Long Acrylic Poems
Long Acrylic Poems. Below are the most popular long Acrylic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Acrylic poems by poem length and keyword.
I am an acrylic painter who cannot live without a variety of greens.
Green grass, green trees, green leaves, green moss, green clover.
I thought I was out of my favorite color of green yesterday.
My muse said “what about that box of green paints behind you?”
This saved me a trip to the store for there were three full tubes of it.
Green is such a nature color, I cannot fathom not having it around.
Especially when I am gearing up for Ireland’s favorite holiday.
My mother was a McCormick. I am in the throes of painting shamrocks,
Irish flags, leprechauns, mushroom houses, ivy, moss; I need green!
I muse alone ~
ceaselessly
savoring the aquatic sage
amidst swells of silence
seeping through sighs of seas
a solitary sanctum
the eyes of the ocean
can trace without touch,
still embrace the
embedded emotions
of an emerald ambience
my heart ~ like glass-weed,
pressed with poignant lies,
reflects plankton light
in the obsidian abyss,
while suppressed thoughts fight
in finned finesse,
fragments of flawed flow
breaking the deep dark blues ~
a fierce force against the frozen
fathomless ~ fault-lines
of penned peace
that the surfers of life ~
mindlessly misinterpret…
breathe me as I break free
the inked instinct ~
stained with familiar fears,
a coherent coalescence
of surviving the storm
as I am an ineffable incognito
circling ... gliding ... dreaming
bathed in
streaks of salted serenity ~
weaving wave-swept whispers
through the languid language ~
lacking lucidity
with letters of love-lines
zealous zen
spelled from the
cosmic scent
of the siren-moon...
for the wind beneath
the calm knows
my story etched
in the soul of liquid
opalescent
tides of time ~
it's a living portrait of pulse
painted in
watercolor washes
of a
passionate psyche...
*Inspired by my own /acrylic painting of a shark... attached
With oil through veins and acrylic faces,
Gender neutrals lathe metallic domains,
Acquired specimen a challenge cases,
A depleted prior to what remains.
Well, so be it, he makes the claim, to be,
One of many quickens to martyrdom,
Legions fall prey, prays echoed, heard their plea,
Heartbeats to ironed chambers, undead realm.
Conquer beyond mind, vanquish beyond soul,
Embolden ones might and crush what insight,
Not beings of the threshold, but Sheol,
Unsheath thy sword let thine blade field its strike.
Let us walk the streets of San Francisco,
Gladiator restores all that is G.O.E.
2019 September 23
howmanysyllables
14 lines x 10 syllables = 140 syllables total
On the canvas of my life the surface
Started out blank the moment
I was born and came into existence
Just as everyone does then, overtime
As I went through different experiences
The acrylic and watercolors of emotions
Thoughts and beliefs began to slowly
Mix and blend the beliefs that I have
To be normal just to fit in.
A little green here and blue there
Just to add some depth and dimension to
all the worries anxieties and fears.
No matter how abstract the image appears.
Charcoal for the shadows and pastels for the highlights
Sometimes it can be hard to see the horizon line of the
The present moment of every day when the 3 point perspective
Is being drawn without the guidance of a ruler.
Forget bottling up my emotions because no
Container is big enough to hold the vast majority
Of ruminated thoughts that run through my mind
The way to much paint runs down a canvas when
You add water to it.
Since each emotion can be represented by a different color
The canvas of my life is like an abstract painting of every
experience I ever dealt with, every being I ever encountered
and the energy I took on during our interaction.
I once heard that life is whatever you make of it and
You have the power to shape your own destiny.
From an artist perspective, I would say since each
And every individual begins his or her life as a blank
Canvas the paintbrushes we use to represent the tool
And the paint whether oil, watercolor or acrylic are
The choices, decisions, and results that add vibrancy
highlights, mid-tones, and shadows of our lives.
For Christmas I want fuzzy warm socks.
Everyone knows it, and they are affordable.
So people can keep their big money for their children’s gifts.
If you have homemade fudge, of course I want that too.
And I will take white acrylic paint because I always need it.
A bag of potato chips is always welcome also.
But mostly, I want my loved ones to be healthy and happy.
I do not want to be a burden for them. I do not make demands.
I tell them “If you can make time for me, please do.” If not, it is okay.
Christmas is time for me to relax and write poetry.
Time for me to reflect on the blessings and talents that I have.
For me to appreciate Baby Jesus and his sacrifice; this is more than enough.
if you wanted to dance with me
i mean really wanted to dance with me
then i would
i would dance with you
if you needed me to walk on water
i would stand there until the lake froze
then i would
i would walk on water for you
if you suggested i climb
a mountain
warm at the bottom
freezing at the peak
i'd buy you a snow globe
turn it upside down and up
hold your hand warm
watch the freezing snowfall
climb your suggestion creatively
if you mentioned
you'd like me to paint your portrait
i'd buy every different colour of acrylic paint I could find
blend them on a canvas
paint your colourful internal portrait
every crayon in the box
that's who i see
if you said move me
i wouldn't hire a truck
or even touch one stick of furniture
i would write this poem for you
put a bow on it
fingers crossed
i would move you
your lips are always on my mind
if you want a man
willing to do...
...a man...
...hold you gentle but firm
i'm here
ring in hand
on one knee
November 28 2016
Outside in the garden an acrylic blue dragonfly takes my breath away,
she is pinned on treated wood, a reminder of my mother's skillful hands
Many a morning I played with my tea set on a dew filled grass,
young blood racing through my veins, as I carefully poured us tea for two.
"The cycle of nature is all about change and shifts," my mother said
placing a touch of electric blue on a dragonfly wing.
Then she would add, "may you find balance and kinship in all living things"
She would take me to the water's edge, through weeds and twigs we'd go
by early morning, for she had checked her flight time calendar
and she was sure, this was the time for them to fly.
I am old and gray now and my mother is in heaven painting
fireflies with Angel wings of robin egg blue, I'm sure.
Though my memory goes hazy every now and then, I can always recall
at will those blessed mornings when I poured out tea for two and watched
my mother add a touch of golden brown upon a dragonfly, of every hue.
("Exploded View", 2011, original oil and acrylic)
Asymmetrical Cultural Warfare
Both people and traditional cultures value symmetry;
In humans it indicates healthy genes,
In Cultures it’s probably the same,
Indicating balanced and enduring values.
The modern world offers an exception to the rule;
A deconstruction of our nature
Into its primary components and building blocks,
But to what end?
Due to the pressure to celebrate perversity, er, I mean diversity,
Balanced faces now seem unnaturally suspect
Somehow too perfect, healthy and elite
As the average face sinks ever deeper into mutational overload.
Same for our culture, as the novel
And creatively abstract
- be it in art, political or scientific theory,
fashion, language and music -
Takes over our sensibilities
And leaves us suspect of the natural, wholesome and beautiful.
The world today is increasingly ruled by
The few deviant thought leaders
Picasso-like in their experimentation
With the art of living the everyday.
And we will know them by their mark;
Their lopsided features,
And spitefully mutant impact
On tradition.
It’s not a random thing after all,
It comes from our genes,
The ones we’ve kept from Nature’s culling
And the programs our AI now perfectly create.
(4/9/24)
“Some stars are frozen within the shades of shifting seasons, yet the grief of love, etched in acrylic gold, whirls through the sunlight, dressed in grim mists, echoing endless memories of a timeless romance” Quote By Poet
I feel the frozen sigh of an aching sunset,
as the warm mustard dews of moving mists~
softly stroke the sapphire fringes of
silent seas, singing somber songs
into the rain-kissed skyline,
heavy with onyx tears of angst,
like a withering black rose,
mourning within a mahogany casket,
locked away with sorrowful memories,
embalmed in hues of hurling hailstorms.
Perhaps somewhere between splitting gusts
and gales of grief, sullen sunflowers remain trapped,
as souvenirs dusted with greying greens of a broken September.
For every autumn holds a narrative,
lost between the dusky views of drizzling leaves,
and I will forever bloom from an opaque mirage,
listening to the fading forests~
whisper woeful odes to the wistful wind.
WALLPAPER
---------------------
Paper Thin
Cut down to any size,
Crumble, crop me wrong
Pull the insulation from my heart.
Never will I be "A Paper Doll!"
Thank you for calling me a "Friend!"
Thank you for wasting my "time!"
Enjoy the WALLPAPER display
---------------------
Layers and layers of lifeless brick
KEEPS EVERYTHING OUT!
Emotional poster boards of doubt
Envious fiberglass green never seen
Yuletide Carols warped around my energy
Merry and full of acrylic sh!t-
Hand full of putty maintains the makeup on my face
Arts and crafts display my inner fancy grace
Heavy installed Sheetrock so easily replaced
Tough paint chips away silently through the night
Rigid boards transform into fragile crystal light
The greatest illusion blinding reality
Smooth Tiger Skin, texture of orange simple peel
Beautiful mud swirl, L'Oreal.
Gypsum soft enough you want to touch
Dark walls of a thousand words
A plasterboard of discordant grey notes
Blots and clots of ink, enslave my skin
Colorless drywall, resilient to your charms
Printed designs of cleverly decorated lipstick
Morbid shadows underneath the ceiling veil
A double coat of Pacific Waterproof Blue-
Printing bags from -- YESTERDAY!
Plastered wounds of cement dry and roughens along the edge
A human-made barrier, not even God comes in.
by;PD