Long Artwork Poems
Long Artwork Poems. Below are the most popular long Artwork by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Artwork poems by poem length and keyword.
Like a thunderous rainstorm,
it came with force and was
impossible to hold back. This
morning as I was thumbing through
an old notebook, I saw sketches
drawn by my favorite little girl.
There were sketches about fashion,
her favorite theme.
My eyes began to moisten as grief
came rushing from the deep. I turned
the page and then another. I was arrested
and captured by that third page depicting
the artwork of her and me.
I was overwhelmed with both joy and grief
that pulled me down into a sea of tears and a
sounding cry. Her little hands were in mine
displaying the words, "I love you, Grandpa".
For 22 years, she had a grandpa to love and
a grandpa to love her. Nearly three months ago,
cancer took her from us, but I am overjoyed
with the sketches I discovered.
1124PS
One is named “Another Unfortunately Not to Contact”,
Still with the mugshot at which we giggled.
I try to see what he had as a passing joke,
But he respected that I seriously don’t want to smoke.
He’ll always suit jackets that jingle.
Another’s named “Hurts to Contact”.
We met at a drawing group.
On first word, we clicked.
Their artwork is lit.
We’ve shared our final packet of Hula Hoops.
Another is just a number.
Together, we sang “Hey Jude”.
We watched “Gavin and Stacey”.
He made perfect pastry.
We’ll always love music and food.
As for you,
“Everything Will Be Alright”
Is how your sibling’s number is saved,
Whose buzzcut I used to shave –
Hair that won’t outgrow my memory’s sight.
Your contact is still Luka ??!
With a smiley and exclamation mark.
We are still in touch,
But I think of you too much –
Our conversations heart wrenching to park.
Form:
When feeling sadness- I seek art,
the strokes of masters bring me peace;
the colors soothe my bleeding heart,
my soul touched by each masterpiece.
I wander hours;
among flowers !
In the art I need- to be part,
and my delight will never cease;
fancy that I never depart,
for great artwork gives me release.
Art pieces cry;
step in they sigh !
______________________
June 02, 2022
Poetry/Rhyme/Posie/Lost In Art
Copyright Protected, ID 06-1461-264-02
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La Franc
Written for the Premier contest, Posie
sponsor, Emile Pinet, Judged 06/30/2022
Second Place
Written: June 12, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Constance La France
Quote: The sky exudes a serene splendor after a storm, a soft serenity that revitalizes the ruined land. By Poet.
*********************
Breathing the crisp air by a sunlit brookside,
where spring is nested in the snowy stride.
I felt the serenity of the world grow mild —
as if the highlands were nurturing a child.
The inn with its halcyon mosaic glow —
held the night as a lantern cradled in snow.
Stars danced slowly in the alpine breeze,
soft as lullabies sung by the trees.
Aged innkeeper’s hands shaped the bread,
as blessings warmed in the embers' bed.
Her tea — spiced cloves and heated coal —
was what I sought to soothe my restless soul.
Below, the river laughed in the sunlight,
a silver thread through greenery, bright.
Its whispers stitched the hours so pale,
until my breath matched its stillness, frail.
Evenings carried the scent of earth made anew,
with nutmeg drying in the morning dew.
Children raced down the "moss — soft" stone,
while quiescence poured deep within my bones —
I painted the sunset—equanimity and fire —
an artwork born from a lasting desire.
I named it for the tranquility I claim —
that gentle hour when gold meets flame.
Then, quietly and warmly, I stand again —
to dismantle walls in the familiar den.
Serenity, akin to a patient guide,
extends its palms in my mind, slow tide.
Delightfully coloring a butterfly drawing
my child, secured in his custom-built wheel chair
grips, midst obvious struggle
his yellow crayon…
Wow… he’s enjoying his creativity-schedule
as he painstakingly finishes his artwork
along bugging restlessness
overcoming “butterfly-in-pupa stage” syndrome…
Soon with glee-filled countenance
devoid of bashful gesture
he shows me his masterpiece:
a glowing butterfly, radiant in yellow…
Witnessing his gracious achievement
I see in him God-wrought remarkable changes
indeed precious indications that he’s “educable”
undoubtedly, not progressing toward retrogression…*
Yes, I’m beholding metamorphosis in process
thus, with faith in the Sovereign’s miracle
I envision my boy in his functionality
like a butterfly in its blessed beauty**.
*"Expect that he will progress toward retrogression..."This was uttered by the pediatrician-neurologist that diagnosed our special child of infantile epilepsy and global developmental delay in 2010. Today, our son, by God's grace is doing well.
**Psalm 90:17 And let the beauty of the LORD our God be upon us…
October 4, 2019
Honorable Mention, "Writing Challenge, October-Butterfly" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Dear Heart- Wiishkobe Ode; judged on 10/5/2019.
Oh she of many lovely looks and names
reflects the golden glories of the day.
Her mythic face points to the western way
an intrepid mascot for freedom's winds
this flying lady lives well out in front.
Seeing her heading across these vast skies,
a vision of an ecstasy divine,
adornment to the delight of deities.
Oh she, the figurehead who we admire
a shining seer seeing journeys ahead
keeping all of us far from fear and dread.
She who holds my love wears a bonnet badge
on the bowsprit of my heart while we
float haplessly away in fantasy.
Free Verse Sonnet 14 Lines 98 Words 12/7/22
This is a colored pencil portrait of my wife Jean
as a young woman ( artwork by G. Gaul).
It tells of how she navigates life and her influence
on me. The ornament on her sun hat represents
hood ornaments on automobiles and figureheads
on vessel bowsprits used as symbolic help to see
the way clearly.
“Your Finest Hour”
pour a paint can
from isolation
a heart torn
blood spills Red
on the crushed White empty now
absorbed in the mother vein
Stop.
a tall tree, Green, waiting,
so is life and dreams
she always speaks
of a beautiful future
fresh, romantic notions
words are always running diamond Silver streams
of something always better, Golden,
Bright Blue skies -
what was lost
was stolen,
to somehow be retrieved
not now red apples rolling
down the mountain
climbed long and hard
bitter seeds,like bricks held
in an apron,
red apples scattered
rolling to an Ocean
Time.
What is worthy in the future
is worth something now;
“Look in thy glass and tell
the face thou viewest
now is the time that face
should form another”
from the broken
Tarot Tower
"...calls back the lovely
April of her prime"
thou art thy mother’s glass
and she in thee
stops at Red and reads
your painted codex, stoic
emblazoned with potent power
Silenced,
in this dark time
and proud
dear daughter,
winning the Game
in this,
your finest hour
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
for my daughter, Georgia
with love,
your mother.
"and now our parents are long departed
who can finish the songs they started?”
Artwork: Georgia Murcell
With so many people in war forced to flee…forced to run away…forced along the streets of their country to roam…in the peaceful calm of the morning I stopped to give thanks for our home.
It’s where our children grew up…our grandchildren played…it’s been a fortress for our family…
I can’t imagine what it would feel like…if we suddenly had to flee.
How tragic…how sorrowful…how demeaning…how unkind…
If one day we were forced to flee…and leave everything behind.
This house has our DNA within its walls…our genes…our chromosomes…What would it feel like to abandon all the things that make this house our home?
The bed we’ve shared for years…the table where we eat dinners and where many a game’s been played…the fireplace that kept our family warm…the chair Deborah’s father made.
Our photo albums…our books…the artwork on our walls…
the door with our family’s heights recorded…from the closet in the hall.
As I looked at our house I thought how nothing would alleviate…nothing would appease…if all we could take were the clothes on our back and a lifetime of memories.
And when I thought of all the people I have loved…
who have passed through our front door…
I can’t imagine losing all of this…
to the senselessness of war.
Marvel films have a way of grabbing our interest.
Superman, Batman, and Robin can't interrupt.
Superheroes are a common childhood fantasy.
Some dwell on villains who are full of fallacy.
Everyone wishes they could fly or be a superhero.
The pride of possessing their own unique billow.
Our desires for a flight might shift each day.
And I've been obsessed with writing essays.
When I'm upset, I strive to be clever and back.
There are also fine days, that I wish to be on track.
Children who seem to be ill, suffering, and insane
I wish I could heal away their pain and grief again.
I often wish I could create money out of thin air.
But then I realize that I would surely turn evil there.
Instead, I'd yearn to bestow hope on the world!
Probably, alike garlic, finding a cure is absurd.
Then I realized that all of us held distinct skills.
We all are born with imagination, and this is real.
That incredible receptacle you name your body.
It's artwork, as love, passion, and care to embody.
March 22, 2023
Marvel Superheroes Supervillians and Superanimals Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
(Dedication: For my niece, Joan Chong)
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Pleasant feelings surge in pretty ideas;
Obscure panache seeps in artwork design;
Sensuous driven purge of mind forms fit here;
Touch of purpose deep as artifacts mime.
Choice of abstract art in fluid emotion;
Align round sure text with sublime hinting;
Rough edges now start to merge with passion;
Drawings that hurl next feel after filling.
Display moments sharp when movement collides;
Etchings in grey scale that allude bold spills;
Such pregnant art harps upon thoughts that stride;
Indulgence tells tales in magic that thrills.
Gifts of transcendence in mortal careers;
Now change sparks cadence in outcomes right here.
Leon Enriquez
08 May 2014
Singapore
(Note: This poem is an Acrostic Sonnet.)