(Thomas Kinkade painting)
panorama picturesque
architecture statuesque
Monterey pine trees
tints that appease
flowering hedges
with watery edges
a couple buying flowers
children enjoy the showers
a cyclist slow rides
running dog by her side
hawkers
gawkers
colourful cars
a painted pause
a man reading
a canvas rain-bleeding
a Carmel scene lifelike
this is how peace looks like
RANDOM CREATIVITY
flair
in
configuration
brings
unrivalled
spontaneity
compose
exposition
in
practice
originality
design
with
dexterity
modality
then
depicts
art
innovation
so
authentic
picturing
graphics
so
effusive
contagion
accidentally
lifelike
&sentimental
translates
to
the
romantic
walking the tightrope of silence bliss suffused
insulated from thought forms swirling around
pristine presence is by illusions amused
lifelike dreamy realms where ego was once crowned
but with truth deduced we beg to be excused
as influx of grace continues to astound
we are yet sometimes called upon to engage
to play with smoky shapes upon this world’s stage
Who is that woman in the mirror?
The big blank eyes.
The mouth that never smiles.
The hands, always shaking.
I don't know her.
What can I do?
I am afraid of everything and everybody.
I only want to be home.
But I don't want to be alone.
I don't feel safe.
Why am I always crying?
Anxiety attacks that take my breath away.
Flashbacks of violence, so lifelike.
My body still hurts from his fists.
I don't know why I can't heal.
When will I be me again?
He stole who I was.
He broke me into a million pieces.
Then he gave the pieces back.
I don't know where the last piece is.
Where will I end up?
If I don't have that last piece,
Am I still a survivor?
I'm a blank image.
Alone. Unsafe.
Crying, anxiety, flashbacks and hurting.
Unhealed.
Please tell me,
Is that really "surviving"?
Taxidermy
He found my need and fed it.
I'm an empty vessel in a shroud.
A thousand pricks kept me calm.
I died for you to keep you proud.
I'm just another trophy to make
me lifelike with glass blue eyes
convincing color of the skin and I
promise I'll keep safe all the lies.
Your lifestyle is vibrant and restless
and from tiny towns to big cities:
your search for human images
to paint perfect, lifelike faces!
And while you don't have the unique touch
of a Davinci or of a Caravaggio: you do excel,
many strangers from far places ring your bell:
they spend hours posing for a silver brooch!
Earning money is only for essentials,
no passion is more satisfying
to glance at your finished paintings
and wish they'd be talking!
Painter of realistic faces,
immortalize them with your magical brush;
their perfect masculine and feminine images
don't need any correction or a final touch:
your artistic talent amazes!
she could not handle the truth
easier to live a lie
just the truth the whole truth nothing but the truth
does it still exist
when none believe reality its still truth
if all believe lies they are still falsehoods
authenticity captures facts that exist
cold hard facts metaphorically speaking
how do I substantiate its actual
is there a magic formular to follow
do I trust my instinct can it be misled
if its verisimilitude can I trust
being lifelike cannot be the whole answer
fakes can seem more actual than authentic
verifying requires a masters degree
some anomalies are true world or true life
says true fruit would they put fake fruit in the can
corporeality surely must exist
a physical body a truthful being
must be believed actual
Winged mannequins dot the forest trail,
forest fairies in the dale -
so lifelike in their chalkware skin,
unexpected in the vale.
Stumbling under their glossy gaze,
lost inside a leafy maze -
I back up slowly, turn and run,
clawing through the morning haze.
"Join us", they plead now - reaching, falling,
all of them so sweetly calling
"You need some flowers in your hair",
as I am gasping, crawling.
"You could be one of us", they sigh,
"abandoned here we know not why,
creating almost Xanadu -
we never have to live or die."
At wood's green edge I glimpse the street
and glance back, oddly incomplete:
I see just pallid mannequins
posed stiffly in the summer heat.
A spider very elegantly weaves,
Betwixt walls or roofs or clandestine eaves;
Net-like, silky-spin-like, royal-yarn-like,
When torn, weaves from the start again, lifelike...!
Who taught this tiny creature such wonder?
Umbrella-like, lace-shrine-like, hearts plunder;
Who on earth do any humans entwine?
Though having entire energy spent in...?
Flowery forms! Curvedly curly shapes!
Blossomy glow-some; nicely nestled capes;
The creator has made things creative,
Incomprehensibly innovative...!!!
21 February 2023
Whoever painted these lifelike grapes could also paint blueberries
I lean into the canvas to see if grapes have a smell
They look real enough to pluck out
An old master’s touch
When I die I will become a princess she told us.
My satin dress will be full of vivid flower prints.
They will be so lifelike, butterflies will surround me.
I will look fabulous, and my hair will be curly.
Will you be young again? Asked a child.
I am not certain of this, she replied.
Youth was never my strong suit, so probably not.
When she died she got exactly what she expected.
She wore a gorgeous satin dress, butterflies engulfed her.
She was thrilled to discover that life did not stop at the veil.
It continued on, exactly as she had planned in her mind’s eye.
Now she wished she had dreamed of something better for herself.
All those movie characters
Crying in the shower
Definitely staged
But guess not
Short fits of panic
Fizzing in the steam
My lifelike dreams
Scare me
Waking up
Between dreams
To realize
You were never there to begin with
Never there for me,
When I needed you most
Yet the warmth, the smell
Felt so
Seemed so real
It’s a shame
Your words were somewhat of comfort
And there were bejeweled moments
That I treasured
But they’re all gone now
Can’t go back to what it was before
Those who break my heart
Thrice,
Fivefold,
They are done for
The fantasical school life
The fall festivals
All of my own concoction of
My subconscious
My past
Haunts me
This Halloween
My thoughts
Petrify me
Nostalgia mixed with
Bubbles of
What coulda, shoulda, woulda happened
I pause in my own thoughts
Falling
Are the role models
I’ve looked up to
Where are they now
There are no heroes
Everyone is human
And somehow that is
The most frightening
Somehow hope is lost
My anxiety
Creeping on me
And I am losing it
I am probably losing it
And I just wish to god
Things would
Get better
The morning stroll from room to room
Photos and paintings adorn the walls
Smile and stop, family groups, happy and sad
The camera captures good and bad
My laughter rings out, memories surface
Weddings and celebrations captured on film
Moments in time, thoughts drift elsewhere
Faces so lifelike include those no longer here
Say a greeting then move on
Study paintings, such amazing detailed scenery
The early morning stillness of an empty house
Climb the stairs, upstairs awaits its turn
Photos of older members of the family
All acknowledged with utmost respect
Sounds of breathing, realised it is your own
The stairs are a challenge, you should have known
The end of a pathway reached for today
Retraced steps, ready for daily frays
Stand at the front door as I have many times before
Listening to the house waking from its slumber
Creaks and groans, a breeze from who knows where
My laughter erupts, memories of loved ones
Stop, listen, enjoy sounds we usually do not hear
Life’s hustle and bustle awaits, onward and upward
SELF EVIDENCE
a mania
recognised
open&esablished
provocations
erupt
in its wake
a harmony of
the melodic
jangling
this anguish
rekindled
with an intimate
reverance
so immediate
a transformed insight
summoned
&visible
so lifelike
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
*Image of John Madden by Oakland News Now.
John Madden RIP
As an offensive linesman forms profession,
Complimenting Raiders pro football coach,
Relating coaching and playing no question,
At every game, there's a diverse approach,
After his heyday years on the field, to cam,
A front-page kinda guy, sporting the news,
His behind the cam persona clearly amuse,
Hectic tit-for-tat lifelike catchphrases bam,
Commercials, sportscasting purged midlife,
I personally knew him in his career highlife,
He knows the playbook, immortalized rock,
'Twas a subject of intrigue, animated stock,
Ere Constitution, the Word in his interviews,
It's nineteen seventy-seven Raiders streak,
Twelve consecutive victories Super Bowler,
Oakland Airport Hilton, the Raiders quarter,
As Hospitality Aficionado I smile and greet,
But now, twelve-year his calling as a coach,
Making Raiders fans proud, as all encroach,
We pay homage to the man giant than men,
A football player, coach, TV persona, friend.
2022 January 23
Sub Categories
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.