Best Sketch Pad Poems
I am Charlie
Je suis Charlie
I laugh at myself
I laugh at the world
I mock you with love
I love to contemplate
I love for humanity to think
There are no limits to freedom of expression
As long as we have no hate in the heart
Let us mock the universe
In gaiety and laughter
If we learn not to take ourselves too serious
Maybe just maybe
We shall feed a few poor
Maybe an act of kindness
Maybe we shall forgive and open our hearts
Maybe one shall rejoice and clap at a daily good deed given
Maybe our kindness will rank higher than our ideals
Maybe, just maybe, a cartoon can be just that
A Cartoon
We all have different views
Different tastes
Our diversity is our beauty
We can each enjoy that which we see as art
We can each ignore, that which pleases not the eye
Free choice is golden
Cold blooded killers
Have no place in our civilization
Whoever kills in the name of the most merciful
Is a fool and an infidel
If Allah was an artist
The infidels would be caricatures on a sketch pad
To be erased from all of humanity
Yes, I am Charlie
Categories:
sketch pad, allah, beauty, humor, peace,
Form:
Light Verse
i dreamt
i moved into a apartment
with an old brick wall
and its decaying face
the old light hanging from a thread
swings on the open breeze
from the window
time seems to slow down to a crawl
so i can see each and every flaw
so i can feel each and every thing she wanted me to feel
so i can know each and everything she saw
and so i see the the moment captured in ink
on her sketch pad
a drawing of the wind in the trees
a image of the smell of the fresh cut grass
the thoughts of the passer-by
who looked with such stark wonder
at this open display of what we have all taken
for granted we could never achieve
the old brick wall
leaned into the wind
and held
for one more day
kept safe the world she held so dear
safe for one more stormy night
the old brick wall
with its spray painted messages
like how joe loves daisy
and how we should make love not war
the old brick wall
holds back the world
from coming into her quiet soul
into the paper flowers and lace curtains of her life
the old brick wall
was once the west most piece of
the boxers rebellion
he was sad all his life
torn from his violent profession
and forced to retire
and his fists lay idle
with objections written on them like scars
but after years he came to terms
with the reasons great and small
with the rationalizations made up and real
and found peace
he found his fists could be hands
and hands can pet a cat
hands can paint a masterpiece
write a love poem
hands can touch another person without hurting them
and he suddenly he didn't want to hurt anyone ever again
because he loved having hands
and all the beautiful things they could do
he would never have fists again
and that change in him
was so profound that it became magical and
part of the old brick wall
so it will endure past its years
to protect her little scavenged world
her delicate life
her frail thoughts
because beauty isn't always
what the world thinks it is
a boxer can tell you that
Categories:
sketch pad, angel, good morning, magic,
Form:
Ballad
Greasy film,
touch like silk,
glides across my sketch pad,
before it's time to have a nap,
bright, bright pastels,
etched across my nostrils,
in such fluorescent colours,
I can do no other,
oil pastels,
comes perfectly natural,
to someones naked eye,
it's time to sketch and say goodbye.
Categories:
sketch pad, art, time,
Form:
Ballad
Warm nights I sit drawing innuendo,
kicking my feet I hold a white sketch pad;
How in the world are you oblivious
to the soft strokes I indulge with my pen?
Look at my hands realize how they flow,
this feeling is more than a passing fad;
Honey, you take yourself too serious;
Grab me and take advantage now and then;
Oh how I long for your spontaneous;
For you see we are just bound to happen.
Categories:
sketch pad, art, emotions, feelings, longing,
Form:
Other
Poetry is a sketch pad,
You can write what you feel or see,
You can pen about a single flower,
Or maybe about your pajamas that are comfy.
My sketch pad has a lone maple leaf today,
That floats in a puddle by my door,
It has lost its connection with its tree,
Each day it withers more and more.
Not long ago it was vibrant green,
Then it changed to the color red,
It once sat among thousands of scarlet shoots,
And together they made a fiery gem.
Now it waits for winter's ice and snow,
As it drifts in the well by my door,
The Autumn Blaze has spent its days,
And soon we'll have the dreaded winter phase.
Categories:
sketch pad, autumn,
Form:
Rhyme
In 1958 we saw the end of an era.
Mused the Curtiss Wright scholar.
he told a crowd of people
that an America that didn't
trust in the newness of creativity
would see a day were only exterior machines
would be looked at as something American enough
to be bought. Standing on the Promises of Yesteryear he
saw using the brands of yesteryear as the way to
move America forward.
He talked of reinventing the way we travel.
By moving the design forward
and never looking back.
Not using the samples of yesterday: but
creating new product under a Brand Name recogniable
enough to create family oriented appeal to modern auto's..
Bringing people together in the ailenment of futuristic design.
Creating quality Auto's and Luxury Products
were people from all ages could be proud to spend and buy.
The aquistion of Parkard motor Company:
to create from the sketch pad, a product
that would rival all companies. Building both
handcrafted timepeices
and the manufacturing of
products that would set the standard for quality
across the globe. He ended his speech
saying" Packard: where have you Been!"
Categories:
sketch pad, business, culture, imagination, jobs,
Form:
Bio
Looking around,
trying to find something of interest.
The clock on the wall, mocks me,
"Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock,
find something to do"
I'm trying!
No one has replied to my texts.
Nothing good on tv.
Alone in the house.
I'll count how many times,
The wallpaper pattern repeats.
I'll arrange the pens,
in order of size, biggest to smallest.
I'll arrange a box of sweets,
in groups of the same coloured wrappers.
Then a bolt of inspiration,
I'll get my sketch pad and pen,
and scribble away my boredom.
Categories:
sketch pad, on writing and words
Form:
My sketch pad poetry describes today a hidden gem tucked away,
Entangled vines twisted throughout,
Broken tree limbs and shattered windows scattered about,
Where woodland animals now seek food each day.
When the summer sun was bright and strong,
Abundant cars always parked along,
The busy greenhouse lot that once sold blooms,
And shrubs and trees that created perfumes.
That scented the air surrounding the grounds,
Where roses, peonies and lilacs were found,
Surrounding the bricks that were once a wall,
This hidden gem now seems very small.
Categories:
sketch pad, flower, green,
Form:
Rhyme
Once upon a time
there was a prince
his name was Aaron
most of all
he loved to draw
he’d get his ideas
from both day and
and night dreams
as well as trips in nature
he’d look up at the sky
and see the clouds
and birds fly free
he’d notice all the
wonders of the universe
he’d scamper by the river banks
and love the waves and rocks
he’d walk through forests and
look up at the different trees
how tall they stretch and
how their leaves have shapes
inspiration circling in the air
finding the perfect spot
he would sit and sketch
to while away the hours
and so this is the way
our wonderful Prince Aaron
would rule over creation
ink wand and sketch pad in hand
AP: 3rd place 2020
Posted on March 6, 2019
Categories:
sketch pad, appreciation, creation, fantasy, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Before bed,
she breaks each charcoal pencil tip to different lengths
and sketches a roving wonder drenched in grey
Ferns in spirals and curling such
become a bloom of hair
to hide the eye, the knowing eye
which sees but never stays
Ribbons of darkness and light
are scratched in, in a hurry
It's getting late and night waits for no one.
Her sketch pad yells out to her from it's many pages:
"Hey - Pay attention to ME!! I'm unfinished!"
but she stays to the task at hand with ardor.
The pages fight her at times, crinkling and pushing her to the edge.
She turns on a fan to quiet and confuse them into submission.
Then, she lights two candles:
one in licorice, the other in melon
and flickers the orange life of flame with her fingers.
Charred and smoked they sting slightly
and she turns her attention back to her work.
It will be a completed sketch tonight, she thinks, almost on the verge of dreams,
and by tomorrow, it will take life with color,
on canvas, complete.
Categories:
sketch pad, art, people, time, life,
Form:
Free verse
Darkness, shadows, raining, storming.
I liked to pretend I perfectly crafted these bleak, tired ideas.
When I was a stupid kid.
As if no one has ever drawn a picture in pencil, so that there is no color.
As if there is no piece of art that is gray with rain in the background that anyone would care about.
I guess I just like to recycle the same, boring concepts.
Just letting my mind tumble, over and over.
Letting each iteration wear me out slightly more each time.
Drawing more lazily and sloppily with time.
So they will realize that I’m suffering, but in a cool new way.
But no.
The teacher always picks the drawings with a sun in the corner and smiling families.
Those are the kids that everyone likes.
That’s why I always carried a sketch pad.
And never tore anything out.
Categories:
sketch pad, angst, depression,
Form:
Free verse
Sketch pad
Curious lad
Words taste bad
Mind map
Siesta nap
Step by step
Word wit
In odd fit
Strange fine bits
Notes rhyme
In word mime
Strange new chimes
Quotes ply
A fond try
By and by
Lush lines
Salty brine
Long laughs fine
Draft nude
Thoughts feel crude
Some taste rude
Kill joy
Rowdy ploys
Blunt lines toy
Harsh blends
Simply grand
Curves break stand
Leon Enriquez
27 October 2018
Singapore
Categories:
sketch pad, change,
Form:
Rhyme
Golden dewdrop spread on gray window sill,
warm rays from the summer sunburst at will,
sprightly cheep from high flier mourning bird,
pulsating heart aroused by what I
heard
Gorgeous is an adjective for viewing,
colors on an august sketch pad brewing,
vivid blooms awash in swaying basket,
visual trinkets stored in made up casket
Brown leafs strewn that capture noonday wonder,
elevate a world from going under,
pathway to a peak or slope’s dream patch,
eternal beauty words can never match
Heaven at my doorstep every second,
fantastic bliss around me now beckoned,
mountains, valleys, trickling streams, verges,
a burgeoning green world city surges
Rainbow fountain mesmerizing stunned throng,
eye catcher sprinkled hue a bright mist prong,
gorgeous is that gift wrapped term used above,
blue skyline veil from brushstroke that I wove
Categories:
sketch pad, art, august, celebration, character,
Form:
Rhyme
Garage door opener
Ice cream carton
Pencil, erasers, pencil sharpener
Magazines
Tv remote
Gummie pills
Magic markers
Towel
Black sock
Gray sandal
Sketch pad
Twinkie wrapper
Snickers bar
Kleenexes
Washrag
Comb
Tape measure
Scissors
Toenail clippers
Green hoodie
Small table inside my front door
Categories:
sketch pad, me,
Form:
List
I would be wearing a backpack and puppies would be hanging out of it.
Their tongues would be hanging out too, and they would be smiling.
Eight, nine, ten, eleven puppies. Because you cannot have too many.
My face would host an enormous smile.
I would proudly show the holes where teeth used to be.
To let you know that I am not vain, or socialized.
I would be carrying a sketch pad, a notebook, brushes and acrylic paints.
My clothing would be speckled and splashed with reds, greens and yellows.
My I-pads would be hidden. For I use both to cheat at word games.
I might not want people to know that.
My hair would not be brushed. I would be limping thanks to arthritis.
Dogs would be following me, guarding me, saying “this is my mama”.
I would have enough sandwiches in a bag to feed me and the pups.
Categories:
sketch pad, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse