Long Artistic Poems
Long Artistic Poems. Below are the most popular long Artistic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Artistic poems by poem length and keyword.
Amazingly, your eyes gleam freshness from heaven.
Before you were seen, you were resting in God's heart.
Clinging to mine, it cannot cease to overflow.
Drawing meaning into life's every crevice,
Each given breath you take awakens mine.
From the moment I first felt your ripples inside me,
God gave me a wink of a new beginning.
Hope filled blue painted ceilings and little drawers.
In a father's mind, his name would carry on.
Joy so grand became our parents' inheritance.
Kicks affirmed your livelihood nightly.
Laughs and tears were shared in placental connection.
Monitors suggested your precious health was well.
Nestled in my womb was the safest place for you.
Oranges and burger flavors reached new taste buds.
Prayerfully, we rested in the unknown outcome.
Queasiness came as contractions strengthened.
Rushes of adrenaline kept my birthing body vigorous.
Surrealism saturated our minds, studying each feature.
Thankfulness touched us like your new skin's warmth.
Unable to conceive of this mystery, opaque joy flowed.
Vast gifts were given, but that of you keeps on giving.
Wonders await each new stage we'll embrace.
Xerox copies of significance collect in your photo box.
Yesterdays accumulate practiced artistic expression.
Zealous praises stretch to heaven, for we are blessed.
2/15/2020
I once saw a man one early misty winter morning. He was crossing at the intersection as I was preparing to make a U turn. Upon seeing him, not in worn out shoes, but completely without any shoes, I felt duty bound; so I gave him the shoes on my feet. This memory came to me as I thought about a song I heard years ago about a Mr. Bojangles who ran a string of bad times and was wearing 'worn out shoes'.
I was deeply moved when I first heard the song nearly 20 years ago, and it has stayed with me since. When I heard it on the radio being performed by Sammie Davis Jr., I fell in love with Mr. Bojangles whose life demonstrated someone down on his luck but still tugging along and doing the best he can with a little confession about 'drinking a bit'. The story also speaks to people with talent and artistic abilities, reminding them that their call, their purpose, their assignment to touch the world, is far bigger than them. Sammie's opening with a whistle was rather soothing.
Whether it's age or addictions, people or circumstances that stepped on one's life to crush them like a roach, we need not stop or give up on ourselves or our gift. If we are blue and sad, Dance! If victimized by manipulation or loss, Dance! If we have come to or toward the end of life and find ourselves feasting on bitter herbs, Dance! We still have a story to tell and one to leave with the coming generation.
The language of life is to love, to laugh, and to Dance, and need never die for any reason. I never learned how to Dance physically, but sometimes when all alone and no one is looking, I Dance. My inner spirit and attitude have learned to Dance. If not as high as Mr. Bojangles, jump as high as you can; can't jump while tapping my heels like Mr. Bojangles, but I can tap the floor.
I suspect that I have Mr. Bojangles to thank and so many others like him who over a span of years have taught me not to cry over spilled milk but to wipe it up and pour another glass. Sammie's closing with a whistle is rather telling and speaks to our approach to life regardless of what it throws at us. Yes, We keep whistling and talking, sharing our lives with whomever will listen, and move on to the next chapter, because it is never over until God says it's over.
071620PSCtest, Same Old Song, Beth Evans. 1P
Tingly skies full of surprise oh how I love when with surmise,
the little rascal aims his dart as if it were, poetic art !
The juvenile lyrical mind under infantile skin,
like the sweetness of the fruit ripe already,
will have the mute desire to reach and win
with artistic heart pulsating within puerile body.
Rising from the depth of ageless emotion,
spreading like waters of the flooding river,
love assumes a heavenly halcyon dimension
in a delightful art framed with platonic fervor.
When the yarn of yearning sews the closed eye,
on the flapping eyelids the bird of passion flies.
The flight makes all the dreams to rise high,
float like shapeless clouds in the seamless skies.
If in the same rhythm the two hearts beat,
time arrow will stop for you, making no sense.
Past forgotten, in the present two souls will meet,
sunk in the depth of blind love without pretense.
When cupid's arrow aims for you, there isn't much that you can do !
Allow me to confess how gratifying it is
To see the rainfall of lights permeate through your eyes,
Swirling lightening warmth into my own
To see your thoughtful lips curve into a summer's beam
We energize each other as our words fall like playful spring petals,
Expressing our hearts' joys without grievance or complaint
But with genuine feeling and mutual delight
Fastened tight with love's newfound might
Artistic minds mix, dispersing colors others barely fathom
Upon the surface of their distracted rights,
Their distant autumnal attentions
Instead we dream, diligent of and in each other
Reflective of a world that snows and blizzards
Aware of the audience - the stars - that cry with glee in every climactic scene
We rise
For the sake of simply touching them
Every heart that means to listen
To such precious overtones
The subtle and soft notes below and above the melody
That make magic real,
And the darkest souls hopeful
I love to just watch you smile,
To take in every glimmering feeling
As they pass like seasons from dawn to sunset
Our feelings change
Our tunes build upon the ever growing masterpiece
That is our very existence,
Our union and our uprising of all that is life
I love to trace the silhouette of your grace,
To paint sounds and syllables where your eyes will accept them
To embrace you with an assuring memory to hold forever
We need not worry,
For the melody of this beautiful life has long waited
For the sustaining and blooming accompaniment
That we master, savor, and make better
My friend, my life,
From dawn to dusk,
And every trying night
These overtones will resonate our legacy for all time
Multifaceted female
Warrior with a cat like mind
Turn her a quarter of an inch
And see what shes becoming
Morphing from a free flying butterfly
Into a predator that will eat you for lunch
With the wingspan of an eagle
She flies free in her artistry
With every fiber of her being
Her eyes glint with the wording
written in, don't you dare mess with me
I'm hunting on warm air currents, beseaching
For my soul to be true and creatively free
And if you don't ride with me
I'll be me, you just watch and see
Dedicated to Kylie my artistic soul
My beautiful daughter
My Business Marketing Artist
( Alan Walker. Faded song by violin)
For men who tire of war and bleed
Is there any hope from God or love?
Is living in a world of fallen man
A hopeless state forever without peace?
Who can live on love and virtue alone?
In a world of irrational thought is peace a folly
In a world of common ordinary men?
Artistically sterile and filthy
Fallen and depraved deranged
Fallen humanity without reason
Living by blind beliefs
A world removed from God
Outside of Creations peace
Turning heaven’s peace into war
A spiritual famine and living death
Or tied into knots of nothing at all
Ragamuffins and fascists, wicked destroyers
But artistic genius will bring us back
Back to the peace of creation’s plan
Pulled through the fire and smoke of HELL
And back into the planned Peace of Heaven
This is the secret of genius and divine creation
The hidden secret of the peace of poetry and art
In the ever-present unchanging sacred world of LOVE
Monet's Impression, Sunrise
First impressions leave memories
that can linger for a very long time
and give a sense of peace and understanding
that rewards the solitude of the mind
with satisfaction in contemplative reflection.
This may be deceiving and can mislead one to believe
that which is right may, in fact, be wrong.
Graciously accept the artist’s shared perception
that there is no ambiguity, only a warning
of the impending storm threatening prevalent reasoning.
The ascending sun, with its reflection on the water,
highlights a sense of direction as the rowers row
across the harbour at the break of morn.
Past cranes and derricks and ships at anchor
beneath a smoke-blurred fiery sky, accented
by pastel shades of blue to create the sombre mood
that expresses Monet’s "Impression, Sunrise" painting
and shares with the onlookers his representation
of nature from an Impressionist’s point of view
in the Industrial Age, heralding in the revolution.
That begs the question, “Where are they going,
and why blood orange?” (Oh, but I’ve seen that colour before.)
Day-to-day inquiries are asked of one another and strangers.
Monet incorporates an art form using oils on canvas,
forcing the audience to observe with curiosity,
thus presenting a sliver of time of life’s tranquillity at sea.
This provocation of thought chinks the consciousness
of seasoned connoisseurs who see change as frightening
and challenges their manipulation of artistic output
(to act like mechanical agents thwarting creativity).
“Will they reach their destination? Will it be as they hoped for?”
Hurry! Though calm, the waters will soon froth in labour.
***
Note:
“Monet’s Impression, Sunrise” is an ekphrastic poem referencing the painting “Impression, Sunrise” (1872) by Claude Monet (1840–1926).
At the time of my decision later in life,
I was not a neophyte nor did I experience
an inhibition in using my paints and brushes.
I had loved to draw since I was a child-
mostly enthralled to express dolorous scenes
like that of the Virgin Mary with baby Jesus,
reflecting in her eyes God's Providence
of the sadness of what was to come.
When I decided to study at a local art gallery
under the guidance of a well-known artist,
with his direction, the smolder of my artistic
talents came to life like a raging fire.
At first, I did flounder with techniques,
and with getting to know other gallery artists-
some noted for their pompous bombast-
others by their bizarre or lecherous art;
but, most were humble and gentle, like me.
I polished my unique style of oil painting,
mostly seizing the beauty and peace of nature-
winter scenes, a dark, lonely tree in the fog-
and too- the joy, sadness, or pensiveness
of the human expression through portraits-
art- and obsession- that reflects my heart.
May 29, 2019
~2nd Place~
Contest: Eight Word Free Verse
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Judged: 06/21/2019
Words required to use: neophyte, inhibition, dolorous,
Providence, smolder, flounder, bombast, lecherous
By George P. Lumayag
https://georgelumayag.weebly.com/
Spending oftentimes with friends on the virtual screen,
There the lives of young minds might be seen,
Such beauties are presented by MPEG or jpeg,
But sometimes, these are stolen and corrupted.
Breaking the rules and defacing the limit,
The things for public and for private,
Whether pictures, videos, papers, and artistic works,
These need purity through the hardest fix of screwdrivers.
To eye on purity is to wire up the human system,
And your conscious clicks are measured by a pure screen.
Then a wholesome desktop could be measured by a LAN tester,
And your genuine heart could properly maintain these things.
Mail Call Now and Then
David J Walker
Let me hear from you
Now and then
Love, Mother
The same phrase
I read at the end
Of every letter
While gone so long ago
Serving in uniform
It was the time before email
And iPhones
And social media posts
When the most we could hope for
While so far away
Was our names shouted out at
Mail call
How I looked forward
To her rhadamanthine
Cursive scripts
Perfect in sleek artistic
Lines and quips laid out
in her own hand
And the scratched scrabble
Of discarded thought
Let me hear from you
Now and then
The letter in its’
Envelope cover
Placed back in the box
On a closet shelf
Waiting to be read
Sometimes again
When I may need to
hear from her
Now and the then