Best Sketches Poems
IRRESISTIBLE – Two sketches
Bella Donna
At distance
She had beauty of form –
A kind of neutral simplicity
Which added perfumed color
To those surround
Closing on subject
One might notice a slight pink rush
On her blossom face
A deep emerald glow
Striking the eye
The meeting is sudden
One yearns to touch
Ah but to kiss
Would be sorry for
A poison heart stains that loveliness
POPPY
Her dress is varied –
A mixed confusion of inner colors
Detracting from those not lesser charms -
The lemon creamy fringes
The central ebony and peach flares
Blend to focus an oval black beauty
With laughing lips
And a will to be loved
Dave Austin
*Inspiration thanks to Georgia O’Keeffe’s flowers
still water surface
casting back painted sketches
of nature’s muses
The lake is a plate of evening blue
Here where mists of dew sprinkle the view
Under lilting skies the undulating sea
Stretches far beyond infinity
Silent and calm, no hint of green
Smooth as silk with translucent sheen
Rippling blue as far as fingers can see
Yet when the moon’s luminosity
Fondles the surface where the wavelets flow
Twinkling jewels are dew-pearls’ glow
To easels of moonbeams on a crystal sea
How incredibly beautiful this vignette can be...
©
For Brian Strand's Image Theme Contest/ 2 to 14 Lines
By nette onclaud
1.
Narcissus
There's a lot of room left in your head yet, my brother
There probably always will be.
Yours the realm of sliderule order
The self-denial of the man who believes in Facts.
Your feet planted firmly on the Earth
While your head inclines to the stars.
You could well serve as God's measurements taker.
Your home is the cloister,
The sound of sandal upon stone
Will usher you in and usher you out
As you pass through the halls and cells
Of your ruthlessly well managed life.
The quiet warmth of candlelight
Has always shone in your eyes.
How much I admire your strength and discipline,
Yet how much the more do I pity you,
O Master of the Mind!
2.
Goldmund
O what a lucky ladies' man you've been,
My darling, handsome little Goldmouth!
Kissed them all and not a one cried
When you left them.
There was too much of your mother in you for that.
The libertine's life was the road you followed,
Running ahead of wilting youth.
You saw the plague and its silent horrors
And killed two men yourself,
Got a taste of the gallows,
Yet lived to tell it all.
You lived much, suffered much,
Burnished your soul to its final brightness.
When you fell and broke your ribs
To breathe your last in icy waters,
Alone beneath that dark, unpitying Winter's sky,
Mother called you back.
postcards
tattered relics
soft paragraphs wailing
faint memoirs languishingly dampened...
boneless
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
The young boy was pale,
He walked slowly in the alley
No. 41.His skeleton hand hold a rusted tin can.
He was in business,for him it was.
On his innocent face,
In a modern world,who really forgotten
Kids like him was also human too.His eyes
Pasted on a piece of bread on the dirty pavement.
On his side was tall buildings,on the other was a busy EDSA.
A dove whose feather blacken by the third world metropolis,
Peeped down from the lamp post,
Measuring the distance of the bread on the ground
Look at the child,inclining its head side ward,
Then,their eyes meet,resting on each other stare
Like eternity,
And it flew toward the blinding sun.
The boy saw a man approached,
Polished shoes landed on his lunch
The gold Rolex,tailored clothes,big ring,
A heavy necklace hung loosely on beefy neck.
Surprised on a sudden hand that raised on his way,
"Move out!" bellowed angrily,then scurried quickly on a green traffic
light. "Fool..."the boy sighed.
Business is business,he thought,as he reached out the crushed bread
Uttered a little prayer,ate it religiously with tears on his eyes.
Every bite he remembered his little brother he left this morning
on their cartoon box house
At Smokey Mountain outside Manila,its smoke ascend forever
Till the end of time,because of the corrupt lordship in kings palace
His little brother burned at stake alive waiting for his pancit.
His father was an inmate at Bilibid prison selda katorse (14)
His mother was a girl in the street.
Then an old woman came out at the Binondo Church.
Walked briskly as the wind swept the dusk on summer days.
Stopped,a discolored dirt hand spread for an alms.
Irritated,she rummaged her purse,and gently place the one peso
on the boys hand,made sure to slow her movement,maybe the rest
Were looking at her, she raised her brow and smile
"Of course.", she said sweetly
Father hope will see this act she thought that
Might mention her name in homily,Mrs. Cerbo was kind to the poor.
He spit the coin and swipe it on his dirty torn shirt
And say..."God Blessed Maddame."
Then he ran at the little Sari-sari store
Brought a piece of bread,break it into halves
He hid his share on his pocket
Then tossed the half on the side walk
When the boy had gone, blue wing landed
Ate with pride and thinking, "stupid boy..stupid boy..".
That's what I write - - -
Sketches
Sketches of life
as they pop
into my head
striking at all hours
wherever, whenever
I try to carry a note pad
so I can capture
these bursts of inspiration
as I realize
my time as an Artist
is all encompassing
while I enjoy
the days and nights
with a fascination
that borders on extremism
as I doodle
at all hours
of this mystical ride.
Wayside artist in calm poise,
Sits down with bright dreamy eyes;
Makes a sketch in easy voice.
Water colour painting sighs,
Mental picture in a swirl;
A craftsman's touch as tints ply.
Sets his sights on landscape world,
Colours and shades now mix with light;
A touch, a blot, paintbrush twirls.
Part by part the vivid sight,
Sips his coffee afterthought;
Picture portrait dreamy bright.
In sure fashion picture-plot,
The artist makes still life dance;
Tints and shades and colours dot.
In awe of finesse I chance,
Poetic sculptures now fling;
I soak this passionate trance.
Yes I feel the pulse of spring,
Time to sow and hear birds sing;
Fond times fling a thousand things!
Leon Enriquez
08 February 2015
Singapore
I would like to thank you for your visit.
I have removed these poems for a distant future book publication.
I believe we poets, can make a difference
in this world. We live in the 21st century,
we have tools( technology), we have our past, and imagination.
We just don't have the courage, because
I guess most are afraid to fail, to loose money.
All I have to say is we can't take money with us,
when we die. I also say hasn't mankind failed enough,
and isn't mankind worth the effort, our children is worth the effort..
Thank you, and my your God Bless you
John E WordSlinger
City mall gallery
Artist impacts easy
Artwork transcends crazy
So many works of art
Thought-pictures fix head start
Sensorial feel imparts
Style fashions new textures
Images seed pictures
Colours merge bold fixtures
Watch the human being
Frame and trace becoming
Freeze-frame a picturing
Colours and shades and tints
Hands create a sure mint
Landscapes haunting now hint
Faces painted in time
Canvas storyboard rhymes
Watch words give way to mime
Vision flows in embrace
Touch of emotive trace
Wonder hurls feisty face
Leon Enriquez
05 December 2014
Singapore
I would like to thank you for your visit.
I have removed these poems for a distant future book publication.
I believe we poets, can make a difference
in this world. We live in the 21st century,
we have tools( technology), we have our past, and imagination.
We just don't have the courage, because
I guess most are afraid to fail, to loose money.
All I have to say is we can't take money with us,
when we die. I also say hasn't mankind failed enough,
and isn't mankind worth the effort, our children is worth the effort..
Thank you, and my your God Bless you
John E WordSlinger
WINTER SKETCHES
winter’s got me down
drifts of snow have turned dirty
sunlight doesn’t help
but a sudden spring rustle
this swooping pair of blue jays…
tow’ring backyard tree
upward far as i can see
a look – i’m dizzy
then chattering brings me round
tiny feet on frozen ground
Fine line drawing
Sketches of simple things
Artistic interpretations
Line art sculptures
Pencil engravings
Visions of harmony
Etchings in clear lines
Black on white shades
Grey tints impact
Notice the familiar
In artistic strokes
Lines in sure tangent
Graceful lines shape
Define the picture play
Still life subjects
Drawings in 2D
Live on paper sheets
Touch of focus art
Cryptic memory
Assembles in greyscale
Mental portraits
Adjust to light
Form and function
Greet line symmetry
Words can only hint
Upon that cryptic sight
Rendered by art form
Pictures rendered
By heart and mind
That urgent hand unfolds
Once upon a blank page
Where no shades were
A new emergence
Artistic perspective
Primal devotion stays
Mint in shaded tints
Leon Enriquez
20 September 2014
Singapore
No Greater Gift Than Thee
Across the floor and beyond the tree
there is no greater gift than thee,
to think, that a year of neglect can be purchased.
Do you recall when we adorned our conifer topped with His Majesty
and we sung praises and hymns of "Blest be..."?
But now our youth has given way to progress.
How empty and shallow now... gone is all but the memory
of simpler times of just you and me
when trophies were ambitious goals of conquest.
Now here I lay and giving way to thoughts of me,
dear Lord mercy me, have mercy me.
There is no greater gift than thee.
by,
Martin Braun
5/26/2020
Mindset moves me to treasure traits,
Yes yields plenty as wander finds.
Wear wonder well where wisdom waits,
Opt sure fancy with discrete mind;
Rouse up the feel of certain thought,
Discern the trace for craft that flings.
Sense how time thrills the fate you plot,
Know time claims space in change that springs;
Etch sketch most fine in crafty verge,
Touch thrills the mood of certain edge;
Choice seeds each line in vivid urge,
Heap what grooms good on life's sure page;
Explore the match of how zest thrills,
Stay your bright sketch on joy's grand spill.
Leon Enriquez
26 June 2016
Singapore