Linseed Poems - Poems about Linseed

...Artists are not so different, at times glossing over truth, hiding beneath a sheen -- some extra linseed goes a long way... What is this cry for realism?! Picasso sought deeper meaning vi......

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... Bursts of blooming colors in my garden fair every bud is beauty born of love and toil rays of sunshine easy days and breezy air cordial flowers flushed with color coil Nature sings of ......

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...Today was the first day I held a sledgehammer with intention Callouses connect palms to fingers tiny fleshy boa constrictors. There is no catharsis I know this to be a hollow act With a face......

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...Original blue- haired Alice rewrote the story Wearing a gown she constructed from linseed With lace sleeves cut from a summer shawl Possibly her grandmother’s favorite garment She popped roses ......

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...The stock of the rifle is hand-selected walnut. I polish it with a soft cloth and occasionally use linseed oil. I dust a porcelain lady twice a week. She does not need my attention, but I give......

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...Finally, she could get down on her knees again, not in prayer but to touch rosemary and lavender which had begun to send its fragrance into the spring and rising warmth in nature’s heart. There was n......

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...I miss the barn, the hay loft, a place to listen to the midday sun creaking through old wood., the small clouds of horse flies moving as one in their jet-pack bodies, that rose and fell their......

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...Flying Jib son of Curry Comb The care of the comb son of Garden Gnome Garden Gnome son of Pillow Case The case of the headrest o’ Second Base Second Base son of Baby Chick The chick who’s a ......

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...fettered frightened multitude at our backyard, wailing in sombre sigh, waiting for beckett's “godots” multitude with talents begs their oppressor to survive, dying amidst plenty with multitudin......

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...The stock of the rifle is hand-selected walnut. I polish it with a soft cloth and occasionally use linseed oil. I dust a porcelain lady twice a week. She does not need my attention, but I giv......

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...Logs stacked by a decaying shed; scent of burning embers from chimney’s wafting past my face; I breathe in the crisp evening chill. The woodlands, a palette of color waiting to be l......

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...The prism had reflected a crumbling schism of broken glass for far too long A mosaic with sharp spikes and edges imprinted on a breaking point of shards Copious cornucopia scattered over a trap......

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...When I was twelve my grandma told me I was a woman – and in six or eight years I would be a wife. She said Sundays would be pasta days, Fridays I’d cook fish – and to keep a net of mothballs in m......

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...IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY - LXXI LXXI IF ever I had a country targeted by no refugee And if ever I were appointed by the Inter-Planetary Committee KING of this territory by Inter-Galactic ......

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...The face that was familiar is no more Yet in my dreams ,we amble through bright fields Where cornflowers and blue linseed softly grow The face that was familiar is no more The emptiness and l......

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