Kees von Dongen
the most thoughtful of men
said 'painting is the most beautiful of lies'
though 'life models * he never tried to disguise'
Written: September 27, 2023
Love Poem Contest Darla Seely
___________________________________________________________
A poem full of glee and love,
Poke with a rant, a bee-hued as a dove,
Tied into a pair of rich-soul,
In a song of lust, a warm role.
Hush at ease,
Keen opus, fuel the kees.
Body area mold and weld,
A love lilt will bind us as we meld.
With a soft kiss, lips meet with balm,
In this holy cup, feel the vibe of calm.
Lame, warm up the skin,
The ogle spell and the opia fire win.
Eyes shut soul to soul,
Deep crux, zeal goal.
Grin at will, mind teem with glee,
To show that cheer and love, ne'er flee.
All true, Love's has a firm trek,
For me and you, ever peck.
Wrap me in a cozy hug,
The vast boon of love and tug.
So let us glow each day,
In this love poem, the soul will stay.
Love, an art with lines so tall,
Egos rule over all.
Kees van Dongen
a futurist in art way back then
Placed himself on par with Matisse
shame how egotism can never cease
Doctor Google was letting me know
Something very important.
The Arabic of garbage bag.
It is "KEES"
Not Kiss.
I admire great poets old,
perusing the tragic ends.
Researching their writing styles and patterns
their layouts, rhyming, punctuation, moods,
in dark solitude they penned dreadful words.
Many, end by suicide,
others of drug addiction.
John Berryman threw himself off a bridge,
Weldon Kees, disappeared into nowhere,
Rupert Brooke, he died at twenty-seven.
Some living a good long life,
with a death due to old age.
Merwin had a childhood full of sadness,
but he found his Zen in nature writing,
he explained his style as an open form.
Abraham Klein, a recluse
he lapsed into a silence.
Called, one of Canada's greatest writers,
here is one that published at eight years,
Wilber, he lasted to ninety-six and wrote.
I admire great poets old,
perusing the tragic ends.
_________________________
March 7, 2018
Poetry/Blank Verse/Old Poets Dead
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1001-977-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Seven-Ten
sponsor, Emile Pinet
First Place
Wayward Fingers
My laboring eyes see all the right kees to get the leffers correct.
My wayward fingers do as they pwease~ A definite lack of respect.
I tell them over and ober again, it would be better to go slow,
But it's off they race, in the rong direction ~ yep, another typo!
They get me flustered and vexed, bye not heeding my commands.
If I'm eber to finish this ditty, I'll have to spank my own hands.
Communication twixt fingers and brain is a carastrophic confusion.
I'm stressed, feeling the tsrain, but amputation would not be amusin'.
lokt dikshuneri
kipin eet, kees laustt
diss iys hardd
lokt mynd
kent tingk
wer diyd mye
spelink en mynd gaw?
awt da weendoe
nid napp baad
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.