Best Stroke Poems
If my mind be painted in colors borrowed, would it be red?
Rusted in brown, or maybe instead, an indigo streak?
Depending upon the source of inspiration,
and the song on the radio at the time of connection...
I keep coming back to sea green,
or the blue of underwater murals at 3ft tall of childhood,
eyes wide in fickle, transient hazel
absorbing each moment, be it safe or unstable
categorizing each scent and each color
each love and each valor
each crisp Autumn, Summer
in vats of brain paint to be later unlidded
and splashed with insignias
of every person and place and event
that ever touched corneas innocent, bent
on absorption.
If my mind be painted, I think it be green
like the moment I'm lucid before I dip dreams
and hang them to dry in the gallery
"Mind's Eye"
and push to wake up to connect, signify
every sensory path that I've traveled before
to traipse them again and still come back for more.
I'm a stickler for art and with your canvas blank
my sweet innocent dear, with each word that you hear
you will brush stroke your way to uniqueness.
I was set in my ways
Downed café au-laits
In a den of privacy.
Though pain from a jilt
Still throbbed to the hilt
A regrettable history.
With no delusions
Of future effusions
I cherished my liberty.
And tried to avoid
With every fibroid
That lost road to misery.
Yet a sneaky charmer
Found cracks in my armor
Ensnaring me unwary.
It was only a glance
A pure happen-stance
No intentionality.
But a sound like a crack
That I can’t take back
A fated futility.
Made me squeal out loud
When if from a cloud
A bolt of liking struck me.
With no more deterrent
This ardent current
Put glee in my fantasy.
At the speed of light
Our romance took flight
In ionic felicity.
AT THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT
Night had fallen
and the twilight sky grew dark
A soft wind whistled
across the pine trees bark
In the silence
we walked along, not holding hands
We felt our love
was drifting with the time worn sands
~
Clouds mingled high among bright silver stars
that sparkled in the distant sky
We knew the time had come and lingered long
afraid to be the one to say goodbye
~
Now, when I hear the church bells
deep at night,
I cry
For the love we felt so wrong, was right
When I hear
the mournful stroke of midnight
I know it means
that he, no more will hold me tight
©N L B
3/14/09
A stroke
Full of horror
I am cut off the list I am no more
My face contorted I am a mistake by the Artist
No eraser, an error and a cruel X, Klee has no time
He sees the end of world
In hazy anger, sadness-nothingness
Nothing to live for, Nothing to die for, Nothing to love for
An X
That says all
ON : Paul Klee-Struck Off the List (1933)
Contest Name Ekphrasis 12 Line Max
Sponsor Rick Parise
Poet: Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty
12/31/2014
Breathe
You lay in bed hands on your tummy
Head on your pillow blankets to waist
Deep relaxed breaths
Hair framing the face I love
Bursting scrumptious lips
Chest rises and falls with each breath
Tummy expands and falls with each breath
Hands slide to your sides as you drift asleep.
I sit in the chair and watch each peaceful inhale
Then relax with each exhale
Our breathing in perfect harmony
My love grows with each synchronized moment
I can’t believe you married me
Better yet your love for me grows
Even after my stroke
This quiet moment is one of life's blessings
Thank you, God, for this woman.
Copyright © Robert Moore October 27, 2019
“Stroke-a-back
stroke-a-back
someone’s going to touch you
in a moment from now,
I’ll draw the snake
but I won’t end it.”
The old gas light flickers
above the old school wall,
a game of “Stroke-a-back”
To the song of the Swan waterfall.
Pastoral faces full of laughter
innocence disembogue,
a time to relish
this evanescent vogue.
A fall pipe to clamber
a railway bank to view,
our cottage upon Sugar Hill
Where the flowers once grew.
Pea-shooting bobbins
From Town head Mill,
A Burnside clangour
from a spinning shed of skill.
In unison sincere looms clatter
Gates Of head scarves bobbing up and down,
Reed-Hook used with aptitude
a woven piece for “Half-a-crown.”
Eternity for the shuttle
Weft and Warp intertwine,
mortal weaver in traction
for that packet of “Woodbine.”
The mighty Oak and Sycamore
shaking off the morning dew,
mist that mingled undaunted
footprints that followed the view.
For there, where twilight kisses the breeze
behold carpets of Lavender Blue,
The sweet scent of the Honeysuckle
Clement “Nesfield” Grew.
If one could walk within a memory
caress a perpetual dream,
then one would have to believe in miracles
a mislaid youth to redeem.
'Stroke-a-Back' is a hide and seek game'
© Harry J Horsman 1995
cold water swimmers
have got a VERY apt name
they're called 'The BlueTits'
“Painting Dragons in One Stroke”
Beware of angels
with big guns
falling for you
they lose their wings
it’s like clipping nails
they grow back again
eventually
the sun shine comes out to play
the rain springs a well
in the heart good for dipping
sharp fountain pens bloodied
swords brush a new page
alternately pressing
strong and lightly
against the canvas of you
triumphantly sheer
silky as feathers
delectably drawn,
in perilous
Rapture Blue
delicately tasted
as in a ceremony
novelly naked
addressed and undressed
against the glass wall
your true vulnerability
embraced and seen through
ippitsuryu
painting dragons in one stroke
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
"Moonage Daydream"/ Bowie
https://youtu.be/RPUAldgS7Sg
Life changes---- The Holy Spirit Brought Jesus Christ and His Words to My Remembrance, When There was None...
Sorrows increase , BUT Faith Increased More!
Satan roamed around until he saw me,
set his plan in motion immediately.
I had a stroke with all of it's curse.
What the evil one did to me was much worse.
He stole all my Savior's words from my mind.
My heart full of prayers he did bind.
No sweet memories to delight my soul,
No love and laughter to make me whole.
He grasped my dreams to torture my night.
But through a loop hole, I saw a light.
I thought of a prayer I would pray, --
The Holy Spirit held my hand to lead the way.
He quickly opened the door to let me see,
I was held a prisoner, but, to be set free.
I asked God the Father in Jesus Name
what the devil had stolen would He reclaim..
God restored to me ALL, that only He can do.
In about two months, He has bought me through..
HALLELUJAH! PRAISE HIS NAME!
Time is Brain
F.A.S.T. learners gain
"He is brave and a warrior fine--
In a stroke, killed twenty-nine!"
Thus went word from town to town,
Only to come back around...
"A better man there be none,
Seekest thou a finer one?"
Crept-in a common sight of doubt:
Who's it they talk about...?
"'tis the Tailor from this land--
He hath the strength of Heracles' hand--
There he goes, tall and proud..."
Seeing whom, approached the crowd.
"Tell us, O Courageous one,
How didst that you have done?"
"Tell us, tell us!"cried the throng
Only to shroud his path along:
"I know not what 'tis ye talk,
I'm in a hurry, ye impede my walk.."
"Don't be humble, tell us about't",
Jumped up He, whilst all shout't;
"I will tell what you want to know,
About what, tell me though...!"
"Tell about your twenty-nine",
Sang all folk in a line:
"The Twenty-Nine",so he thought,"that I kill'd,
For me an éclat this has built..."
"I am glad I talk to you all,
Of this emprise--this caterwaul...
When on a fine, wintry morn,
I sat sewing pieces worn,
There came a lady selling jam",
He gazed,"I called--Ay, ma'am!--
Who, sensing a prospective buyer,
Told she had the best of Shire",
Again he stopped, all looked rapt:
"So I bought what I thought apt;
Now then, I stitch and stitch and sew,
There's buzzing-humming and the numbers grow",
He saw they'd still eager eyes:
"That's when I strike at the flies!
And behold--I kill 'em folk,
I kill Twenty-Nine in a stroke!!..."
_______________________________
*it is based on a story i once read as a child...though its plot was different, my poem just derives the 'tailor' and the initial 'killing spree' from the original story to combine with my own ideas..all comments appreciated...
Thronged investors at the allotment bazaar
Large cap bearish
Scripts at fall.
Awaited ingenious and expertise capitalists
Then brought into
Scripts at down.
Mid Cap bullish
Scripts at rise
Wavered SENSEX
And small cap ingress
Gives the once over like a cliffhanger rise.
Beginners rapacity and analysts variegations
Former’s paucity and latter’s accrued funds.
Pulled blue chips
Superior position
And more towering price
Then again a new firm
Offering a bid price.
Broker’s commission and depositories dematerialization
Varied revenue
Over investors capitalization.
Inflation hikes and deflation brought down
Again a widespread decline in the GDP
Brought the whole market to pull down.
Analyst’s accrued funds and NIFTY’s superbia
Top thirties jackpots and investors allocations,
Sharply jerked down.
Brainsick market
And a quidity beer bar,
A full-time financial express
And the morning tea NDTV regular.
Beginners’ luck to fill the pot
And a period later
The crow sated the piggy bank pot.
-------------- X -------------------
Stroke
symphony of hands
on keys
trembling
strings and vibrations
whispered notes
floating in the wind
hands tap dancing
Anticipation at dusk
a stroke
of genius
on musical canvas
I sat in front of an empty canvass the other day,
Thinking of the perfect portrait in which I wanted to portray,
I began, and subconsciously I preceded to perfect my stroke,
Molding wonders until I hit a block, and my art began to choke,
Attempting to find myself within the collage of thoughts my brain created,
Getting weary though I watch my hands as they are unabated,
I try to consummate my masterpiece, but I lacked proper formation,
My creation was deficient without any present inspiration,
Though the colors were all of beauty, I found no amazement in my work,
I wanted to see the bigger picture, yet my eyes were consumed by murk,
I introverted the inner thoughts within my mind,
To grasp the feeling of a stunning work of art I'd hope to find,
Restrained by the idea of what I felt to be perfection,
Merely lacking understanding of my art's nonexistent affection,
As I meditate on my shortcomings the image is surely clear,
The raw emotion of my mental art is bigger than it appears,
As I alleviate my mind, I close my eyes to find a clue,
Mental images of your physical features start to cloud my view,
I chiseled jaw, facial hair, a coat of chocolate brown or two,
The perfect portrait lacks perfection without the image that is you.
i do the dance of circumstance
my brain react to a simple Mercenaries attack
red, leaky, small vain, and poison pains
what great planing
makes me see that
there's no hope for me
and the suns of no shining
old man from the hood, stopped me
and said
"you'll, never get back your property
so, taken back by how much the
hood new about me and the people
who where sealing from me
so i gave the hell-up
and never say a word
because who would believe
me over theses whit (with) money
bigger than i can see
i am so
Synonyms: ignorant, not informed, not knowing, oblivious, unbriefed, uneducated, unenlightened, uninformed, uninstructed, unschooled
about the real crimes of the world
and wonder why my education didn't inform me, as to how too
get my rights...
maybe that's the way its will always be...