and hope of a thousand children, the love that transforms young seedlings to plants.
Its breath canvasses the woods of the Zaire o'er the hills of Zimbabwe down to the lowlands of the Mozambique.
It is the great tide that accompanies the Nile to kiss our cheeks at first light, the stars that glitter when the sun slumbers in celestial furlough.
Tis the bravery that enveloped the hearts of our forbearers, the burning lamp at the towerwatch of the Zanzibar.
It is the courage to walk the dark places in mythical lore. the strength that flows in Simba's pride.
It is the tongue of the Phoenix; the screams at slaver's bay. Tis the blistered feet of enslaved athletes at the diamond mines of sierra Leone.
Tis the very thread that weaves us in the roots of originality. It is the bowl that feeds all with kindness, the souls of a million bound in Porter's fellowship. Tis the spirits of my black martyrs
It is a dreadful burden to see
Life through the eyes of a poet
Rambling rivers become languorous heartbeats
Cloudless skies drawn as cerulean canvasses of god
Winter is now Summer’s slumber
Trees adorned in crimson and gold
A leaf forbidden to be mentioned
Age passing as endless regrets
Anger a fiery jab
Love an endless journey
Through the eyes of a poet
Life is an illusion of belief
A lair overflowing with undying drivel
The Poet comes to be a
Mysterious minstrel
A brooding lyricist
An ancient bard spinning voiceless quills
Through the eyes of this poet
I see you lying motionless
Time a forgotten companion
Your last breath forever abandoned
A ‘better place’ awaits
I can’t just say, you are
Dead
Through the eyes of a poet
A teardrop falls
Words in life
are easily scorned,
derisively decided worthless
and yet;
I hear it, whispering through the wind,
welcome in anticipation...
your voice.
Sealing those canvasses
shut.
Waiting, on words
the brushed bruising of lips,
quickly accepting of my own
two, too blushed,
too blooming.
It is not just words I wait on
but your touch;
crushing the chasm inside
to build me.
Only then can the sparrow nestled on my chest
fly - fly free
to your arms.
Oh - encompass me?
Oh, those birds—there goes another one flying by
Wonder where he is going and why?
Of God’s creations, they are the luckiest in deed;
They can fly away whenever they need.
The birds are cast against canvasses of blue and gray,
Greens, yellows, reds, and the trees—a place to stay.
Oh, they are very active this morning bright!
They make eager noises like something is not right.
At least, it seems that way to me
But, I am not a bird; nor could I be.
But, you know I’d like to try on wings
And just fly away and do bird things.
Like being cast against canvasses of blue and gray,
Greens, yellows, reds, and the trees—my place to stay.
And someone as skillful as me
To write about me!
Red and blue blending
into liquid purple build
spiritual tranquility;
violet energies
swirl into hues of
jubilation and unbound
elation,
euphoric ecstasy.
Lavender sprays
engulf the senses,
as nature paints her canvasses
with amaranthine song;
I breathe in her
fragrant love.
Heliotrope pinwheels
dot the horizon of my mind
and a kaleidoscope of
lilacs and orchids
intermingling
with purple irises;
fields of universes
inundate my soul;
I am renewed
in the amethyst magic.