Best Sawdust Poems
We love to paint, my muse and I.
It does not matter what – walls, doors, furniture, bricks.
Canvas painting is especially satisfying.
Drawing weird stuff is relaxing and pleasant, but here is where it gets freaky fun.
Adding the colors. We LOVE adding color, the brighter and bolder the better.
Our happy, cheerful color play puts us over the edge of intense happiness.
Yesterday I thought I was painting a blonde girl, I had blonde in my head for hours.
Pouf! I reached for the orange, and she ended up becoming a vibrant redhead, and it felt perfect.
I was as surprised as the painting; it is always a jolt of joy and expectation when I add the color.
As I throw paints together on a canvas, I watch an amazing unfolding of unbridled creativity.
I am instantly and thoroughly delighted and honored by my artistic muse’s artistic art play.
She throws odd things like gears, sawdust, pebbles, crunched up leaves, and glitter onto my canvases.
Oftentimes items get thrown onto the canvas and glued before I realize what she is doing.
An artist friend of mine once asked me, “Is that sawdust on the pirate ship?”
I admitted that it was.
How did that happen? He asked, genuinely surprised.
Easy, I told him. We were
Walking through the garage, and we saw it,
Grabbed a jar, collected it, and later glued it onto the
Canvas when we needed that color.
Samantha, my whacky, zany muse, is one sassy and confident artist.
I readily follow her lead.
The sawdust lay upon the floor
Each speck was well defined.
'Thanks be to trees, ' one said aloud,
'That we are nothing more! '
But one poor speck just would not rest,
'There was a plan! ' cried he.
'We're not just dirt the wind blows 'round, '
God loves us don't you see? '
So all the specks contributed
To God's anointed specks
Until the day the trash was burned
And all God's specks were dead.
What was your name?
Why was your pain?
I stood on the concrete,
Your blood had stained,
Wide circle of sawdust,
All I knew of you,
The remnants of your life,
The wind now blew,
From 40 stories up,
You lept,
Away from your agony,
You stepped,
Fates promise,
Now kept
JEV
Got my thumb stuck out for Amarillo
I guess any place north of here will do
We shared our first kiss down by that willow
When she could smile and our love was brand new
Now she's a lady, but I'm still the same
She likes the bright lights, I still like 'em low
And I like sawdust, there's no one to blame
I see in her eyes that it's time to go
So I'll tip my hat and give her a wink
She can keep the pickup, I'll catch a ride
No time to worry and no time to think -
Just find me some music, let these boots slide
Got my thumb stuck out,I'm headed that way
Cowgirls like dim lights and sawdust they say
5/7/2017
From the poems point of veiw
in each and every aspect
it's the writers obligation
to create and ochastrate
to provide indepth and create
interestit's ones aspect.
like a song with great dtail
and hreat sounds
and lyrics
the right performer
the right song
and situation
details the whole perspective
it was a fiction that united us
with a lack of details that divided
our interest
it's as sutle as a toothache and as
tame as a fluffball
did you hear the story of the guy who gathered
fluffballs and told the world it was his pet
the ball got so big
it ws something we could never forget
the fluffball would roll it was cute whenit
was small
but the bigger the fluffed up bvall got
the harder it would roll.
well one day while packing new fluff to the ball
the ball rolled
the guy could stop it it was to big and to tall
it squished the guy
there he laid underneah
until his wife came home and said
c
good greif
she pushed and pushed
suddenly the ball took a roll
it rolled over the floor
and then through the wall
I guess you get the understanding and point in such detail
control your passion
use good sence
let your charcter provail
Written by
The Poem
Scoop dew we e boop!