Long Airbrush Poems
Long Airbrush Poems. Below are the most popular long Airbrush by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Airbrush poems by poem length and keyword.
I ate a salad for likes,
and cried over my phone,
because no one loved me without a filter.
I danced in reels
with a smile stitched from sponsored teeth,
while my soul slept hungry
in the drafts folder.
They called me radiant.
I was rotting.
Each post—
a polished gravestone
for the girl I buried
behind ring lights and sponsored skincare.
Once, I laughed for real.
Now I schedule laughter
between #MondayMotivation
and #SelfLoveSundays.
I pixel my skin
into porcelain lies,
erase my thighs,
airbrush my loneliness,
and post it all with
“Grateful to be alive.”
Alive?
I haven’t felt my breath
since I traded my breakfast
for green tea and DMs.
Fame tastes like saltless rice—
every bite familiar,
yet forever bland.
There is a hunger
no brand can fill—
a craving not for followers,
but for someone
to see the mess beneath
and not scroll past.
I want to bleed
without hashtags.
I want to mourn
without monetizing my grief.
But the algorithm is a god
that punishes silence.
So I post.
And post.
And post.
Until my mother forgets my real laugh,
until my dog looks confused
when I cry off-camera,
until I am just a caption
on a body
no longer mine.
The Conference at Mantua
Ah, what a scene of tranquil learnedness!
The scholars nurse their tomes like babes in arms:
white locks: heads cocked to savor the address
of Pius, in his charming Latin: balm
floats in through high-arched, airy colonnades.
The lake is laced with skittish little skiffs:
those rolling lawns of Mantua could be made
to sport a kick-ass golf course. Oh, those cliffs!
But life just ain't that peachy. Belching blame,
the Cardinals did squat, but bleat and *****.
No representatives invited, came.
And Mantua was a cramped, unhealthy pitch.
Scarampo wasn't much inclined to linger.
With imprecations colouring the air,
he gave the Pope the metaphoric finger,
and rode away, at haste -- to God knows where.
The Lake was nothing but a sluggish stream.
It bred mosquitoes in malevolent clouds.
The croaking frogs made sleep a pious dream.
The locals were more oafish than in Stroud.
Bessarion stayed true, and Torquemada.
A basis, then, for troops to rally on:
but Europe's bookends? "Altar y espada"
is not much use among Italians!
At last, some envoys came -- but far from helping,
they asked for help! From Burgundy came Cleves,
but not disposed for listening, more for yelping
about the local petulance and peeves.
And when they paint the frescoes of your life,
they'll airbrush out the unappealing grunge.
They'll strip away the struggle and the strife.
And you'll bequeathe what's pretty (dung expunged).
Face Maps
How often we ponder
The portrait of life,
Some without a face,
Some with but war as a canvas.
The experienced face
Reveals folds above eyes,
Disengaged as a draught-laden wilderness,
Yet reliable as an infrequent desert storm.
For amidst nature’s wisdom
Directional signs are forever available,
Even though some may be
Subtle and wanting to hide.
Still,
Few pay attention.
Perfection makes no judgment,
Even as history is difficult to cover up
When presented by a face
That has obviously seen
More than most of us
Can dream of.
Archiving such potential realities
Begs the opening of discovery,
Often challenging one’s patience,
While the forever-our-partner in waiting
Smiles back sagaciously,
Wanting only to be part of one’s smile.
The face
What was,
What is.
Such might attract
Veracious seekers of life,
Accepting their journey
As the worth of engaging years,
Infused with honesty,
Allowing chiseled erosion
To live forever in the eye’s mind
For those who might also
Wish to perceive relief’s valleys.
Mountains,
And tearless tributaries of the face.
Projecting the wonder,
Life,
Peace,
Waiting for the next iteration,
Remains a journal of the spirit .
Some will fortunately
Embrace with understanding,
Knowing weathered landscape
Is but captured wind and weather,
Mind and soul,
Body and suffering,
Wanting only to remain
Without airbrush deceit.
As is,
As was,
As always to be.
Yet…
Others
Will address
One’s life map of travels
With fearful retreat,
Hiding in the shadows of delusion
You love animals - so now go and sleep with them,
stop moaning about oil, you're lucky we have some,
get off the racial kick, you're in motherland you dick,
put your airbrush away, better it should just be you.
I protest about people getting at me, let it wash
over you because the most of it is a load of tosh;
I store in my armoury for future use you just see,
so beware one day I don't shake you from your tree.
My wife is gifted with recall - it's frightening really,
because she remembers my misdemeanours clearly;
we say 'yes' to everything don't we to keep the peace,
but sometimes there's agreement, wonders never cease.
So the next time you want action, think more carefully,
you're not going to get 35% more pay realisticcally.
" Artist Nature paints on sky with airbrush using Sun rays ." - Poet
PAINTED
Setting sunrays to colour in delight.
Sky canvas to get painted as twilight,
using air brush , sketching deep , dark or light :
Spectacular view mostly random !
Sun rays got reflected and refracted,
on drastic dispersion were diffracted,
human vision got allured, attracted,
overwhelmed watching splendid album.
Sun rays twined with raindrops form coloured bow.
Seven arches shown and shone on rainbow.
painted by Nature to glisten and glow:
exhibited being pasted on sky.
Spectrum of Sun ! Violet- Indigo
serially came Blue, Green and Yellow.
then Orange , Red at end: Gorgeous show.
Artist Nature painted without a die.
03\ 28\ 23
Writing Challenge - " P " words
First Place
Contest by Constance La France
NURTURE NATURE
Sunrays painting hues artistic
With airbrush on canvas of sky
Nature’s beauty majestic.
Spangles of stars adorn night sky
Dusts of starbursts in cosmic flow.
Silhouettes on milky way fly.
Verdant valley cleaves mountain range
Desert-Rainforest: Two extremes.
Caves-Caverns-Volcanoes: Strange.
Ocean in aqua galore.
Splendid natural resources.
From land to sea, where to explore?
Charm in fountain, marvels in snow.
Sturdy rocks, ripples on river.
Seasons change, zephyr to blow.
Air, water, land make ambient
Seeds sprout, plants grow on Mother Earth.
Life cycle never salient.
Rigid matter material
Vibrant life progressing as well.
Evolution continual.
Flourishing flora and creatures.
‘Obey Nature’s Eco-system
Nurture nice Nature for future.
10/21/20
'On your marks, Naturally' Contest by Julia Ward
Remember all those tea ads with the chimps on?
We’ll prostitute the Prague of Gustav Mahler
and desecrate the divas of La Scala.
Would Bart betray begettor Homer Simpson
(he’s not so much a whoreson as a pimp-son)
to get himself a Chevrolet Impala?
You bet he would. This is the Grab-It Gala.
The cripple pawns the plaster that he limps on.
In Pasadena, Pimlico and Perth,
the only thing we´ll go without is girth.
Where JP Morgan’s played by Colin Firth,
we airbrush self-awareness, muffle mirth,
and drown in plenty, blink at moral dearth.
We're always prizing price-tag, never worth.
A photo on a dating site
How gorgeous that girl looked
By text we flirted all that night
And I was truly hooked
She looked like a celebrity
Like Marilyn Monroe
With sexy eyes and pouting lips
And slim from head to toe
We texted till we felt at ease
And then we made the choice
We swapped our numbers eagerly
To chat some more by voice
She said some sexy things to me
(And some that made me blush)
I praised her lovely curly hair
She praised her own hairbrush
But I’m a proper cockney
And it turns out so was she
One thing she did the same as me
Was say ‘H’ silently
So when we met I got a shock
It seemed I’d got it wrong
Her ‘H’ had not been silent
For an ‘H’ did not belong
She hadn’t used her hairbrush
And her airbrush was long gone
Because the girl in front of me
Looked just like Elton John
______________
[‘Goodbye Norma Jean’ from ‘Candle In The Wind’
by the aforementioned Mr John]