Best Paintings Poems
My art delights me, covers my walls.
Smiling, dancing, laughing magical beings.
Reminding me how much I love to choose colors.
Appreciated by no one as much as myself.
Proud neon colors saturate my house,
My artwork is in nearly every room,
Each room a challenge. Which one is the best?
Which one would I choose for painting of the week?
I am obsessed with the pure joy and excitement
I receive as I choose my colors, plowing through my paints.
I know exactly what color each bottle and squeeze tube makes.
Happily painting my whimsical creatures, I am choosy about it.
Almost every painting includes a woman, and I start with her eyes.
Every single time, drawing the two orbs first, or one if I want her
To appear to be looking sideways. Every single time. No exceptions.
I have never begun a painting that did not start with the eyes.
Pirates, dragons, unicorns, faeires, elves, and mushroom houses
Laugh at me from my covered walls. Seventy’s peace sign and hippies.
In hip-hugging bell bottoms, are burning their bras in my living room.
They make me happy, and they make me laugh. They are whimsical.
Ladybugs, peacocks, tulips, flower gardens, lily of the valley, horses too.
My art delights me, brings my mood from minus twelve to one hundred and sixty.
In a few minutes, I can take an empty canvas and turn it into an original piece
Distinctly mine, I doubt I have to sign them. They all call my name, and loudly.
A mesmerizing purple and pink unicorn with an orange mane is staring at me.
I cannot feel uncomfortable.
Because….
I created her.
I also drew and painted the glittery glitzy giant pink bear,
the turquoise cat with the fluffy tail and orange polka dots,
and the friendly blue and yellow daddy dragon, who is almost ridiculous in his happy cuddling of a flop-haired baby doll.
I am in my living room, trying to not notice how clever I was when I painted the 70’s orange and green striped frog and his funky pink peace-out lily pad,
But it pops almost as much as the chubby happy honeybee with the hot pink wings that is zooming around my faerie with the pink, purple, and white hair. She is one of my favorites apparently, as my eye keeps straying back to admire her, not quite remembering painting her at all, but knowing it had to have been me, as my paintings are readily figured out as mine by anyone who has ever seen one. I have mastered the art of creating “Caren” stuff in a Caren-way.
I make no apologies for my living room menagerie.
I am the Goddess-creator of all I survey
If you do not like my kingdom you are free to play elsewhere today.
We will still be friends, but I cannot let you stay now because I am having a really glorious little “me” day, and it does not like to be ruined.
Gustav Klimt adored for his murals and paintings
Turned life in poverty into art of awesome glory
Pioneering erotic paintings depicting female body
Moving boldly to shape pages of his artistic story.
Honored for murals painted in famous public places
Klimt became renowned at relatively young age,
Soon changing course of his creative endeavors
Crossing boundaries of norm to launch a new phase.
Paintings like Philosophy, Medicine, Jurisprudence
Quickly became symbolic of his early innovation,
Yet, he was shunned due to misplaced objections,
His trio was later destroyed by ignorant generation.
Moving boldly to declare freedom of expression
Painting Nuda Veritas to foretell his intentions
Achieving critical acclaim using gold in his portraits,
The Kiss raised his profile to yet higher dimension.
Exotic naked women became hallmark of his art,
Depicting Girlfriends in colors of nude confluence,
Drawing Adele Bloch-Bauer I as an elegant woman
Wrapped in a golden gown of rich Asian influence.
So many paintings became renowned masterpieces
As Death and Life won first prize in world exhibition
And Adele Bloch-Bauer sold for huge remuneration
Rejoicing art lovers who seek to own his creations.
The Apple Tree I, Birch Forest, Litzlberg am Attersee,
Adorned with nature, joining ranks of so many more,
Upon Klimt's death became tremendously valuable
As admirers of his art continue to cherish and adore.
November 28, 2017
Klimt
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Art is so precious
after its creator dies,
like renowned Van Gogh paintings.
They cost millions now,
but he just sold one or two
during his entire lifetime.
He just kept painting,
creating masterpieces
knowing no one wanted one,
till he decided
to let the art speak for him,
and committed suicide.
August 24, 2017
~Paintings~
(Acronet)
P*ad
A*nd paint
I*llustrate
N*ew many ideas
T*errific paintings
I*nspire all to create
N*on-stop delightful moments
G*reat paintings to study, enjoy
S*hows, displaying artwork are great.
S*atisfying and so beautiful
G*reat paintings for all to behold
N*ice colours in that Rembrandt
I*nteresting subjects
T*ones and hues are great
N*othing equal this
I*mpasto
A*rtwork
P*aint.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2010
November.20.2016
~Author's Notes:
The " Acronet" is a poetry style created by Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson.
The ocean keeps us apart
Like shackles tying us to the Earth
They cannot bind us forever,
Sweetheart,
Close your eyes... can you see me?
Hold out your hand... can you feel me?
When you part your lips... can you taste me?
Sweetheart,
In my head the science is simple
What are the coordinates? ...Here.
And the time? ...Now.
The ocean keeps us apart
But under the stars we remain together.
1.30.2013
I pray for Time to be a vast white canvass on which Potential’s quivering paintbrush colours all of Being in royal hues for you.
May it layer your Time first with sweeping green meadows of Peace, Joy, and Love, nourished by ceaseless blue rivers of Meaning.
May your meadowlands be ringed with heaping mountains of Grace and Fulfilment that reach in excited dizzy strokes all the way to the laughing silver stars of Paradise, where Beauty leans down and touches everything with warm rainbow ecstasy.
May it dapple your meadow with red roses of Delight, Happiness, and Wonder, where Excitement and Awe can be seen leaping about like nymphs, weaving a golden story of majesty with the fluidity and athletic prowess of the dancer.
Finally, when Potential has finished and laid its grinning brush to rest, I pray that every holy dream and desire you’ve ever known has blossomed into bright life, and all language has ceased and is quiet, and you can bask in the soul’s blessed stillness.
Then may only Gratitude - softly, humbly, like the gentle murmur of the earth after a rain shower - prevail to express your wholeness.
May God hang your masterpiece in a place of high honour on the wall of Eternity.
One Big Cracker
Dear God,
I don't know what to write you
I wrote many lines and then scribbled
I know you like neat and tidy things
I have been sitting by the window since morn
In my grandma's home
You made her alone, remember?
But I visited her daily after school
She is lonely and keeps waiting for me
She bakes my favourite cookies and cakes
You gifted her with nice hands and thoughts
Two days ago she brought me over for keeps
I didn't go to school today
My heart is iron heavy and my legs can't carry it
Do you like to take moms and dads
Only on Friday the thirteenth? *
You also took James mother at the same time
Sara was seen crying, she didn't tell me why
I didn't see her playing with her brother next door
Do you have enough room for so many people?
Granny, Uncle Mark held my hand at the funeral
Uncle Richard, Aunt Jane hugged and kissed me
Many many people came to wish them goodbye
Granny is old, she placed a letter on their coffin
The graveyard was full of flowers, candles and tears
Mom and Dad were buried together and
Granny says she also wants to lie with them
But I don't know where my bed is
I thought you would also burst one big cracker at the cemetery**
So that we could all be together with you
God, when are you going to burst the next cracker?
Love,
Jim
FIRST
Balveen Cheema
November 15, 2015
Contest: Oil Painting-3
Sponsor: Eve Roper
* Paris terror mayhem on November 13, 2015, is no less than any terrorist attack in the world. Innocents die and families suffer.
** A bomb goes off at a funeral in Baghdad.
Dreams, all ride in a rainbows seam
Angel's paint skies, with a kaleidoscopic theme
Watch them flow, from the heavens to earth
Feeding seeds of hope and restoring mirth
Life, born or unborn, speak and proclaim
that "painting the sky, will draw acclaim"
Rain is the prism, used to separate light
and make beauty visible, dispelling plight
People are able to find peace on earth,
just follow the rainbows to find it's re-birth
Rainbow Fun~ Ridding Rainbows~ Anything Rainbow goes ~
for PD'c contest
~Paintings~
(Acronet)
P*ad
A*nd paint
I*llustrate
N*ew many ideas
T*errific paintings
I*nspire all to create
N*on-stop delightful moments
G*reat paintings to study,enjoy
S*hows displaying artwork are great.
S*atisfying and so beautiful
G*reat paintings for all to behold
N*ice colours in that Rembrandt
I*nteresting subjects
T*ones and hues are great
N*othing equal this
I*mpasto
A*rtwork
P*aint.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2010
October.13.2015
" Acronet" is a poetry style created by Patricia Ann Farnsworth-Simpson
When a great poet paints - the voyage
turns internal - discovering
the hidden treasures of souls
The saga unfolds...
A poetry
written in
lines and
curves
29.11.15
For the contest : Favorite Painter
Sponsored by : Nayda Ivette Negron
A recipient of the Nobel Prize (1913) for literature, Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) was born in an affluent Bengali family. The versatile genius developed an acute sensibility towards various art forms such as literature, poetry, dance and music. He was well aware of contemporary cultural trends around the world. Tagore’s journey as a painter began in his late sixties as an extension of his poetic consciousness. Though he had hardly any formal training in art, he developed a highly imaginative and spontaneous visual vocabulary, enhanced by a sound understanding of visual art practices such as modern western, primitive and child art. - Source : National Gallery of Modern Art, Govt. of India, http://ngmaindia.gov.in/sh-rabindranath.asp
If you want to enjoy his paintings, please google it. As Nayda has restricted this contest in Nonet form, I have to finish it in nine lines only. But I wish to write a Haibun on this subject later, to satisfy my humble self.
The greys of words or rhymes of yellow,
Twice or tens or millions stacked in a row,
Which one utters the volition of a fellow?
That we'll leave it upon themselves to show,
For themselves will worry about tomorrow.
Brushes of dissonance and ink set ablaze,
Flames atop fan the ashes of charred maze,
Crafty norms inculcated with a strayed gaze,
Gradients untangle those minds of haze,
For mosaic lives in the sun none laze.
A blank canvas a blank slate,
Tabula rasa in comes a vulnerable state,
Lines of coherence they beg with a plate
Quills dance on scrolls not a moment late,
What enters when judgement knocks the gate?
Verbose cache brimmed the silver frames,
Back they stare the strokes and spaces,
Poised purposefully the question lasts,
A thorough conclusion discerned alas-
"Paintings are worth a thousand words
And poems are worth a thousand paintings."
Far away, further gone, the farmer thought,
As watercolors brushed his canvas stain,
“My wife and her children, must have forgot
to come home again,” - blurs melting in rain;
-
“Forever finds all, but did he forget,
the wet daVinci now who finger paints?”
I thought, then yelled; “Hey Dad! Let’s go! You’re wet!”;
A son straining through blinds I felt inside,
Would I once be he, or would I just die?
His caves are graves that open, close, then hide,
then back to close as bats chasing a fly;
I thought of him, but thought to forget –
Then someone yelled from some neighbor’s cave,
Some voice I knew, from some buried grave;
“Hey Dad! Let’s go! You’re wet!”
Far away. Further gone. In another’s thoughts.
different pictures
painted with many colours
the seasons to watch
Ever wonder
Who paints the skies?
Who bares his soul to the world
On his pallet of crystal blue?
Perhaps a warrior,
Borne on wings of steel,
Carves into the heavens tales
Of war and death and glory
Bold strokes of red and yellow
Tales of greed and hate and pain
Tales of valor and strength and might
Perhaps a virgin,
With hair of gold and wings of silk
Painting stories of love and care and joy
Against a soft dark blue
Glistening with the magic in her soul
Confined within a glass box
Pushed further into darkness
So that the radiance only just seeps through
To light up our night sky
Perhaps a God,
Showing us simply that His world,
Our world, is filled with love and hate
Righteous and vile
And after every moonless night
Comes a radiant dawn
To once again light the way
And pour its radiance into the souls of the lost
Or perhaps we each paint our own skies
And see them through our own eyes
Behind which gaze a warrior, a virgin, and a God.