Best Engraver Poems
It would be a pure adrenaline freedom thrill to fly.
Flight motion is a dreamy adventure I would savor.
How excited I would be to Peter Pan the sky.
I feel certain the atmosphere would gladly comply.
Granting me ascent would be a most splendid favor.
It would be a pure adrenaline freedom thrill to fly.
Passing birds would wonder why and what was saying hi.
My desire to sky soar would never reduce or waver.
How excited I would be to Peter Pan the sky.
To sky view earth's wondrous beauty might make me cry.
Dipping and lifting thru blue could make me a flight craver.
It would be a pure adrenaline freedom thrill to fly.
My liftoff would be a spry leg jump and arm raising try.
I could be an artistic flying, smiling, cloud engraver.
How excited I would be to Peter Pan the sky.
Amplified amazing waves of euphoria would apply.
Each moment of exhilaration would grow me braver.
It would be a pure adrenaline freedom thrill to fly.
How excited I would be to Peter Pan the sky.
"All art is erotic", quote from Gustav Klimt
The Kiss... Gustav Klimt
Son of a Bohemian gold engraver
Childhood marked by poverty
Influenced by Japanese art
Developed his talent early in life
Created his own style like no other
Took symbolism and eroticism to new heights
Glorifying the female body
Evocatively exotic and erotic
Lacquering it with gold leaf
Controversial during his lifetime
Now on display in Vienna
Those not destroyed during the war
Traveling in world exhibitions
Or sold for multi millions to art collectors
Unfinished paintings when he died
World-wide fame celebrated anniversary
One hundred and fifty years
Death and Life
A golden tribute to Klimt
AP: Honorable Mention 2021, Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on July 25, 2018 for STANDARD CONTEST NO.105 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND
and on November 14, 2017 for contest KLIMT sponsored by ANTHONY SLAUSEN
It snowed the day my mother taught me to engrave
She held a waxy green leaf between her mittened fingers
And mapped each yellow vein with her eager eyes
All filled up to the lashes with yellow
Scraping away the green, catching it under her fingernails
She found my name like some ancient code in its shallow skin
White winter sun tentatively fingered the letters
And the wind took them elsewhere
Towards the great grey clouds above
Meanwhile our feet lay planted to the ankles
In something cold and heavy.
He was the son of Ernst, an immigrant gold engraver,
his devoted mother Anna was a gifted musician-
Austrian painter Gustav Klimt was but one of seven children,
all three talented sons were in constant competition.
In 1876 he attended Vienna School of Arts and Crafts,
an architectural painter he was training to be-
The Golden Order of Merit from the emperor he received,
and became an honorary member of Munich’s university.
Losing his father and his brother took a pitiful toll,
the tragedies affected his artistic vision and style-
But he met his companion Emilie Floge; life turned around,
and fathered fourteen children all the while.
Klimt took summer holidays with Emilie’s family,
off the shores of Attersee and painted landscapes there-
He became president of the Vienna Succession,
provided exhibitions for other starving artists who cared.
In 1894 he was commissioned to decorate the ceiling
in the famous University of Vienna’s Great Hall-
All three paintings were overly sexual and too disturbing,
so, they ended up being destroyed out of rage after all.
Klimt’s Golden Phase was positively successful,
many of his paintings from this period utilized gold leaf-
His first use of gold is traced back to Pallas Athene (1898),
taking small trips to Venice inspired his gold motif.
Most of his routine models were prostitutes,
posing in any way that would please his desire-
He was a highly erotic man who loved women,
but his dear Emilie was always his greatest fire.
He died in Vienna on February 6, 1918 from a stroke,
his paintings are some of the highest priced individually-
He lived a life of complicated freedom with pride,
yet placed a special importance on spirituality.
Klimt never painted a self-portrait of himself,
he thought there was nothing special about his silhouette-
If someone wanted to see who he really was,
he’d say, “look at my paintings and you won’t forget”.
Klimt Poetry Contest
December 13, 2017
Tribute to David Michael Jones. 1895 - 1974.
A British poet, painter and engraver
Was a lad of 20, left art college to join the RWF*
"In parenthesis "was his write
A poem describing horrors
Of being a front line soldier, to fight
In the world war 1 battle on the western front
An event he described as epic
and imbued with religious, moral and mythic
overtones where Divine Grace manifested a continual presence
T.S.Elliot called his work "a work of genius"
badly wounded in Mametz Wood his life they did fear
In 1921 he converted to Catholicsm, going to Eric Gills
Community in Ditching Uk where he honed his
carpentry and engraving skills
When Stravinsky came to UK For the last time ,
was solely a pilgrimage to visit David Jones
David died in 1974
Some of his paintings are in the Tate.
His work is mostly forgotten
Was deeply Catholic, writing
The Sleeping Lord and Other Fragments.
Classed amongst the most important poems of the 20th century
*RWF. Stands for Royal Welch Fusiliers, they wear a feather in their cap
badge.
Read notes please.
The air drips over the lake
yet to be thundered awake.
Mirages waver.
Bare feet on black asphalt quake
Keepers on sand tractors rake.
That's summer's flavor.
Swimsuit wearers all partake
of young beauties and beef cake
as love is a savior.
Dip the babies toes, savor
the lake's cool icy laver,
hear her giggles rise.
See the lover's sink braver
and the old ones disfavor
soon to end July.
Scorched red by Sun's engraver.
Father's garden hose wavers.
Soon, summer good bye's.
August crisps the field's allies.
Summer's guests leave compromised.
The lifeguard's gone.
It's too hot for much but sighs.
The town theater's cool as ice,
from the heat in drawn.
Watch the actor's prance in guise
Fall with have it's own surprise,
Too soon, summer's gone.
In the tidy marina,
the tide is going out.
My last image of her
tugs at its mooring.
I pause on a slope
of the Alpujarras.
The wide sky can't
encompass my loss.
A hooded crow calls
two hours before fajr.
The engraver has come,
desperate for epitaphs.
First published in NOON: Journal of the Short Poem
He holds me as flavor to make me his savor
He holds me as flavor to make me his savor
what makes him take me is what makes me wake him,
forever in love to thus far is what makes him my sailor.
Life goes high to make us haler
when our walk of love goes out so dim,
he holds me as flavor to make me his savor.
He takes me with his love and leads me to the river
for me to behold the beauty in the calmness of our dream,
forever in love to thus far is what makes him my sailor.
In the dream of our brim there lies our favor
when our sight is filled with trouble there we rest for a trim ,
he holds me as flavor to make me his savor.
Wherever life takes us till the end we aver
to make our true love the best as we aim,
forever in love to thus far is what makes him my sailor.
Forever we flow and row to be the engraver,
with the beauty of our art though we skim
when things go wrong in each love layer,
forever in love to thus far is what make him my sailor .
by Esther J
He holds me as flavor to make me his savor
He holds me as flavor to make me his savor
what makes him take me is what makes me wake him,
forever in love to thus far is what makes him my sailor.
Life goes high to make us haler
when our walk of love goes out so dim,
he holds me as flavor to make me his savor.
He takes me with his love and leads me to the river
for me to behold the beauty in the calmness of our dream,
forever in love to thus far is what makes him my sailor.
In the dream of our brim there lies our favor
when our sight is filled with trouble there we rest for a trim ,
he holds me as flavor to make me his savor.
Wherever life takes us till the end we aver
to make our true love the best as we aim,
forever in love to thus far is what makes him my sailor.
Forever we flow and row to be the engraver,
with the beauty of our art though we skim
when things go wrong in each love layer,
forever in love to thus far is what make him my sailor .
by Esther J
Verre
parlante,
engraver-
a poet in
glass
Emile Galle
http://www.worldcollectorsnet.com/emilegalle/index.html
Once I was a preserver
a wayfarer
a maker
but later
you turned me into a useless stargazer
by losing the will of being your tracer
I ceded my kismet on becoming an engraver
I grew to be nothing but a moveless eraser
English engraver Eric Gill
created alphabet figures at will
Now known for his sans-serif type -face
thus carving out a unique artistic place
the tablets of earth
are carved in stone,
one tablet in Americas'
235 miles long
every carving, every word
every letter carved in a
language known only to God,
every word, every carving,
every letter as perfectly carved
as an amazing engraver
chiseling into steel,
Gods words, Gods tablets
of stone are as historic as us,
but as old as
the garden of eden itself.
Engraver Gustave Dove
with lithograph art did love
Social squalor in a bad dream
were his usp theme
Can’t sleep a wink and I think it’s my brain trying to maintain a link between processing thoughts and thought processing amongst that stress thing…it’s a mess….messaging my eye lids to blink one last wink one last processed thought to think about before my tinker bell light goes out….
Let me think for second I beckon…I’m wrecking…my vision trying to blink a word over flow again…making my hands stink again…as I pretend my words are my loaded weapon…I’m guessing you’re messing about trying to figure out…come up with a doubt..shout..start gossiping..speaking of my thought processing…keeping me from sleeping…
Can’t sleep a wink and I think it’s my thoughts trying to link my brain to a maintainable critical thinking word flow blinking…processed thoughts brinking no point of return…my hands stinking from a burn…blistered greater on paper provoking mind creator physique paper engraver…maybe that’s why I’m wide awake or am I…..?