Easels Poems | Examples

ARTIST : 1

{For 5x5x3 Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Miranda Hawley 
Date submitted: 20/4/25}

 ARTIST 

They shone daring green avocado 
in dark adverse period swearing 
guilt ridden heart vanquished free
sacral scrubbed pink and ready
plumed serpent in magnificent bloom

with candles God watched supreme
from blue misty mountain clean
knowing Artist was not insane
two green irises unusually plain
pierced her luminous spine divine

naked Eve eyed painting quiet 
easels of unfinished tired purple 
massaged her throat coloured gurgle 
rooms without curtains collapsing sad
Artist pierced Love bubble mad

canvas

I made some mistakes, let my head get straight to jealousy
One thing I could never get over was that instinctive tendency

I was the easel to your painting, the necessity but not necessarily
You leaned against my support, just to fold me up and discard, victim of your dissection

Strokes fulfilling your streaks of confidence, unfinished to perfection
The easel of your time until my predecease
Paintings can’t revert 
Easels are reusable
I’ll support a new masterpiece

The nails and screws holding me together are withering
Unable to decide between beauty and grace, cyclically dithering
I don’t want to make the same mistakes 
Gambling my love for you in sweepstakes

Dot To Dot

While gazing at the stars my girlfriend said, “I love you, Billy,
The heavens are ablaze for us, does that sound kinda silly?”
I smiled and said, “No it does not,
It’s like a stellar dot-to-dot,
And don’t you think that constellation looks quite like a willy?”

*

Was in the tattoo parlour, there were samples up on easels
I love my furry critters so my tattoo will be weasels
An appointment they had not
So I did a dot-to-dot
Upon the owners son who had a nasty case of measels

*

My girlfriend is so gorgeous that she has me tied in knots
Last night I did some dot-to-dots but then she got the hots
My steamy topless Miss
Said, “Hey boy, puzzle this.”
I said, “That won’t take very long as there are just two dots.”

*

This cryptic dot-to-dot is such a masterful creation
The latest puzzle trending in this puzzle-crazy nation
With no number by each dot
Had to guess the path to plot
Until an angry man said, “Oy, don’t draw on my dalmation!”



17 November 2022
Contest: Dot to Dot
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues

Come On Down To Inclusive Town

Come on down to Inclusive Town
We will throw you in by your knee or chin
Come on my friend, and you all are
Matter of fact, 
Become our holiday star

Rappers, scrappers, mappers too
You are all welcome
Yes!
I do
Mean
YOU!

Come on down and pick up a fiddle
They are on the floor.
Also in a pile.
Grab one in the middle

Come on down to Inclusive Town
where the air is free, and the dirt is brown
Come barefooted, wearing your holiday tops.
The music is free, and it never stops.

Want to paint?
Easels are free along with paint.
Don’t talk right?
We love your “ain’t”.
Shoe-tapping music all over this place.
Inclusive Town open to every religion and race.

You have three eyes?
From a different planet.
This place is for you.
We’ll rename you Janet
Or Pete or Clover or Cockeyed Sue.
The main thing is, we are waiting for you!

Incandescence

Stray meteoric passion’s red hot beam 
fire-wires moonlight dervish in a bold splash
clouds of glitter coat my sweetheart’s gleam 
as solar powered pulse rates cut a dash 
welder’s arc vapours rise from pure raw ash 
us copper tinted fiery orbs ablaze 
melt first flush easels with our brimstone rays 
spiral eye bright lumens fuse galactic 
species skyline sweltered rapt current phase 
with torch bearer incense so ecstatic



Date poem created : 10 August 2020

                   Title : Incandescence
            
                
              Sponsor  : Edward Ibeh

Group of Seven

Canadian flag to the wind
virgin coasts to explore
canoes loaded with easels
paintbrushes and pigments

from sea to shining sea
rock islands scattered
nature self regenerates
untouched and pristine

through eyes of an artist
and lens of adventure
jack pines stand proud
their might and their grace

moved and inspired
in national colors
awe splashed to canvas
immortalized pride 

pure wilderness
recorded in stillness
fresh mirror of canadiana
stylized called our own

the timely birth of a
west wind movement
birthe the distinct national art
of the iconic Group of Seven



posted on August 3, 2020

Unfinished Portraits

The church is a hospital for sinners
And not a hospice for saints
As we are all unfinished portraits
That God must continuously paint
As none of us are perfectly complete
Still works in progress  
We're just striving and trying
To do our very best
And as we stand in awe of He 
The One who dwells above
Let us never forget His grace
And indefatigable love

Let our hearts, minds and spirits be uplifted
By Your heavenly hands
Let our homes of faith be built on solid rock
And not sinking sand
So heal us on Lord 
color in our blank space
Strengthen us to handle
Any difficulties we may face
For we are unfinished portraits
Perched on the easels of life
Waiting for You to stain us
With the Sacred Blood of Jesus the Christ

Silent Colors Work of Art

Rejoice me in Rainbow Colors 
For Love,
So sheer White like Scarlet Rose
With Blackening Stem and Naval Petals 

Through Yellow Jail Bar reflected 
I despair the green sunflower yields
Beyond the silver discarded cut grass
The Blackening dove's overpasses  

In turquoise circles 
Returning to harlequins tartan Rainbow 
Artist easels blush in Pantone Stroke's 
Craving Colors 

Dancing and reciting lines from Swan Ballet 
The likes of which
Silent movies and Black and White 
Star's 

Could only Dream of
Above and beneath 
Our Sun , Sea & Star's 

Drawing in Inquisitive passing 
Allien Shimmering 
Flying Saucers 

Wishing only a Self-Portrait of there very own
To hang on the walls in there Space Ship

Weaseals With Measles

Weasels With Measles

What they were are a bunch of weasels,
Who paint much and love their easels;
As A quirk;
Eat their work;
Many faces on pictures had the measles.

Jim Horn

Drop Cloth Dreams

Drop cloth dreams  


It has been found that given enough time
failure will find this destined loser
lurking in gallery tints
and watercolor fault lines

semi gloss replaced by flat

Painting abstract nothings
on a canvas made of words
Broken brushes stain the existing
balance with a voice that collects the remnants

speaking tarnished silver when silence should be golden

Pop art wastelands of dotted balloons
float above the ground where his face falls,
shamed and hidden, in plain sight
with eyes holding quarters of bygone years

melting clocks keep time with his idiocy

Impressionists laugh at his existence
in muted tone chuckles and turpentine snickers
Stretched on easels of dislodged glances
with splattered smocks tied in double knots

one size fits all

This palette of mixed memories
resting on mainstream notions, waits
for the end is sure to come
finding him alone with an empty imagination

and nothing but drop cloth dreams



6/1/17
For the JUNE PREMIERE CONTEST Poetry Contest  
Sponsored by Brian Strand

Nude

They sat around me in a circle
with brushes and paints all to hand,
their heads bobbed behind their easels back and forth
as holding an apple I stand.
Stark naked and still like a statue
I pose while they practise their craft,
I only wish that they would let me turn round
as somewhere I'm feeling a draught.
They'll certainly use all the colours
my body has got quite a few,
from the grey of my hair to the green of my stare
and my varicose veins are deep blue.
The copy they paint won't be faithful
since totally nude is too far,
so from that I have shied and one bit of me hides
in the tube from a Cuban cigar.

For contest 'Naked', sponsor Anthony Slausen.

Gift of Springtime

Sunflowers blush as petals creep
Along easels of meadow's keep.

Winter's arctic days now long gone,
That morn's fair promise trails upon

Breezes sweet , once an icy blast,
Engrave a kiss on spring at last

Cardinal swoons with trilled refrains
Upon leaves' edges  like beaded grains,

For springtime is a godly rite 
When heaven molds  its prized delight!

           
 .................
 for Brian Strand

Beyond My Wildest Dreams

I open the door and cross the threshold of imagination
To a place beyond my wildest dreams
Where fiction and fantasy, worlds a part 
Come together as one.

~*~

Dream big don't ever compromise
Imagination take me to the skies 
~*~
Through the clouds to by pass the stars
Way past Jupiter, way past Mars

~*~

Distant from the pages edges~
                            Far from the easels of art~
                                                      I find my imagination~

Museum of Contemporary Life

Lazy afternoons on easels
Maples giggle loud with sweetness
Blue and yellow mixed in grasses
Withered wrinkles sink in lilies

Joggers run in fear of dying
Secret trails end in abyss
As the sun stabs days in prisms
Bloody madness grabs the paintbrush

People old vanish from benches
Emptiness sits down by me
Artists mutilate self-portraits
Tempera in tubes succumbs

Painters shoot apocalypse in veins
Signatures escape through keyholes
Night becomes obsessive pitch black
Ghosts invade museum closed

...and I walk by with my suitcase
as reduced to it I am...
No one knows I carry homeless
The Portfolio of my Fate...

copyright@iolandascripca2012

What Dreams Are Made Of

In the darkened attic, cold wind hisses
Drifting through mist of unfulfilled wishes.
The urge to stray climbs on hurrying ticks,
Cold wind hisses in the darkened attic.

Keepers of light, they open her desire
Promising hope, lost dream she will acquire
As remnant of fear leaves the rabid night,
They open her desire, keepers of light.

From heart’s window, footsteps quiver
To saunter onward and claim dream’s flicker
Rips of  long nights soon abate her sorrow,
Footsteps quiver from heart’s window.

Slowly her fire roams, hands pick stiff brushes
Fingers tracing easels of stars’ splashes.
In this world, inner passion finds true home
Hands pick stiff brushes, slowly her fire roams.


…         .         ……..         . .

(c)


*Swap Quatrain : each stanza is a quatrain  where 
the first line is reversed in the fourth line. 

Kim Merryman’s 'What Dreams are Made Of ' Contest
31 July 2012

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