Best Charcoaled Poems
I heard it said once
That attractive to an artist
Does not mean "pretty"
In the average sense
But more something that
Is interesting to look at
And makes you want to
Keep looking
To him, I can look for hours
And want to keep looking
He is the color burnt umber
Like coffee and cream
And purest black ink
Not blue-black, or brown,
But the undiluted purity
Of a spilled ink-pot
Shaped by the delicate curve
Of a calligraphy brush
Into perfectly, haphazardly
Beautiful curls, erratic and
Bold
And his eyes
Those eyes
Like coffee, taken
Without cream or sugar
But turned amber by sunlight
And sweetened by laughter
Making what might have been
Intimidating, with their darkly
Charcoaled outline that
Marks them as Arab
Instead as sweetly inviting
As the warm half-light of dusk
And so addictive
I've been looking for hours
And I want to keep looking
Once I dared render
A trapping of quintessence
To hold fast all that is you
Somewhere upon my canvas
To capture your beauty
In pastels of feigned adoration
From charcoaled scratched eyes
Slowly her face takes form
Searching yesterdays colours
To recapture the essence of your voice
Now merely a passionate facsimile
Obtusely rendered in penciled arrogance
My sketching comes from experience
Tracings of agony felled of your eyes
From the easels edge drips my anguish
Now a morass union of passivity
How I long to feel the heat of your fiery spirit…
“Amazing tradition. They throw a great party for you on the one day they know you can’t come.“
Quote by Jeff Goldblum.
JOHNNY SPICER
In this tomb are the bits and pieces of the butcher Johnny Spicer
Got distracted whilst cutting meat and fell into the meat slicer.
JAMES.D.BOWLER
In this crypt are the flat remains of James.D.Bowlar
Tripped crossing the road into the path of a steam roller.
FREDDIE ALBRIGHT
In this grave is the head of surfer Freddie Albright
It was all that was left when he encountered a great white.
JIM BYRONS
Buried below are just the bones of hunter Jim Byrons
His rifle jammed and his body eaten by lions.
THE COMEDIAN
Hear lies Sid the comedian who thought it was funny
Kicking the bucket and owing the taxman money.
WILLO THE WISP
Lying below are the charcoaled remains of fire eater Willo The Wisp
Who drank too much petrol in his act and was burned to a crisp.
EMILY GRAF
Interred in two pieces is the magician's wife Emily Graf
Something went drastically wrong, and he sawed her in half.
PETE THE BUILDER
Above this grave is just the statue of the builder Pete
Fell headfirst into a cement mixer whilst mixing concrete.
JOE McNAIR
The loud crackling you can hear in this grave is of the killer Joe McNair
Too much power was used when they executed him in the electric chair.
Written on 11th August 2024.
With flaming lips and fingertips
casting words of cockeyed quips
behind a face powdered in white
preys a jackyll with teeth that bite
rouge on cheeks, evil guile at play
opened bottles of rich pouilly fume'
fruit of the vine, wine more devine
than one who waits for you, supine
Painted brows and charcoaled eyes
don't be fooled by a gender disguise
a fool you are if you fall for this villain
party girl who seems more than willin'
Her being hangs on two faces of her mind,
one overlooking the essentials and joy of life
as those half-blind eyes reflect what she sees…
is it that Shadow of obsession or power’s lure
where temptation brews her world,
reeling loosely into a charcoaled hole
and onward through the never of her mind?
The other face clutches moths’ kisses
sweet its glow among dawn’s baby roses
as her heart finds kindness in giving
that flavors the potion of her sunlit dance
and onward through the never of her mind.
In agonizing braille of the dark, she crawls
regaining awareness to mold one face,
proud the shadowed one charged with venial sins…
till Michael’s Light tramples a serpent’s pounce
while baby roses lead the way,
a most graceful of all choices in her world.
and onward through the always of her mind.
..................
Anthony Slausen's Gods and Devils Contest
1/18/2015
I look and see your sapphire eyes ablaze
Their calm belied by flecks of amber flame
You hold me fast in passion’s ardent gaze
I dip in charcoaled irises untame
The ivory moon pulls olive curtained lace
Her beams then rest on crimson evening gown
I see desire’s play upon your face
And so you gently pull the fabric down
On scented lilac sheets you make me lie
In time you drink the dew of fuchsia rose
And as we intertwine, you hear me sigh
The pleasure of your love no other knows
A coral glow the silver night now burns
And yet our love for sweet expression yearns
Eileen Manassian
PS...it helps to read directions. Romanticism or Free Verse form. My bad, Silent One.
The essence of the charcoaled clouds enwraps me in it's gloom.
While thoughts of slanted sunrays try to wrest me from this doom.
My baby said he loves me but he's just not in love.
And I am darkened with thoughts akin to the sky above.
Don't I deserve the magic that a stirred passion can render?
the melting of a fiery kiss that tastes so very tender?
Light in his eyes that looks like me ,my laugh sketched on his soul.
This is my most fervent wish, my ultimate love goal.
The man says we shall never marry, he's just not the kind
to settle down forever with no one else on his mind.
Sometime soon I'll fade away to a bleak but well known land
where I can grow old with myself and invent lovers grand.
Until then I'll smile faintly and pretend all is well.
Until then I'll disappear into a sorrowful hell.
I’ve been needing your lies
I’ve been craving your poison
I’ve been missing your demons
I’ve been loving your hater
While I was playing with death
While it was ing me upside down
While I was freezing face to hell
I’ve been moaning your name
When my hands were trembling
When my soul was jumping
When my veins were twisting
I howled your April’s farewell
Once Azrael was invited
And the sky was open
Then my mind got naked
Your shadow was my only Savior
My voice was resonating
But from your ears was forbidden
My snow capped depth was on the summit of its alp
Pleading you to be its shield
That’s when you threw it into a dark swamp
Claiming that you were lost in a blinded place
Everything was mute and your bones were broke
But I saw you secretly radiating in a crystal ball
You thought I’m nowhere nearer
Was it amusing to fool a downcast lifer?
You were pushing my destiny to its sharp ending chapter
Below the belts freedom was dedicated to a shrewd sinner
Meanwhile I’ve been taken to where nothing left to catch
Failures over the time of my rotten life have built my forgotten grave
Gloomy butterflies surrounded my sick grove
No flowers to bloom no hope to suck
No words to draw no feelings to touch
No time to rush no remorse to scratch
The door of paradise was barely visible
But the clouds drove me to a fiery jungle
I begged life to be my sucker
One last elegiac parting with winter
But death was an invincible fighter
Loneliness was feeding my blur future
Chiselling out my anxiety within four blank walls
Then stirred up a wild storm of toxic fears
Moving on was the synonym of stuck in a rut
A sterile heart gave up on its darned patience
Charcoaled love erased its existence
Dry tears chained to these anorexic cheeks
You shutdown the light you once heated up
Now I’m sober yet drunk on my coma
Trying to perforate your karma
While cleaning up my ugly Fantasia.
Where I was your moon and you were my star
I was young when I realized my mom was different,
Different from me at least, for sometimes
She would draw or paint and miracles would happen.
Her penciled or charcoaled strokes on paper projecting life
Into two dimensions, though color, of course, was absent,
Like God, a multi-dimensional entity, manifesting Himself
Into the three-dimensional flesh of Jesus Christ,
God’s Presence too much for mortal man to take in.
Her images drawn from a world of fragmentary illumination,
Pre-dawn scenes where mind supplies the missing detail
That eye cannot quite gather in, so soft, so colorless the light.
Proportions too are faultless: contours never flat,
Roof lines never too long or short, you are with her,
Mountains exactly where God put them,
Though not strictly photographic, as if aware of her gaze,
And truly wanting to look their best for …. the Artist.
And colors too, the amazing blend of watercolors that
Always complimented even nature’s imagination.
A few strokes of her brush and a girl’s face would emerge from
What would be mere daubing on my part, believe me, I tried.
But for mom, the colors always ran, flowed into perfection,
Making it seem sometimes like gravity was up not down.
You wanted her to win, and somehow, she almost always did.
The paint itself would evolve with time to become
Who the girl herself would be, if only she knew how,
Perfection shining through the textures of mere colors,
Even the rose colored light of the rising sun wherein she posed
Erupting from her image as if Venus herself broached the shore,
Floating as it were, erect on shell, on a sea born of man’s tears.
Oh, my mother saw everything with the genius of new eyes.
Only with my words do I dare to paint images that so touch
The emotions that shook me to the core of my being as a child.
Did my mother wreck me, did she draw me into coral reefs
Of her imagination like a siren might a forlorn sailor.
I leave that for you to judge, my reader, my friend, my lover,
Whose mind is the intangible parchment of my self-expression.
Her parting legacy to her son, the gift of my very own new eyes.
Brian Johnston
August 14, 2015
*Image of Original Gerber baby, Ann Turner Cook by KTVU.
R.I.P. Ann Leslie Cook, nee Turner
Ann Cook
Her look
Not name
Became
Households
Footholds
Aspects
Effects
Neighbor's
Favors
Charcoaled
Turned gold
Adored
Reward
Threshold
Behold
Quest and
Destined
Become
A mom
Four kids
Amids
Teacher
Writer
Thank you
Trueblue
My face
By grace
Glass jars
All-stars
Trademarks
Remarks
Sublime
Lifetime
Apprise
Demise
Gerbers
Furthers
Bless you
Adieu
Godsend
Ascend
*R.I.P. Ann Leslie Cook, nee Turner*
At five months old, she posed for their family's neighbor, Dorothy Hope Smith, who drew a charcoal sketch of her for a Gerber's baby-food contest. That charcoaled sketch became Gerber's iconic label when they opened and produced their products in 1928. For nearly ninety-four years of her lifetime, she has been in American homes, as well as, abroad. She died in her St. Petersburg, FL., home, (11/20/1926-06/03/2022) at 95.
2022 June 11
*6th Place*
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2022 June 12
I woke trembling on the eve of dawn
dappled sunlight through window shone
upon my canvas there had been drawn
a masculine image, chiseled cheekbones
What fantasy had I taken in flight
Had my hand charcoaled this face
And in the darkness of my night
what knight-errant did I embrace
His eyes bore through my very own
No angle shielded their penetration
I reached for palette and brushes
he guided my hand for his creation
Colors gave life to detailed features
Blue eyes were flecked with gold
Bright with desire, grinning at me
I'd never painted something so bold
My palette awash in shades of oil
Streaks of cobalt covered my gown
When his eyes stared back at me
I knew that soon I would drown
I could not bear to tear myself away
On and on I painted where he led
My hand had wearied from its task
I lay back down on my rumpled bed
With eyes closed in hope of dreaming
of this man who now lives in my heart
Come, my handsome knight, once more
I can no longer bear living in worlds apart
Slowly charcoaled clouds cover sunny skies
Peeked playful smiles turn to tear filled eyes
No more making memories
Time sure did fly on by
I think of your legacy and what you achieved
Lived life to the fullest and in God you believed
Helping out fellow man
Not worrying what accolades you received
A man's man, a truer friend there could ever be
Courage, compassion, finally set free
When my time comes
What will they think of me
Clouds part and the sun's rays enlightening my day
I put my heart and soul on display
My gift won't go to waste
For strength, for peace and for harmony I pray
Here I stare
And sketch myself living
Timing every breath
But the clock remains still
Not a moment passes
An entire existence to spare
One complete
And nothing
Nowhere or time to go
Trapped here
In this ominous setting
Afloat in this once purgatory
Then once more and again
Impalpable designs charcoaled
Shading my ambit in silhouettes
Every turn I take muted
By the shadows of obscurity
Amid once roseates mirroristic muse borne reflections ~
Images now manifesting themselves inside the dampened blink of time to find
But a bitter root spawning within jestives mocking mist touching it all....
A hearts turning unto the tainteds brushed in such bluish black?!
Shades encumbering frameless days to impede silent breath
Cast into the haze caught afore solitudes sight; this
Charcoaled aneath grays changling canvas tracing dreams; tampered thoughts....
Dreamt upon an empty palette; stilled, by these quietus hands!?
Turning unto jaded an emerald forest of loves hopes risen from
Innocent visions bearing light awakened so very deeply inside ~
Stigmatized, while gazing into the divertive face of autumns newest moon....
Piercing this glass formed in silver made hues; shadows etching royalistic palms left
Waiting for a mornings dew dipped colours to someday soon, reappear?!
Renewing what has been stolen; mingling betwixt the blood of, red laced sins
****************************************************************
...."Splashed" ~
(APROPOS OF 11/21/2018)
i
The fires came and the winds blew;
Nothing remained the same—
If only they knew…praying for the rain;
The floods came the next day
And the flowing mud had its way:
Houses that had remained
Went down the mountain drain;
But they vowed they would build again
Knowing that they were not the blame
And that the old Devil would be put to shame;
For they remained filled with sparkling hope
And fueled by igniting faith in ways to cope;
ii
How could they have ever known
That the fire next time
Would be so dreadfully blown
Consuming all they held so sublime?
Yet, despite the devastating cost
Etched memories would not be lost;
The heavenly Eagle had stirred the nest
And their souls’ spirits had survived the test.
iii
Without caring to warn, fiercely famished
Flames came knocking at fuel’s gate—
Like flesh-eating bacteria
Scorching the ripe Cali landscape;
Most were devoured within the path of the flames,
Leaving ashy structural architectural shards
And remnants of charred human remains
Laying naked among charcoal baked clods;
If only they had known—even imagined—at least…
Nature’s unleashing of such a power—a roaring beast,
With strange winds carrying sparking needles of pain’s grief;
iv
Destruction and death raised ice bed thoughts of long ago—
Of the charred cities of Sodom and Gomorrah—
But healing memories fired flaming faith with spirit filled Gloria:
Remembering Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah—
Also known as Meshack, Shadrach, and Abednego;
In the end, deliverance came sweeping along the charcoaled way,
And the sunrise of time granted them a new blessed day
As the mournful death charred journey remained to be tread;
The Most High, Jehovah, heard their prayers and nodded His head.
v
Everything under the sun and moon come in due season;
Whatever nature brings, the Creator will reveal His reason.
Know then that for what has come, you are not to be blamed;
For in due season, the old Devil will surely fall and be shamed.