Translation is a fine art
wreaks havoc with volition
Errors of commission
divulging those of omission
~ Entry in 'Bite Size 94' contest ~
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Date: November 30, 2024
Into the deep, green-hearted forest.
Far removed from man's raucous tangle.
There are only herbivores and carnivores.
Doing their thing in primal time harmony.
Nesters weave the incoherence together.
Miraculously, everything is spaced evenly.
I'm given a wide berth and am tolerated to a degree.
Even the gray gill of silence keeps its distance from me.
On the subject of bathing
There are two schools of thought:
In a shower or tub,
Which you do,
Which you ought?
Of course, some people say
Either way is okay,
While others are a tad more particular.
They'd rather scrub in a tub
And recline on their spine
Than to sluice standing up,
Perpendicular.
Champagne and wine
Elixirs of the elite's delight
beverages of the upper classes
as they rendezvous and converse
amid soirées decked in elegance
mingling among their
latest art acquisitions
envied, even by the Louvre
The wonderful taste of caviar
In opulent ballrooms, near and far
where aristocrats and fashion find their air
ah yet sometimes I ponder
how the toiling working class
gets through monotonous days
I imagine them after their grind
at the Cox N Bull Tavern
drinking and lapping cheap O'keefe beer
chugging down their boredom
in idle gossip
planning petty crimes
*Image of A Japanese Comb Set by Pixabay.
*When left at one's front door symbolizes 'parting' or 'goodbye'
fine art 1 - hiku
art writes to you
art is a written form~~
read between the lines
fine art 2 - hiku
art speaks to you
art is a spoken form~~
lost in translation
2022 February 12
*1st Place*
A Strand (1072)
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2022 February 13
Stonemason's talent
his gnarled hands carve fine art
fluid beauty from granite
Flowers, fern and foliage
Exquisite presentation
Not for mortal eye.
The crypt slumbers on
Divine carved angel awaits
With patience sublime.
A holy quiet
Permeates this sacred place
Time has no meaning.
STONES
Poetry Contest
Sponsored
by
Anthony Biaanco
Ever gone to throw an axe?
You’ll love it if you try.
Grip the handle and relax,
Standing firm into your tracks,
Release and let it fly.
Over end, the axe will spin,
And through the air will whisk.
To the target, caged within,
Close to center, you will win,
Like darts with more the risk.
In the target, there are rings,
That circle round the eye.
Each a different point it brings,
When towards the board the axe it zings,
And wedges in the ply.
In the corner, there’s a spot,
Which comes with much acclaim.
Blue, the color of the dot.
If you have a killer shot,
Can help you clinch the game.
When you come, make sure to pack,
No shoes your feet expose.
If the board, it gives a smack,
And the axe comes bouncing back,
Will help to save your toes.
Grab a beer, this social game,
Is just as good as any.
It may even help your aim,
But too much is sure to maim,
So please don’t have too many.
Tattoos, the rage, are not a fine art,
Not meant to hang on a gallery wall,
Black and white traditional, to sharp tribal plans,
Not huge, just simple and small,
You see, in galleries of oils and acrylic artists,
Paints are intricate, and tell a whole tale,
And these painted pieces are often worth heaps,
Often they’re there for a sale,
But tattoos have a meaning that belongs to that person,
Something no one else knows,
And often the person won’t share this perception,
Hiding it under their clothes,
Because tattoos are for personal announcements,
A permanent parade of their soul,
Not for sale to the public, like a fine art collection,
Tattoos help the person feel whole.
Wonder takes flight
As beauty speaks,
Fine art moves sight
In fragrant peaks.
Art form now grow
A strange delight,
A touch frames flow
Of deep insight.
Art has a way
To channel feel,
A glimpse can sway
A touch that heals.
Grace in pure strokes
Of genius wit;
Surge of feel yokes
Such vivid fit.
In a quick flash
Fine art evokes,
Mood swing to dash
Where soul feels stroke.
Here in this space
Timeless feel sums,
A glimpse of grace
Flames pulse that jumps.
Leon Enriquez
14 September 2017
Singapore
Not as yet mastered
Something to aspire to
That crafty art of listening
When it comes to me
He hasn't perceived
The art of nodding and smiling
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