Best Vincent Van Gogh Poems
from beyond his
vibrant palette
that bore all his
lifelong scars
is what I see
beneath his sky
and myriad
of stars
a scene of shades
and silhouettes
formed by the
yellow light
that hints at
The Last Supper
at that café
in the night?
Vincent van Gogh**
Sliced his left ear off
Only one painting did Van Gogh sell -
maybe he didn’t hear the doorbell!
The only painting Van Gogh sold during his lifetime was Red Vineyard at Arles
**Based on the European pronunciation of the name which is Van Goff!
05~30~15
Entered into Premiere contest #11 sponsored by Skat A
an asylum's garden~irises full of life without tragedy
heart ~ a wild collage
of gold-smeared skies
pressed within
oil-washed layers
of breathing
melancholy
as leaves curled in
cashmere greens
trace
condensed contours
between
the restless air
stroking
the pine needles
soaked in the
dewy-dreamed breeze
of piercing persimmon
where time takes
a trembling leap
sailing into
vermilion arms
of the
colorful oblivion...
and herbs of hope
f
a
l
l
like iron nails of silence
as the sun seizes
saffron sighs of love
caged amidst
the tangerine tips
of tomorrow,
peeking from the
edge
of
f l e e
t i
n g
summer,
as amber embers
s w i r l and s w a y
above roots of resilience
rushing with
grains of patience
while you
question the
velvety filter
of fatigued fog
as if every
burden I’ve worn~
almost bent
and broken,
is a fabricated lie
sketched not
with tears...
O lovelorn twigs
forlorn ferns
this I frame
in
windswept woes ~
an aesthetic archive
in the museum
of
r u s
t l i
n g
murmurs…
Dew drops grace green grasses
Soothing like my pearly power shower
I choose the right outfit for an orange day
Under the fruit bowl by Vincent Van Gogh
Breakfast bar stool welcomes hungry hips
Honey dew melon kisses lips
Pray meditate talk to God and myself
Water plants feed perky pets sweep steps
Thunderous thud at the French door
Blue genes deliver the paper boy
Who always smells like molasses
Busy red rush for beige boisterous bus
Cool car pool to trendy train that passes
Helium houses that empty again of masses
Spied by sharp eyed animals of prey
Early bird flight climb sky
By Water Lily Lake
Sun is a ball of fire rolling uphill
A wise bald eagle relaxes on top of the world
His seat red, white, blue flag’s pole by the mill
Sun rays in his face
Tattoo him as silhouette Smokey gray
Look what you have left us, Vincent van Gogh
Found hiding under your tormented mind
A vision of your Starry Night in Rhone
The Night Cafe' was revenge of a kind
At Eternity's Gate one sits and cries
But I reside in A Poet's Garden
Thirty seven years of visions disguised
You turned from God as your heart hardened
In suffering your gift was your pardon
At night I sit in your Cafe' Terrace
And contemplate the dreams you starred in
The Self Portrait you painted in Paris
Thank you for the chance to let us all see
Your brilliant visionary ecstasy
an original poem by the "poemdog" Daniel Turner
Spenserian Sonnet abab bcbc cdcd ee
Vincent Van Gogh
By Dane Smith-Johnsen
Passion tormenting.
Acceptance? Unholy flaw.
Vibrant colors capturing,
All alone he saw.
Beyond starry skies at night,
Honored by his vibrant brush.
Cypress glory, bright,
Embedded images hushed.
Country houses, peasants, cows,
Smitten. His soul crushed.
Chestnut trees. And coleus.
Perfected by sorrows eyes.
Lilac bushes. Irises.
Still Van Gogh's soul cries.
Orchards' blossoms, olive trees,
Fields. Bottles. Hats. Books. And Seas.
Still-lives. Harvests. Groves.
Then, to the asylum led.
Protected from hurtful flows.
Eyes absorbing strife-
Gripping anticipations.
Frantic energetic strokes,
Garden. Creations.
Pondering at his easel.
Paint, brushes and canvas hoped.
Life moaned in his face.
Endless striving. His mind seized.
Competition wore him down.
Peer recognitions.
Pained. Rejected. Feeling naught.
Oh, “Sunflowers in a Vase”,
By death fame was bought.
"Self-Portrait In Front Of The Easel"
To view, use the link below.
http://globalwholesaleart.com/selfportrait-front-easel-p-6458.html
This poem was written for Abe Lopez's Van Gogh contest
When the heart seeks understanding
When the heart shows true passion
Yet aware, taking the gift of caring
"with a dull ear"
In a distance
The blade glistened
as your package arrived on time
Say they "a madman to degree"
To lose thy hearing for thee!
Yet left behind
a masterpiece
"can you hear me"?
She screamed,
She weeped....
Thanks for mentioning Van Gogh in your write today, John R. ~I did something with it! :)
I heard…
he was higher than the starry sky he painted
a genius’ stroke with a sable red brush
dipped in white opium dust
of pain hidden from the mirror’s occupant
agony twisted darker than the starry canvas
concealed behind glistening constellations of doubt
to live or die
the artist painted Vincent’s Sky
I know…
the piercing pain of abandoned nights
allegations echoing the deeds of a sinner
bearing track marks on rawboned arms
chained to opium’s ether
blinding sodium vapor stars
broken asphalt lulling my dreams
to live or die
straining to enter
Vincent’s Sky
VINCENT VAN GOGH COMES CALLING FOR CHRISTMAS
V.V.G. was broke again
On his way to feast with mother
Wrapped up his ear
As gift for brother
ART Vincent Van Gogh
An Afinity of Yellow
The moon is slowly engaging the afternoon sun
and the crows fly randomly o’er the fields
where wheatfields bloom with hues
of radiant energy and bright patches
of yellow imitating the sun
and Vincent, the Artist applies on the canvas
a black stroke here and a black stroke there
before the crows disperse and disappear
his Wheatfields with Crows he would create
he steps back to observe but his mind
is uneasy his affinity for the bright color yellow
is enhancing his depressed manic state
and he must strife for completion
before it’s too late for his mind and his soul
will be lost to his inevitable fate
but the Van Gogh legend must carry on
that he must fall and rise again
to seek out the night and to paint the stars
by the river Rhone
then repose himself at the Night Cafe
an absinthe to create a sensation
of a light burning bright in his brain
to paint on the morrow and borrow
what goodness will come his way
but the days grow short he can only hope
for a promising sign that he can cope
Celebration of Art Contest
Sponsored by Kim Rodrigues
April 28, 2017
Vincent…
This is the time of the year
When I see the ravens and the crows
Especially in an open field...
It's when I think of you…
I catch myself remembering…
I have to stop myself and breathe…
I daydream of our starry nights
I think of the ravens and the crows…
I think about your untimely plight
I wonder if you ever felt like me
If you ever felt my presence near you
And I wonder now….wherever you are
If you ever missed me too.
Could you have ever imagined
Could you have possibly known
That I’d still be thinking of you
Missing you...
After more than one long century.
It’s only been a hundred years or so
Since you severed off your ear
Since you shot yourself
Since you killed yourself
Since you shortened all your years.
If I had been there and loved you
Could I have saved you from yourself
Would it have made a difference
Or would everything have turned out the same
Would we both still be feeling lonely
Would you still be thought insane?
I did love you Vincent
I just could never let it show
I didn’t know how to tell you
Back before these 100 years
I just kept hoping
that somehow you would know.
Whenever I am in Chicago
I visit the Art Institute and sigh
As I gaze upon your starry skies
I stand before your paintings in wonder
And look deep within your eyes.
I always have to ponder
If you painted thinking of me
I know that you always knew
That I loved your greens and vibrant blues
I see that you tried to show me
How the stars reflected you in my eyes
I see the colors that you have chosen
Have always revealed your truth.
When I see your painting
Of the ravens and the crows
I know that you remembered
How the sky that day looked too
How it felt to have autumn ending
And winter closing in
How wonderful that day was
How happy we had been.
The last time we were together
Everything seemed so right and true
I had no idea
Your heart had turned so blue.
Your feelings always hidden
You never said a word
How things would tragically end
There never was a clue.
So now I stand here after 100 years
I still miss you Vincent.
I really, really do.
I wonder if you are thinking of me
And if you are happy or if you are blue.
(November 16, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved,
When Vincent stumbled home that night through a drizzle of rain ~
what was going on inside that teeming, torturous brain?
Did he blaspheme heaven with every profanity and curse?
Or did he gaze in awe at the stars of his exploding universe,
and try to make of their blue and yellow light a poultice for his pain?
Here lies a true genius Vincent Van Gogh
Severed his left ear why we'll never know
Sight of the swirl stars always drew him dream
Behind asylum bars view morning beam
4/13/2019
~ iris blue ~ initially purple ~ protanopia confuse ~