It would be a pure adrenaline freedom thrill to fly.
Flight motion is a dreamy adventure I would savor.
How excited I would be to Peter Pan the sky.
I feel certain the atmosphere would gladly comply.
Granting me ascent would be a most splendid favor.
It would be a pure adrenaline freedom thrill to fly.
Passing birds would wonder why and what was saying hi.
My desire to sky soar would never reduce or waver.
How excited I would be to Peter Pan the sky.
To sky view earth's wondrous beauty might make me cry.
Dipping and lifting thru blue could make me a flight craver.
It would be a pure adrenaline freedom thrill to fly.
My liftoff would be a spry leg jump and arm raising try.
I could be an artistic flying, smiling, cloud engraver.
How excited I would be to Peter Pan the sky.
Amplified amazing waves of euphoria would apply.
Each moment of exhilaration would grow me braver.
It would be a pure adrenaline freedom thrill to fly.
How excited I would be to Peter Pan the sky.
In the tidy marina,
the tide is going out.
My last image of her
tugs at its mooring.
I pause on a slope
of the Alpujarras.
The wide sky can't
encompass my loss.
A hooded crow calls
two hours before fajr.
The engraver has come,
desperate for epitaphs.
First published in NOON: Journal of the Short Poem
Can’t sleep a wink and I think it’s my brain trying to maintain a link between processing thoughts and thought processing amongst that stress thing…it’s a mess….messaging my eye lids to blink one last wink one last processed thought to think about before my tinker bell light goes out….
Let me think for second I beckon…I’m wrecking…my vision trying to blink a word over flow again…making my hands stink again…as I pretend my words are my loaded weapon…I’m guessing you’re messing about trying to figure out…come up with a doubt..shout..start gossiping..speaking of my thought processing…keeping me from sleeping…
Can’t sleep a wink and I think it’s my thoughts trying to link my brain to a maintainable critical thinking word flow blinking…processed thoughts brinking no point of return…my hands stinking from a burn…blistered greater on paper provoking mind creator physique paper engraver…maybe that’s why I’m wide awake or am I…..?
Francis William Topham
a 'noted' London man
A designer& engraver
his water colours cused a stir
Engraver Gustave Dove
with lithograph art did love
Social squalor in a bad dream
were his usp theme
Engraver Thomas Bewick
introduced an innovative trick
With delicacy& great detail
such a genre could never fail
Engraver George Vertue
a father of art history to give him his due
He thought pastel 'the' medium
it does makes for messy finger&thumb
English engraver Eric Gill
created alphabet figures at will
Now known for his sans-serif type -face
thus carving out a unique artistic place
look at a tree long enough, you will know everything about God, understanding how the stars where put in the sky, gain wisdom to know that the souls inside us are the most high, to return to the love we came from how, we must remember our true self's, remember our wealth, at the end of the day all you got is yourself, love yourself and your people cause this world is evil, looking threw the eye of God, I can really see what there, brothas killing brothas Cain and Able, the America has us do for one days food on our table, it's our destiny to be free, it's more of us then them, seek unity with u and me we need equality, my race is God and for that reason our world was destroyed by Arabs and Europeans, that came to Africa seeking free labor and sexual favors, when it comes to America black people are the engraver and life savers of this country.
Once I was a preserver
a wayfarer
a maker
but later
you turned me into a useless stargazer
by losing the will of being your tracer
I ceded my kismet on becoming an engraver
I grew to be nothing but a moveless eraser
"All art is erotic", quote from Gustav Klimt
The Kiss... Gustav Klimt
Son of a Bohemian gold engraver
Childhood marked by poverty
Influenced by Japanese art
Developed his talent early in life
Created his own style like no other
Took symbolism and eroticism to new heights
Glorifying the female body
Evocatively exotic and erotic
Lacquering it with gold leaf
Controversial during his lifetime
Now on display in Vienna
Those not destroyed during the war
Traveling in world exhibitions
Or sold for multi millions to art collectors
Unfinished paintings when he died
World-wide fame celebrated anniversary
One hundred and fifty years
Death and Life
A golden tribute to Klimt
AP: Honorable Mention 2021, Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on July 25, 2018 for STANDARD CONTEST NO.105 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND
and on November 14, 2017 for contest KLIMT sponsored by ANTHONY SLAUSEN
He holds me as flavor to make me his savor
He holds me as flavor to make me his savor
what makes him take me is what makes me wake him,
forever in love to thus far is what makes him my sailor.
Life goes high to make us haler
when our walk of love goes out so dim,
he holds me as flavor to make me his savor.
He takes me with his love and leads me to the river
for me to behold the beauty in the calmness of our dream,
forever in love to thus far is what makes him my sailor.
In the dream of our brim there lies our favor
when our sight is filled with trouble there we rest for a trim ,
he holds me as flavor to make me his savor.
Wherever life takes us till the end we aver
to make our true love the best as we aim,
forever in love to thus far is what makes him my sailor.
Forever we flow and row to be the engraver,
with the beauty of our art though we skim
when things go wrong in each love layer,
forever in love to thus far is what make him my sailor .
by Esther J
He holds me as flavor to make me his savor
He holds me as flavor to make me his savor
what makes him take me is what makes me wake him,
forever in love to thus far is what makes him my sailor.
Life goes high to make us haler
when our walk of love goes out so dim,
he holds me as flavor to make me his savor.
He takes me with his love and leads me to the river
for me to behold the beauty in the calmness of our dream,
forever in love to thus far is what makes him my sailor.
In the dream of our brim there lies our favor
when our sight is filled with trouble there we rest for a trim ,
he holds me as flavor to make me his savor.
Wherever life takes us till the end we aver
to make our true love the best as we aim,
forever in love to thus far is what makes him my sailor.
Forever we flow and row to be the engraver,
with the beauty of our art though we skim
when things go wrong in each love layer,
forever in love to thus far is what make him my sailor .
by Esther J
Tribute to David Michael Jones. 1895 - 1974.
A British poet, painter and engraver
Was a lad of 20, left art college to join the RWF*
"In parenthesis "was his write
A poem describing horrors
Of being a front line soldier, to fight
In the world war 1 battle on the western front
An event he described as epic
and imbued with religious, moral and mythic
overtones where Divine Grace manifested a continual presence
T.S.Elliot called his work "a work of genius"
badly wounded in Mametz Wood his life they did fear
In 1921 he converted to Catholicsm, going to Eric Gills
Community in Ditching Uk where he honed his
carpentry and engraving skills
When Stravinsky came to UK For the last time ,
was solely a pilgrimage to visit David Jones
David died in 1974
Some of his paintings are in the Tate.
His work is mostly forgotten
Was deeply Catholic, writing
The Sleeping Lord and Other Fragments.
Classed amongst the most important poems of the 20th century
*RWF. Stands for Royal Welch Fusiliers, they wear a feather in their cap
badge.
Read notes please.
The air drips over the lake
yet to be thundered awake.
Mirages waver.
Bare feet on black asphalt quake
Keepers on sand tractors rake.
That's summer's flavor.
Swimsuit wearers all partake
of young beauties and beef cake
as love is a savior.
Dip the babies toes, savor
the lake's cool icy laver,
hear her giggles rise.
See the lover's sink braver
and the old ones disfavor
soon to end July.
Scorched red by Sun's engraver.
Father's garden hose wavers.
Soon, summer good bye's.
August crisps the field's allies.
Summer's guests leave compromised.
The lifeguard's gone.
It's too hot for much but sighs.
The town theater's cool as ice,
from the heat in drawn.
Watch the actor's prance in guise
Fall with have it's own surprise,
Too soon, summer's gone.
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