Best Easels Poems
Sunflowers blush as petals creep
Along easels of meadow's keep.
Winter's arctic days now long gone,
That morn's fair promise trails upon
Breezes sweet , once an icy blast,
Engrave a kiss on spring at last
Cardinal swoons with trilled refrains
Upon leaves' edges like beaded grains,
For springtime is a godly rite
When heaven molds its prized delight!
.................
for Brian Strand
Categories:
easels, blessing, image, spring,
Form:
Couplet
The lake is a plate of evening blue
Here where mists of dew sprinkle the view
Under lilting skies the undulating sea
Stretches far beyond infinity
Silent and calm, no hint of green
Smooth as silk with translucent sheen
Rippling blue as far as fingers can see
Yet when the moon’s luminosity
Fondles the surface where the wavelets flow
Twinkling jewels are dew-pearls’ glow
To easels of moonbeams on a crystal sea
How incredibly beautiful this vignette can be...
©
For Brian Strand's Image Theme Contest/ 2 to 14 Lines
By nette onclaud
Categories:
easels, blue, nature, sea, uplifting,
Form:
Couplet
swarm of dragonflies
cascading on quiet lake---
burst of hues explodes
perched on grass' easels
crepe wings swoop on irises, reeds---
ballet of light twirls
Skat's Contest
Any Haiku
by nette onclaud
Categories:
easels, art, nature,
Form:
Haiku
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…
Categories:
easels, life, love, passion, people,
Form:
Free verse
Drop cloth dreams
It has been found that given enough time
failure will find this destined loser
lurking in gallery tints
and watercolor fault lines
semi gloss replaced by flat
Painting abstract nothings
on a canvas made of words
Broken brushes stain the existing
balance with a voice that collects the remnants
speaking tarnished silver when silence should be golden
Pop art wastelands of dotted balloons
float above the ground where his face falls,
shamed and hidden, in plain sight
with eyes holding quarters of bygone years
melting clocks keep time with his idiocy
Impressionists laugh at his existence
in muted tone chuckles and turpentine snickers
Stretched on easels of dislodged glances
with splattered smocks tied in double knots
one size fits all
This palette of mixed memories
resting on mainstream notions, waits
for the end is sure to come
finding him alone with an empty imagination
and nothing but drop cloth dreams
6/1/17
For the JUNE PREMIERE CONTEST Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Categories:
easels, art, lost, sad,
Form:
Free verse
Heaven to each of us will be something different.
Artists will find paint brushes, easels, canvases, and glitter paint.
Musicians will discover instruments not invented yet on earth.
Scientists will land in a lab with like-minded white coats.
Romance writers will wake up to the fragrance of lilacs and roses.
Their pens will be quilled with the fluffiest feathers,
Their word processors will be voice activated
Illustrators will be creating the most sensuous book covers
Heaven will be filled with things children can touch.
They will gravitate toward each other, full of enthusiasm and mirth.
A carnival, zoo, museum, playground, and lots of cotton candy.
Bunches of relatives and friends ready to give them hugs and kisses.
TV loners will find themselves in a media room,
Each video screen showing whatever their mind hopes to see
They can spend hours in here, entertaining themselves
Food is not important, but they can choose popcorn if they like.
Each of us will have the things we need to entice us to want to stay.
If we want to take a peek at our loved ones, we can from time to time.
But after a bit we will be so delighted living our bliss and doing our work
We will stop all earthly visits, knowing we will see our loved ones soon enough.
Categories:
easels, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Narrative
I open the door and cross the threshold of imagination
To a place beyond my wildest dreams
Where fiction and fantasy, worlds a part
Come together as one.
~*~
Dream big don't ever compromise
Imagination take me to the skies
~*~
Through the clouds to by pass the stars
Way past Jupiter, way past Mars
~*~
Distant from the pages edges~
Far from the easels of art~
I find my imagination~
Categories:
easels, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
Their brushes wet
In a meadow lush with rain drops and dew
Two canvases stand on easels of wood
Two brushes painting a landscape in hues
The sun shining on nature’s ethereal beauty
They shared thoughts and intimacies
Glancing at each others moods and whims
Sharing their creations in pastels and blue
Lunches in baskets and laughter in old stories
Two lonely painters, sharing different strokes
Artists basking in one another’s dreams
One day a brush was gone
Neither saw the evil swan
Suspicions mounted
Lurking, a silence filled with darkness
Shivering winds defeating loves hopes
Paints covered and brushes washed
Leaving nature’s paradise untouched
Let the serpent roam
They held hands, the canvases complete
Love made them lovers
No serpent would win with such hateful deceit
Higher in the valley, was I with my brush
Painting a love story, of two artists who would blush
If they knew their love story, was a canvas to share
I captured their fragrance of love in the air
I smiled at two souls whom held hands as one
Knowing the serpent was now left defeated and alone
One day, I shall capture this serpent and his evil ways
So that meadows lush with the morning mist
Will remain pure and evil untouched
My brush will strike right through the serpent’s heart
Water lilies turning red, basking in the glory of dusks sunset
Raindrops shall fall like tears from the sky
Knowing lovers avoided the serpent’s maze
And the meadows are now pure
Of the evil ones gaze
Also on my site, more Art
http://arthurvaso.weebly.com/current-poems.html
Categories:
easels, analogy, art, beauty, evil,
Form:
Free verse
Lazy afternoons on easels
Maples giggle loud with sweetness
Blue and yellow mixed in grasses
Withered wrinkles sink in lilies
Joggers run in fear of dying
Secret trails end in abyss
As the sun stabs days in prisms
Bloody madness grabs the paintbrush
People old vanish from benches
Emptiness sits down by me
Artists mutilate self-portraits
Tempera in tubes succumbs
Painters shoot apocalypse in veins
Signatures escape through keyholes
Night becomes obsessive pitch black
Ghosts invade museum closed
...and I walk by with my suitcase
as reduced to it I am...
No one knows I carry homeless
The Portfolio of my Fate...
copyright@iolandascripca2012
Categories:
easels, life, sad, giggle,
Form:
Free verse
Meandering silently on this warm sunny day
Past the artists with easels perched.
Oil paints, scenery, still life, it all,
Taking it in, on the Rive Gauche.
The brush strokes capture the beauty
While life on the left bank goes on.
I wander past, hands in pockets,
Appreciating the beauty of Paris’ sun.
The nightlife in Paris is as they say;
Burlesque, lively, bon vivant.
But, Paris by day, walk face to the sun
Shows a side more intelligent than fun.
Appreciate the art, the culture, the joie de vivre.
It is here for all, the Louvre, Notre Dame, la Tour Eiffel.
Take with you your thoughts as you wander the city.
Leave, then, with more thoughts and culture as well.
Categories:
easels, happiness, places, paris,
Form:
Quatrain
Beachfront condos shrouded in the early mist
of morning. Seagulls hanging on the breeze,
their screeching waking sleepyheads
before their coffee, it's July the 4th,
the holiday is here!
Sailboats daubed in milky opalescence
growing clear, as sunlight nibbles at the sea wall.
Artists set their easels, hot dog vendors
primed and waiting, T-shirt boutiques
ready for the avalanche.
Parking-lots are full, it's getting hot now.
Suntanned beauties modeling string bikinis
scramble for position.
"Let's get the best spot on the beach!"
they cry, toting towels and frisbees to the sand.
Flags and beer are peddled in profusion,
smells of barbecue and pizza fill the air.
Suntan oil for those who need it,
all those fair-skinned redheads seeking
rest and refuge from the blazing sun.
Painters competing for the famed Grand Prize,
trying to catch the essence of the ocean.
Could be the next Monet! Muted pastels
smeared on canvas. Hold on, Claude,
you'd best not give up your day job!
Para-gliders soar in gay abandon,
floating through the sky like eagles hovering
they lay it on the line. You ask me,
it's sheer recklessness,
all those crazy people cheating gravity!
Musicians making ready for the concert,
violins and tubas tuning up.
People find their beach chairs
and get comfortable to listen
to the melodies of vintage Broadway songs.
And then the fireworks - woosh, boom, crackle! -
shock the heavens with their iridescent light.
'The Star-Spangled Banner.' Couples cuddle
up in blankets to watch the rockets
paint the sky 'Red, White and Blue!'
They make their way contented to their cars,
young and old alike loved the festivities.
Stop to get some Rolaids, (too much pizza,
fun and frolic!) but the day will last forever
in their memories.
Categories:
easels, holiday,
Form:
Verse
Last night, i dared revisit the crossing
of time with my brother, hovering on a
distant sky , tracing notes of my dripping rhymes.
We grew like chariot riders; he, the Troy of
streets and I, the maiden of lofty speeches.
While his hands reveled at the wonder of seaweeds,
I reviewed the fury of ancient mythology---
he laughs again at the strangeness of my ivory
tower ; and above easels of clouds, he smiles
knowing only he could comprehend my weird
attachment to words, art, and tempest.
Ten years ago, he ascended somewhere
in the glow of light, shutting me from all
moments uninhabited… unleashed.
A blank paper shouts at my hesitating
litany as if it were aware how siblings
climb inside, touch the veins of bloodline…
yet, it can not. Like a pageless odyssey,
I close my seaweed eyes unable to continue
recounting that June day,
when Benjo slipped into chariot’s final ride
without nothing else to say.
©
*in sweet memory of my brother who
relished my uniqueness as a person
and inspired me to pursue my passion.
Carol Eastman's Unsung Hero Contest
Categories:
easels, family, introspection, space,
Form:
Lyric
Sometimes love just isn’t enough
Art is our way home to finding ourselves
We were blindfolded ballerinas. Swaying to the rhythm of our hearts breaking. We tippy
toed across a tight rope, looking for some sort of answer from dangerous lovers, like hope.
She the tigress and I the poetess brought together by similar circumstance
Oxycontin madness
With men who constantly chased after their addiction.
Placing importance over their next fix over our happiness.
We were resilient, goddesses of patience
Two ships, headed towards the rocky shore, we ignored the guidance of the lighthouse. We
used our hearts as and emotions to navigate blindly Feeling through the darkness.
Your mind will always be illuminating, when it is the darkest.
Wearied travellers....
Of Love.... and Life. Let the wind carry you through the pain like a kite.
Grab onto your easels like a lifeline. Your paintbrush will be your escape, with each
brush stroke. Simple little joy, a hug when you need it for your ego
Art is the essence of self love......so love yourrrrrrrrr self.
Let your soul take a walk,
Your mind will be your deliverance to freedom, unlocking the key to your eternal kingdom.
Press the paint between your palms, become one with the medium.
Our poetry is the closet thing to Touching god.
Allah, Buddha, Jesus Christ, Ishvara, Yahweh, and all the Hindu dieties
I worship thee on my KNEES for enlightening me, granting the gift of this serenity
We are the Irises that still flourish after the avalanche
Diamond thick skin Heroines
we write...........................
To set off a bouquet of explosively delicious fireworks, in the creation of our thoughts
Exploding magnificent technicolours into the deep recesses of our minds
Completely liberated from our insecurities
We press our pens together like swords , all for one and one for all
An everlasting oath to protect what we lost
Our artistic Souls
Categories:
easels, artlove, together,
Form:
Aboard the event train I watched over the undulating scenery ahead.
Whose eyes see into shadows ogling the unknown
What a basically exhilarating time indeed.
What other panorama undresses before admiring glances.
Evening skies in many orangey shades urges many admirers
Watching every hue interact with others made us very aware therefore,
every minute interaction could overflow senses
Unusually patient artists, wait excitedly for inspiration, no over worried urges,
Mountains alongside roll engagingly by in magnificence, only surprisingly usurped by
angry rivers each with instinct, rushing onwards gleamingly unspoilt, the awaiting sea empty, the incoming tide overrides the unsuspecting rivers as the eddys flow
incorporating ocean , rivers, united
Fields angrily shout every colour in the oscillating spectrum, urgently needing
attention, waiting easels placed in readiness, overtone to undertones
Pencils are flamboyantly enjoying the interesting light overtly sketching, unruffled
Watercolours are readily endorsing the intense flooding on the unadorned paper,
all mingling, each colour interacting with others there upon
This artist charity event contest, it will occur yearly. unknown charities,
annually benefitting, every painter indicated his offer to use
Categories:
easels, art, journey,
Form:
Free verse
They sat around me in a circle
with brushes and paints all to hand,
their heads bobbed behind their easels back and forth
as holding an apple I stand.
Stark naked and still like a statue
I pose while they practise their craft,
I only wish that they would let me turn round
as somewhere I'm feeling a draught.
They'll certainly use all the colours
my body has got quite a few,
from the grey of my hair to the green of my stare
and my varicose veins are deep blue.
The copy they paint won't be faithful
since totally nude is too far,
so from that I have shied and one bit of me hides
in the tube from a Cuban cigar.
For contest 'Naked', sponsor Anthony Slausen.
Categories:
easels, art, humor,
Form:
Rhyme