Long Acrylics Poems
Long Acrylics Poems. Below are the most popular long Acrylics by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Acrylics poems by poem length and keyword.
I rinsed my paintbrushes in the Rideau River
Watching a kaleidoscope of colours
Dance with such an intensity
It was the first time I
Saw
Acrylics come to life
Among the minnows
I am Vincent Van Gogh,
I am
Coated in
Deep Crimson Reds and
Rich
Olive
From the Green
I was using for the mountain tops
And
Owl City Soundtrack
Is resounding all around me
Without any essence of a concern or worry
I spent an afternoon floating directionless on The Pelican
Turtles worshiping the sun as they raise their heads as I pass them Slowly
The Heron
Soars under the heaving clouds
The leafs whisper excitedly
Fall is approaching,
As the sun sets over the
Sandcastle Shores
I am fashioned with Waterlilies
Adorning my hair
My campfire perfumed Hoodie
Water that has become my Looking glass...
it
Is so calm, it looks like glass
My wind strewn hair
And
Sun Kissed Cheeks.
In this dream like state
Of reality
I am freed.
I wore all red to your white wedding
Holding your picture like my grandma's antiques
Like poison ivy in the forest, my bloom makes you shiver
Plucking soft feathers from my angel wings
The flowers she gifted you, they'll die one day
Wilting like a poor, dehydrated human
Your mother giggles when you mention me again
"Oh, she was sweet! Shame she had to go."
I didn't have to do anything, ain't it strange?
Opposite of what you said that cool Wednesday night
When I asked about the pink smudge against your collar
Like a scar from childhood that never faded
I clutched my jewelry, watching as you said vows
'Till death do us part, same words you uttered to me
She blushes redder than my lipstick and dress
And you share a feather-soft kiss
Like those times you caressed my rough skin
After hours of staring in the mirror
Like a toddler searching for their mother
And once it was over, I laughed
Vibrations escaped from behind my teeth like water
Your father-in-law sighed and shook his head
"How much is this dowry again?"
He whispered to his wife, watching like an eagle
As his daughter's mascara smudged like paint
I walked over to the room's corner, arms swinging
Dug my acrylics into their most prized possession like a rabid animal
Buttercream journeyed from my lips to nose
Grabbed the bottle beside it, pulled the cork like a fire alarm
Champagne bubbled down my chest
And once I was finished, my heels clicked against the ground
I ran off to my car like a wanted fugitive
And drove into the pinkish-orange sunset
The sky was its canvas
I’m a wild tulip, bending but
breathing beneath
a star-burnished breeze,
skimming the blazing
silk of supernova dust,
as sirens ricochet through
honeyed silence,
as though no dream has forgotten
the music of my muse,
whilst I sip from
the sky of ethereal ink:
his skin ~ my orbit,
his eyes ~ my ocean,
his lips ~ my universe,
pulling me to the
depths of desire,
for our light sings amidst
stillness that floats through ~
like an aquatic garden,
where water orchestrates
tides of temptation
and trembling tercets,
composing currents
of careful devotion…
O mystical moon,
must I serenade the sparks
that bloom beneath
your cosmic gaze?
I feel the astral frequency
of galaxies within veins,
like whimsical waves touching
the shifting shades
of shimmering silver,
whilst I remain apologetic
for the erased cadence of charm,
unlearned in quietness
amidst unseen constellations,
quivering in sync
with the quintessence
of quenched vows…
I was never a promised island ~
but a forgotten home,
with walls aching to be heard
beyond avoidant acrylics,
framed in rhinestone regrets.
So take me ~ twirl me,
like a swirling sapphire
carrying chaos of celestial flickers,
twisting and teasing
through traveling time of tornadoes…
Forgive me, as I relinquish
the mythical waterfalls,
their addictive affections
falling too fleetingly
for Capricorn captivation.
I am more than a mere vanilla version
of a vision illustrated in loneliness,
sugarcoated in rose-ruffled mists,
when dusk itself
drowned in drumbeats of disarray…
Lost in the madness (that always is you)
Nightmare acrylics in lipstick stain passions
Blush on the fingers as mist falls the ground
Silhouettes linger in street shadow fashions
Nowhere is everywhere, you can be found
Gripping these sheets as the echoes are haunting
Calling the moon every name in the book
Hearing your voice, in my head loudly taunting
Beyond the glass it is so hard to look
Angst lends a tear, as if I might need any
Tissues fall stained of the puddles that seep
Hours now counted, like minutes, too many
Endless, the thoughts fill the sorrows I keep
Trying to stand but the weight leaves me bending
Exhaling breath when I barely can breathe
Needle and thread, here’s my flesh, start the mending
Truth, now a lie if that’s all you believe
Steady I run as the alleyway crumbles
Cobblestone darkness, my fears come to chase
Once this was life, now a staircase of stumbles
Memories etched that I cannot replace
So here I lie with my eyes to the ceiling
Outlines of yesterdays, my only view
Midnight confessions, an uneasy feeling
Lost in the madness that always is you
“I'm a conundrum. Or an enigma. I forget which.”
James A. Owen
I am a midsummer storm, veiled in cerulean smiles,
swirling above sangria seas~
enveloped in gracious glimmers of the unicorn sun,
where the black dahlias dance, and onyx-winged
butterflies never die but flutter lemonade lies.
Yet whiffs of clary-sage breeze
unravel crystalline clairvoyance,
calming the chaos tangled in corals of confusion~
searching for something real,
like sparkling sapphires,
floating in charismatic cadence.
Tonight, I’ll walk through
the untouched wilderness~
seeking Ayurvedic clovers coated
in perennial peace.
There, purple petals of iris thrive from amorous herbs,
in the fragrant heritage of blooming purity,
whilst acrylics on my cranberry canvas
shift in slow waves,
reminding blazing stars to
flicker penciled streaks of clemency,
mirroring my love-glazed
heart that gently beats~
in sync to the virtuous violin whispers.
Perhaps, I am the birth of a tragedy unspoken,
when love soars, intoxicated from the
scented sins,
of a poisonous pleasure
drenched in whiskey and roses,
drowning in foxglove fantasies from loneliness..
I ponder, if I were like the darkness,
cuddled by the stars, will I be found?
Or would I forever be an enigmatic embodiment
too deep for the shallow shadows
that dare not feel beyond what is to be seen?
So if tomorrow, there is no poetry,
I hope you’ll remember
beyond my skin and name..
I could be your frozen flower, or the warm willows;
snapdragon and sweet-pea.
There is no synonymous noun to depict
the aura of a citrine arc,
lost within faded lines of phased seasons.
I d r
e a
m away
from the golden-laced drapes,
tracing smoke-veiled cloudscapes,
reminiscing rainbow reveries,
raining with musical laughter,
mirroring the sun within
my maternal spirit,
drawing cerulean smiles
across the kaleidoscopic sky
with initials of my
beloved June child.
As in acrylics, I find happiness,
and in palettes of pastels
I feel the twilight twinkles of time,
revealing rosemary reasons to rhyme
in rhinestone radiance,
releasing runes ~
ricocheting colors
of my hibiscus heartbeat…
O kismet constellations,
I breathe glitters of gratitude
to the sapphire stars
and swirling sparks
drifting through shifting monsoons,
cradled in the
blissful sighs of my son.
For in his presence,
murky mists of melancholy
fade into neon nothingness;
in his words,
a thousand gardens glisten and glow;
in his eyes,
I see hues of hope ~
ballad of a seraphic summer.
Perhaps, the voice of this
unconditional love remains
the synonym of happiness,
the syllables of zen,
and the metaphors of euphoria,
bound to the skin ~
of rooted truth,
truth of a mother
dressed in the dulcet dews
seized from the dawn
when he learned the light of life…
So let me rephrase,
in redundant dialects,
to write in coherent cadence,
of the warmth I weave,
of the peace I paint,
within jeweled lines of lavender…
I smile not because I see no sorrow,
but because my existence
is a mere iron-arched
gateway to guide astral rays
above the island shores
where his footprints echo,
porcelain patterns,
erasing fringes from
the blemished blurs
of grieving moonlight
caressing the sanguine sea
rippling with turquoise tranquility ~
a tale of teal tomorrow...
He is silence,
crowned in rosy rhymes,
sprinkling balmy rain
upon frail flowers.
misunderstood, yet
beneath his armor,
is the selfless moon,
bestowing starlight.
when darkness unfolds,
time may be cruel,
but seasons can't wilt
soft-spoken sagas,
echoing amidst
hushed sanctuaries.
he shoulders the weight
of a true savior.
suppressing his need
to be heard and seen,
in a world so dark
and misleading,
he remains throned to
an emerald
garden, that glows
as the king of
picturesque patience.
painting the wrongs right
through butterfly strokes,
of everlasting
acrylics, in gold
across mourning skies.
Bus on Wednesdays
Calligraphy
Chant
Clean the house
Create music
Dancing
Draw
Exercise
Explore a new end of town
Finish a project
Go for a picnic
Google
Learn
Listen to music
Look for projects to finish
Meditate
Offer to help someone
Paint acrylics
Paint watercolour
Photo sessions
Picnic
Play: board games, cards, dice, dominos
Read
Reorganize
Research
Start a project
Tarot
Unclutter
Volunteer
Walk
Watch a movie
Work for a cause
Write cards or letters
Write poetry
Yoga
Phone friends / family
i.e. so many things I say I want to do !!!!!!!!!!!!!!
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Time: Out
A ripple in the fabric of the universe.
Forward and backward in time,
It's only been a couple of weeks.
Cycles.
Clock’s ticking.
Breathless, the cold entrance of space.
Two hands without any hint of motion,
a blue star no longer scattering sunlight.
Time: In
Closing the curtains over stained glass.
Lillies and lotuses blackened with acrylics,
a plaid dress with white and red paint.
Nocturnal notes fill the air with uncertainty.
Forward, back, continuous unconscious motions.
Cracks exposed on sidewalks, walls, and my skin.
The things I could’ve done,
we’re gonna scorch the planet in fire.
Time's up.
Poe’s raven came to me in my sleep, at the most unexpected time.
At first I thought it was just a raven, but it gave me a look and I knew.
Recognizing Poe’s sadness shining out of its piercing black eyes.
Were you his muse? I asked him. He glared at me, refusing to answer.
An instant knowing came into my head though, and I knew.
It was a knowing without knowing how I knew, I just did.
Are you hear to help me write? I asked the raven.
He stared, refusing to answer.
Trixie, my dainty prima donna pixie muse flitted into view
and gave the raven a slap.
The raven did not move, or recognize her in any way,
which I thought was admirable.
Trixie can be a bit of a vixen sometimes.
She began painting the raven’s beak with acrylics.
She put on pinks, oranges, and a bit of red.
I was holding my breath, anticipating a brawl.
But the raven merely tolerated her insolence with those
black non-blinking eyes pretending to ignore her.
Trixie finally gave up and stomped away angry –
that extra hard way a teenage girl stomped.
I could tell that she was miffed.
She has been my main muse for many years.
“Let us now begin” the raven said to me, using telepathy.
I wondered if he would also channel Poe.
I can use every bit of help I can get after all.