Best Drawing Poems
She’s always drawing mermaids, and they bear
resemblance to their artist, for each one
is but a girl. Dark, wavy, thick, long hair
hides pre-pubescent breasts; Elysian
the islands drawn for all her mermaids seem . . .
so different from her own reality.
The islands that she colors are her dream.
She also yearns to swim the wondrous sea.
She’d have a mermaid’s iridescent tail . . .
No place between two legs to cause her shame!
She’d be a strong free mermaid, but she’s frail,
and so she sketches dreams she cannot claim.
Her mother sees each picture that she’s drawn,
yet fails to see her daughter's joy is gone.
For William Kekaula's Sonnet's Salutation Poetry Contest
From 2011, this is one of my sonnets with the deepest metaphorical meaning
There's a pesky mosquito hoverin' around our ears
If he keeps it up he'll soon be splattered in smears
T-Buzz tries to draw our blood
When he gets hit with a THUD!
We'll celebrate his demise with a party ~ Cheers!
by Lin Lane
A mini vampire with wings,
in annoying high notes he sings.
Tries to fly incognito,
this imp called mosquito.
With blood thirsty appetite stings!
by Carol Connell
That darn mozzie was buzzing like hell
Til I sprayed him with a can of Repell
He can no longer fly
I watched that mozzie die
I’m happy he’s gone – you can tell!
by Jan Allison
That skeeter was in for a thumpin'.
I swatted, but he just kept jumpin'.
I got out the spray,
winked, said, “Come my way”.
And now I'm no longer a-grumpin'
by Dale G. Cozart
There's a pesky bug upon the lawn
One his mother should have never spawn
making noises here and there
wish he'd just disappear
One big ol' zap and poof he's gone
by Tim Smith
T-Buzz flies around in pestering irritation
One good swat'll take care of his elimation
No more buzzin' sound
He's garbage can bound
Thank goodness there's no reincarnation
by Marti Sutherland
I was singing karaoke, acapella
While eating a sandwich of mortadella
Along came a mosquito
Named Little Esposito
I smacked him cuz he wasn't a nice fella
By Mystic Rose
A skeeter singing for a favor
Was wanting blood for a caper
He's playing with fire
His future is dire
Joining others on my wallpaper
By Cheryl Hoffman
A mosquito was buzzing loud
Of his bugle, he felt so proud
My hands would squash fast
That buzz would be his last
Soon, he'd be covered with a shroud
by Jo Daniel
If anyone dislikes the buzzing of a mosquito, join in the collaboration by sending me your lines in a SOUP MAIL.
All newborns move from womb to crib;
and toddlers leave the floor to play in yards.
Most youngsters go from home to school,
learning a new milieu some with ease.
Our kids both young and old contend with space.
While teens assemble, needing gangs and groups,
our college students age as they leave home.
The forest’s edge expands with chills and thrills.
Advancing purlieu dawns on us
the outskirts of our lives change over time.
The empty nest can normalize our lives
as we accept each demarcation line.
With marriage, having children need not stunt
our passage if we've learned our lessons well.
We welcome flux and look forward to tomorrow.
Grandkids will start the cycle anew.
Agendas set; when of necessity
we must retreat, forest calls us back,
we think goodbye, adieu slowed our bearings down.
In lieu of serving others, we now dread
being waited-on by younger souls
who'll take their mental notes. An empty nest
just helps pull the curtains on our clock and stage.
I love to sketch with a pen and ink;
to feel the flow of the lines that I think;
as they pour their way down my arm to my hand
and softly on the parchment land.
I love to sketch the shadows deep,
as from hand to pen point they creep.
The joy of all the special nibs;
My pen will use; the page to fill.
Oh how Muse does love the ride,
as down my arm and pen she slides;
her words of wisdom, gushing forth,
like rain drops spatter on my porch.
The rhythm of the curvatures;
the notes that play, they will ensure,
A lovely drawing, revealed to me
I’ll dive into its reverie.
2-1-19
For: "Hobbies Poetry Contest"
sponsored by Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
Drawing us
~
As I walk this path,
I draw the night sky
on my skin,
cosmic outlines,
embedded darkness,
the softest touch
of heart shaped ink,
and I imagine you
tracing a similar image,
caressing these dreams
while wishing upon
the brightest star
glistening above,
walking the same path
in your part of the world
drawing us closer together
with each moonlit step
we take
Good night Soupers
Autumn dreams adorned the meadow
in a starless blue dome at night.
The moon, like covering stream flow,
Warmly spreadsheet was silver light.
With worn-out tone of joy and love.
Autumn dreams adorned the meadow.
Dark flocks of birds flap from above.
From across the moon's golden glow
Dreamy forms with their wings endow.
Fresh air has a sense of crispness.
Autumn dreams adorned the meadow.
Such bright hues spread and float riskless.
Weather is changing, it's late year.
such vivid hues, they smear and grow.
Autumn is staunch and drawing near.
Autumn dreams adorned the meadow.
Written: August 11, 2022
Hint Of Autumn Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
Checked by HMC.COM/ 8 Syllables per line
without suitcases
they surf skies drawing beauty
~tireless travelers~
she had a dream
of seaside escapades
and seabreeze in her hair
this little girl of three
landlocked
utterly determined
to make her dream come true
with a fistful of crayons
she brought to life her pony
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~A CHILD'S WORLD~ 2020
AP: 3rd place 2021, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on March 2, 2022 for contest A BRIAN STRAND FREED VERSE sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
Posted on January 17, 2020
73 years ago
A kid my age steps off a curb.
And, in the motion of falling, he believes he can reach heaven.
He has the thoughts of someone
with an inverted ribcage
And he’s sick on cigarette smoke and hypocrisy.
A kid my age, 73 years ago, calls me a pervert.
Through the thin veil of time and space
We lock eyes.
I say “I see you.”
He says “You’re sick.”
But that’s wrong and he knows it.
I am not the sick one.
He is the kid with the killing hat
And the giving hands
That despise the people he gives to.
He is the kid with filthy thoughts and phony smiles
Who sees the hollow spaces between his ribs
In the innocence of a child’s eyes.
And despite the filth beneath his tongue
And the alcohol stinging his throat
I cannot bring myself to
Feel anything for him
other than
Pity.
A friend of mine always tells
Her modus operandi never fails
If it's her intention
To draw a man's attention
She always talks to someone else.
Beautiful woman
Posing
Can't do her justice
Just want her gesture
Her grace
In a line
In a colour
Her essence
Elusive
Written on schoolwork
‘Boadicea didn't fight Martians’
Teacher was cruel
I was only about 8 years old and the teacher had actually written that phrase on my history schoolwork and I was mortified. I look back now and think how cruel it was as I had tried my best but I really am useless at art
02~15~17
DRAWING WITH INK AND BRUSH
By the corner of the room,
there you'd find the comely girl who draws
and paints with just her ink and brush.
She looks and observes carefully,
and then draws not only what the eyes see
but also the souls of men.
Others like her draw and edit,
they touch and alter so their painting
is rid of imperfections.
They know with flattery, falsehood and deceit,
they get what they want.
so they paint what the people want to see.
But the artist who draws and paints
rendering a representation of life the way it is,
receives little or no accolades.
Oftentimes, the artist is perceived as hardy
and complex but the craft is soft
and adds value to lives.
In that little corner of hers,
she espies the world through a lens
and draws what she sees devoid of taradiddle.
Unafraid she stands,
and calls you what you are
then proceeds to draw a portrait of you.
It rattles many how naked they stand
before the painter whose drawings depict
the true image of who they are.
With just her ink and brush,
the comely girl by the corner of the room
draws both the gangbusters and grotesque of the world.
Lovely lady reclining
Pencil won't do what it should
Follow the curves of femininity
Absorb in her grace and her soul
The challenge of capturing an image
Of perfection in body and mind
Will ever be the task of the artist
'A rainbow to catch and to find'
Wearing her beauty so simply
The model with confident pose
Draws you into her gesture
Invites you to capture her soul
Asks you to paint in her essence
You tell her that that is your goal!