Best Sketched Poems
A reflection of the coloured pencil drawn sky
skates on the glass smooth surface below it.
While a rebellious group of shades take their positions
on a glorious stage to express themselves artistically and
I...
i think of you
Wisps of clouds shaped like a palm leaf
fan the winds that stoke the fire
of a randomly sketched sunset.
I...
i think of you
The cool of an ocean breeze
travels the shadows of this low lit evening.
Caresses my skin like the essence of romance.
Enthralled by the allure of a candle lit sky,
I...
i think of you...
Our French Bakery early mornings.
Café au lait and croissants.
Our freesia soaked baths.
Your mink soft body.
Its milk and honey scent.
As I fall off
the edge of the world,
I...
i think of you.
March 19 2015
Armand
Tonight my ink is mute
and this quill rests in silence.
I’m searching for the perfumed poem
you’ve placed in my aching soul,
when I found a home
within your aesthetic embrace,
whilst, the honeyed tip of your silvery voice
sketched a sea of flower-patterned stars,
across somber skies, whispering sweet carols
to the evening sun that wanes and slumbers
within crestfallen dahlias.
Was I ever a poet before I saw initials
of your celestial name scribbled in violet vines
across the pearl face of the blue moon?
I never knew words could weigh heavier
than dancing diamonds
glazed in gold,
Until I heard your riveting rhymes
echo rose tinted tunes of lilac feathered longing.
I love you for the way you thaw
frost kissed petals into streaks of
pomegranate prose-
flowing in crystalline compassion.
I love you for the way you’ve painted faceless ghosts
of my bitter cold past with acrylic glitter,
showing me that every thunder-struck meadow
can grow greener blades of faith.
I love you for soothing lucid nightmares crawling within darkness to suffocate my bleeding ink.
How you’ve held my onyx heart
while I struggled to weave silken threads
from emerald tears of angst.
But how can I harmonize the gravity of your spoken serenades
that linger across this cosmic canvas?
Must I steal every jewel from its rightful sphere,
just so that you can see vibrant colors of vehement verses,
reflecting through all that which flickers?
Would you feel me if these metaphors no longer flow in coherence?
Would you be the Emperor
to my throne of darkness
even if I am just an Empress without a crown?
What if I were nothing but a blurred black dot across a constellation of chaos?
Would you still love me If I wasn’t a poet?
Maybe these questions will forever
remain as endless equations
within fractions of no closure.
So tomorrow, if there’s no wind
that can carry these unsent letters to you,
remember my heart is yours till we meet
our unwritten tales,
before the last twinkling twilight fades into sheer nothingness.
And I will still love you even if
butterflies would betray the fragrance
of our undying romance.
oh ...
Gustav, how you pique the senses
captured passion's plural tenses
lovers twined in percale folds
caught supine with spattered golds
porcelain dolls in fetal slumbers
brushed sublime in tans and umbers
bold, the bleeds of Burnt Sienna
stippling scapes of fair Vienna
Yellow Ochre, Prussian Green
Cadmium Yellow, Blue Indanthrene
trees like soldiers, lilting boughs
abstractions spun of silken vows
ceilings meant to thus adorn
gilded graces - Heaven-borne
waters, tranquil - tresses, bare
a world composing textures, rare
you struggled long to e'er refine
your critics and uncommon line
subjects some then found appalling
yet, remained, your faithful calling
imbibing absinthe, sans a chaser
life you sketched with no eraser
and while we mortals can but dream
you left the world your gauzy gleam
so death would not define the worth
of genius meant to shake ...
the earth.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Klimt" Poetry Contest, Anthony Slausen, Judge & Sponsor.
I trace the blushing texture
of smoked allure
with aching fingers,
fervent and blue ~
inhaling the intense incense,
exhaling the iron thorn
of love sabotaged
for I feel your hands ferociously
roaming my flawed frames
eager to taste the fragments
of the sunrise you seek
in hues of hostile gold...
while the tales within
your eyes reveal
the truth of my tongue
twirling and teasing
colors of confession
and amethyst reveries
stroking the weight of want
in soft butterfly ink blooms
kissing your fears
into fluorescence
bringing your armored spirit
to kneel at the altar of attachment,
glued to the crimson of craving,
as an inamorato trembling ~
struck by the fever of fixation...
there is no escape, O beloved
from this inexcusable
intoxication of passion ablaze...
longing has no logic to philosophize
and you are now sitting
imprisoned as an impassioned
Antony’s portraitist
upon Cleopatra’s pedestal
wedded to the edges of infinity ~
a torn canvas is two paintings
oblivious to the galleries of grief
as healing hums through walls
that feel the melodious mists
falling like rain of rippling roses
pulling and pushing nevermore
but soaked in the dews
of quivering seconds
tuning time through heartbeats...
we are dreamers of what would be
if the acrylic carves wounds
into an ineffable masterpiece
the dawn never asked for more than
a constellation
untouched and unmoved by doubt
the sun never questioned
the sands of sorrow
so melt these tears
into your sweet fire ~
breathe my demons
into your warm sky
release all resistance
you are no longer trapped, but free
in the arms of undeniable moonlight
engrossed in the perfumed spell
of wild heat ~
there is no threat in deep devotion;
love blossoms
as a sketched sanctuary
of softened colors and trust…
I woke up to the soft
marigold melodies
of whistling waves,
reverberating in
turquoise tunes,
stirring the sleeping
sunrise within my soul,
while the hermit crabs,
soaked in salty sand,
creep along the ivory
shores at a slow pace,
too eager to find a
faulty ray from my
honeyed horizon.
Yet I refused to allow
the crawling crustaceans
to obscure the serene scenes
unfolding in shades
of teal zeal beneath
azure spheres,
for I am the
metaphorical mermaid,
weaving aquatic anthems,
awaiting the crystalline
calling from the warm
arms of an oceanic heart.
I remember walking
on colorful clouds,
tiptoeing my way to
the psychedelic gates
of seraphic realms,
oblivious to the
hibiscus haven thriving
in tropical fruitfulness.
Perhaps the flavors
of twilight cocktails
were blended with
trippy ingredients,
untying ribboned skies
to unveil a
kaleidoscopic staircase
to untouched bliss,
where no breathing
footprints can blemish
the pearlescent purity
of an exotic paradise.
There, in the rhyme-less
roots of palm trees,
you’ll find my inked dreams,
kissing the cinnamon sun,
unfurling herbs of
seasoned sanguinity,
a singing siesta
soothing ruffled crests
rippling with topaz tranquility
along celestial currents.
This is me turning perfumed
pages of my grounded reality;
a picturesque painting
sketched in the
amethyst arena of
my sixth chakra,
and I will forever remain
in this island of romanticism,
collecting conch shells,
writing poetry with
evergreen stems,
and floating weed,
a lyrical hideaway,
without scarred flowers
envious of the sapphires
I knit in ceremonial silence.
If tomorrow, there is
no sailing catamaran
to steer your lusterless shadows,
here upon porcelain dunes,
forgive my need to
strive in sweet seclusion,
I am no longer strayed
on ruthless routes that
lack emerald empathy
and camellia compassion.
I sketched with pen the outlines of clustered naked trees
With brush in hand I painted with care and utmost ease.
Outpouring of emotions on canvas splashed in hues
With freedom of expression I shed away my blues
A captivating picture – the flair of ardent muse.
The yellow, red and orange mixed well with mauve and brown
With eager strokes I finished and called it Autumn’s Gown.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
10th September, 2014
Contest: One Autumn Day (7 lines)
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
Placed: 7th
The breeze has stirred the trees with tender strains
of promises. Refrains we could not keep.
But left behind, a fervent song remains,
in fields of grass, where summer goes to sleep.
Our silhouettes, once sketched beneath the sky,
of fingers, gently placed upon my breast,
are only dreams I've kept. And now I sigh
from memories the years have laid to rest
The seasons do recall. Who could forget
the blush of gold upon the summer's cheek?
Those days are gone, without regret, but yet
each dawn brings back the youth we long to seek
When summer's gone, and we, as well must go,
we'll rest our hearts in leaves of afterglow
one with the music
a vestibule for magic
love fills the night air
Let my aura deep red spill onto the page,
I an instrument in the name of poetic rage,
L
O
V
EVOL...VES
Into a voice deep and vibrating,
with words feathered and lulling.
We are love...
Love!,
nothing and everything.
With you in the serenity of nothing
that my love is everything.
scampers a bright moon
gifts liquid life a lit view
watch them rendezvous
i wrote you a star covered night
built you a sun with a dimmer light
i turned it down warm and low
called it a moon, made it glow
i rhymed you an early morning hush
so quiet you could hear a person blush
i sketched a fully carpeted globe
dressed it in a thick soft robe
i painted it in greens, blues and a palette full
your own flower garden with no weeds to pull
i sung some words, some harmonized notes
strummed you a new world, one that floats
...a pyramid each and every word, romance...
I
do know
my true love
it will make you
light headed but free.
Space is that way, you know
but you'll adjust. A small price
to pay these days for liberty.
A chance to live in a world of ours,
just us together and lives of all kinds.
Maurice Yvonne
my palette is encrusted
with all the dried remnants
of yesterdays hopes
where strokes of genius and folly
were first born in
a fresh imagination
my canvas
overlaid with realities
correcting unfinished pieces of dreams
that were once so perfect
so beautiful that nothing else
would ever do
expectations sketched with
a once steady hand
until one day
i stood back
embraced reality
and
the priceless gifts of
imperfection
ebony edges
twilight blackens sketched shadows~
scarlet-stained sunset
dusk dribbles dewdrops
flower petals atrophied~
evening primrose, bloom
pinwheel galaxies
swirling stars orbit black holes~
bats shadow the night
dawn pierces night's heart
scarlet wounds bleed crimson light~
a hummingbird's hum
day resurrected
scurrying shadows scatter~
colors coalesce
"I have been a stranger in a strange land." Bible, Exodus 2:22
I have been a stranger
I have been in a strange land
Land of forsaken frangipanis
Land of black diamonds
Diamonds never decay
Diamonds forever sparkle
Sparkle like neon fireflies
Sparkle amidst darkness
Darkness depicting light
Darkness illuminating skies
Skies sketched in topaz tints
Skies mirroring my spirit
Spirit of a forlorn wanderer
Spirit of a firm believer
Believer veiled unseen
Believer sings hymns unheard
Unheard sagas of truth
Unheard tunes of time
Time twirls through confusion
Time enveloped in silence
Silence is a fragrant dialect
Silence is misunderstood
Misunderstood yet deafening
Misunderstood monologues
Monologues of the strawberry moon
Monologues of sunflower scriptures
Scriptures of sacred seasons
Scriptures lost in deserted dunes
Dunes of healing heartbeats
Dunes of forgotten dreams
Dreams of a midnight Jasmine
Dreams of a faded star
Star that guides the raven dusk
Star that flickers pink gold
Gold is the color of faith
Gold ribboned with hope
Hope is an emerald home
Hope is a thriving tulip
Tulip personifies awakening
Tulip honeyed in harmony
Harmony from serenades of serenity
Harmony of singing sunrise
Sunrise painted in poetry
Sunrise and rainbows
Rainbows with quartz runes
Rainbows of colored revelations
Revelations unnamed
Revelations untold
Untold…
Unnamed…
"Before a leaf-bud has burst, its whole life acts; in the full-blown flower there is no more, in the leafless root there is no less" - Ralph Waldo Emerson
I'm a sunflower,
dipped in honey of
bittersweet bronze smiles,
admiring its soulmate
strolling around the sun,
in sombre shine of
eclipsed dawn, whilst
these faes lure poisoned
pollens with flaming
ruby red ocean foams,
And I see a peculiar
patchwork on knitted
canopies, which are
sprouting clayey hearts
out of crimson crooned
willow branches.
Crumbling to pixies,
falling lifeless like fragile
leaflets in autumnal carols,
I believe, twin flame
telepathy is a souvenir
of roses and thorns,
which emerges as wanton
wildfire on the brim of
ocean's moon-song
in mellifluous mystery,
outlining turmoil in
turquoise land of trolls.
For, magnetised feathers
on matte lips always get
soaked in ashey sighs
of regret, whenever
bewitching conspiracy
of his amethyst eyes,
befalls in dialects of
forest's echoes and the
brittle skin of basilisk
slithers with a deadly gaze
upon my mulberry heart.
Chasing seasonal winds,
I became the fading mist
that succumbs to the
sheath of amber rays,
infusing in my lungs,
and suffocating my love for life;
Amidst these broken skies,
you left shadows of
pencil-sketched debris,
that float like wisps
of faulty daffodils,
distorting my dreams
and twisting thy truths,
in hellfire horizon that
sets our graves apart,
beyond million miles of
satanic soliloquies.
I meander through verdant valley
where meadows collide in windswept jade,
hillsides bathe in summer sunshine
and oceans of clouds, commit to shade.
Moorland sheep laze in woolly clusters
creating footpaths upon the hill,
busy hedgerow a rural city
scar of an era, is town head mill.
Vibrant coppice alive with creatures
leafy towers caress morning mist,
sunlight shines on distant window
across the valley, a sapphire twist.
Crag and beacon rise majestic
standing stone a monument to thrall,
sculptured by marauding seasons
an ancient culture’s, rocky stall.
Yet to chance upon misty patterns
softly sketched upon the hill,
I will savour these happy moments
awakening to, a distant trill.
Wharfedale, Yorkshire England
© Harry J Horsman 2001
i am surrounded by a blaze of flaming colors in God's garden.
autumn happily creating with her palette in hand the September scape.
a thousand shades of reds, yellows, browns, earth tones spread,
blended perfectly by the artist's loving hand, a sensual delight.
a masterpiece, sketched against a bark colored scrim of nature's flesh.
with my eyes opened wide and my body clothed in autumns light
quenched but still wanting, unwillingly i stagger away, drunk from exposure.
Maurice Yvonne
September 2 2014
A desire of truth only his pleasant warmth
can provide comfort. As I age tears and disquiet
are my reward. I'm saddened by reality.
I, an old brittle woman has lost sketched
from memory, crystal sparks adoring our life
all replaced with winter's sleep and loneliness.
For I am weak, searching, reaching for what is,
really is. Drowning, struggling through
the chilly winds with aching darkness.
Day after dark day, my home, a sealed coffin;
in a bitter resentment detestable world.
Crazed, I gaze out at verge of night
at the gnarled sky and beyond
and grip to hope unwilling to let go.
1/13/2020
Aching