Long Artworld Poems
Long Artworld Poems. Below are the most popular long Artworld by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Artworld poems by poem length and keyword.
gently
before me
on a desk, or a table
rests the means to enable
me to craft a new fable
to run and leap like the sable
a squirrel scampering upon a gable
to perch on high
level with the treetops
even with the dew drops
before they appear on leaves and grass
and as the moments pass
above the uncouth, the crass, with aplomb and class
to perch on high
not a computer, monitor, or screen
but a single piece of white paper, pristine, clean
and a pencil, or a pen
this is one of my favorite things, always available again
for me to clutter up with poetry, it's a religeous experience, maybe a sin
to perch on high, and then, to fly
above this work of still life, a pregnant moment, this glory
how do i get across to a mere animal like many of we
the potential, the opportunity, the act of creation
the pantheon of art, intellect, and creativity, the nearly divine relation
of a pencil, or pen, and one single piece of paper, the correlation
of inspiration, asperation, imagination, an elations flirtation
with all of creation, and even with the Creater, all the world and history
all possible, sometimes, probable, once in a while, we'll get to Be,
creatively
this mere human being, this mammal, this fallable and maelable man
may one day be as close to God, as, say, a squirrel, a sable, a dog or a cat
created as perfect as God intended, then staying that way
us? this world is sick and evil, faded, jaded, and peopled with egos based
entirely on waste, differences of taste
being better than, largely by plan, and lies, by intention and ignorance, like flies
i was perched on high, minutes ago, almost
(computers, phah!)
there is a certain amount of gratification in crumbling up a piece of paper
when faced with the fact, that what i've created is trash
getting another one
setting it down
setting a pencil or pen on it
and starting over. perfectly. gently. what is that moment?
to fly
perfection, and me, trying to be, to become, to create,
really, it seems everything i write or draw is a waste of time
it was perfect before i picked up the pen, now look what i've done!
delete?
phah! can you think of a title, a word that defines the moment described?
p.s. i am ussually surrounded by malevolent cretins, nobody on this site is a mere animal,
my apologies if you are!
Form:
You know Mr. & Mrs. reader of ethical and non-essential concerns of dismay. Sometimes
along life's journey, there's a crossroad we all will face. "A crossraad along the way", whether
you choose the wrong way or the wrong road. You're only halfway in your posesstion if you
decide that the road is the only way. "Recesstion over Oppression", being the second part in
my series, this poem is my own opinionated thoughts as I've travel amongst a discontented
journey of crossroads, non-essential along the way. "Recession over Oppression", to every
man, women, boy and girl are we all headed for that ultiment question, "The Faith of a crum-
beling World". Quite sure you've surrounded yourself from the snare's of the world, so you
may not have come across many if any crossroads, like how deep is your faith and is what
you are believing GOD to be! is it in direct allignment of the Higher Power you can not see?
You and me, Well-Well you see I cann't term to grip the ethic's of racial acrimonious of the bl-
ind-eye's that claim to see. You may see differently remember (this is only poetry) so don't
come too the crossroad and still be blindsighted by the oppress of demorcracy.
There's going to War's and rumers of war's, there's going to be people who cann't see the
lord in no skin color but white. Some even say he's black and then there are those that say
he's not the lion of transquility. Recession has brough about high unemployment rate, men
have fallen in love with themselve's moreso now then-then ever before, the bible speaks of
this and a crumbeling world of hater's has no answer, for the men's the womens or the
young boy's nor answer's to our young girl's. I truly believe this beautifull creator establish
it that way so when crossroads and faithful decision's overtake you. He so love the world that
he allow his only begotten Son to come into the World just to die for the Sin's of the world to
defeat the enemy (Death) too reestablish true believer's of trust, not skin-color Faith but ev-
erlasting abundantly Power like that of a million Pearl's. For every Women, Man, Boy or girl.
when facing crossroads; (Remember) "The Faith of a Crumbeling World".
It is a dazzling display of brilliance, this conglomeration of constellations from different skies above as many different seas. I look at them, and feel the spark within my being. So, like a wounded soldier from the battlefield of life, I take little tentative steps, slowly but surely getting back the hang of walking with my poetic words after having been paralyzed for years. Gentle souls warmly welcome and offer as crutch a kind note or two, and not a few offer a glass of their own wise concoction when my throat and thoughts seem dry.
a little star blinks
with millions in milky way ~
words flow from a quill
I start having fun and develop new friendships, and as my own unsure steps strengthen with each passing day I continue to soak and absorb the light from the sun and glow from the moon and stars thousands of miles away. I realize that in this artworld no less than the creator has pioneered and trailblazed by the masters of years past, there is a place for all who dares to put down thoughts, fantasies and dreams in words and puts them out there to share with everyone.
fledgling butterfly
hitched a wagon to the stars ~
words form into poems
A lesson this experience brings me is that with all the glitter emanating from each brilliant star there lies within a heart battle scarred, just like me… some maybe more than others. Those golden stardusts are but byproducts of myriad encounters common to this life’s journey. If one finds herself in the trail of a hurtling comet, one should not be dismayed, but get out of the way for it is nothing personal. Odd but true, that sometimes it is the comet’s panacea for the pain nature has ordained. However, so long as I do not set out to cause undue disruption in someone’s sky travel, I should not allow the comet, or any star for that matter, to dictate my direction. I have my own path to tread.
stars come out at night
brighter after a wild storm ~
poems take new brilliance
13 November 2015
Creative Haibun Contest
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
The stars shivered in the open sky, all asking "why"?
Heaven was painted black, the cold dry air took all life turning it a dead blue
Rays of distant light illuminated small parts of the dark sky
And again in all the gossip, a star asked "who"?
Empty fields, frozen rivers, lakes and even oceans stood solid
Blue, a bit purple but lots of black painted the sad scenery an ugly timid
Where was the world now? Where was the super powers of the world?
All life was killed, the sun no longer burned, a dwarf it stood dead
Buldings toppled, mountains of ashes stood as proof that men once walked
Ashes of the dead took flight, and ugly sight indeed
For once the minds of men spoke out in tounges, now whom did they freed?
Again a speechless creation, not a sound lingered around, a silence for the stars didn't talk
No where to look, no where to seek a life
All alone, I stood to my eyes I saw I had no body, nor a body
A walking mind with sight! Where was I, what was I
O' the world was nothing, no life, did I die?
An endless journey I saw the most brilliant light to ever dress my eyes
A feeling so pure, so filling I had found the doorway to heaven, alas I was home joy at most
Overwhelming desire to live came over me, for this was the end of all cries
But out of no where I awoke, a terrible dream it was, I stood on the foot steps of a ghost
In the beginning the world was flat.
Nature was magical and that was that.
We expressed or selves with cave drawings and cuneiform too
Cuneiform was cool because it was new.
Later came sand script ant it was neat.
Except for its weight it couldn’t be beat.
Pharaohs maintained that the world was flat.
Nature was still magical and that was that.
Through the years things stayed mostly the same.
Scientists came along making themselves a name.
Soon folks were sailing the sea so blue.
Its’ roundness they all knew.
During the Renaissance artist turned up the heat.
The respect they gained was sweet.
The world knew it wasn’t flat.
The world of magic grew faint and that was that.
Science, literature and the arts grew.
The educational academies did too.
Cameras made artist feel obsolete.
Artist evolved to feel more complete.
The world got a little more abstract.
The artist was reborn and that’s a fact.
Impressionist challenged what we knew.
Expressionist had their day too.
Art for art’s sake is sweet.
Art’s expressive circle is nearly complete.
The mind’s not flat.
Expression is what you pull from your hat.
By Robb A. Kopp
All Rights Reserved © MMX
I am not a Poet,
But a Bored Child alone..
I sit by myself,sing the worlds Saddest song.
Don't feel bad,i sure don't.
Go be social,i sure wont`
Id rather relax,into a world I've created
A world of all world where No days are Dated
The best days of my Life were oh so imaginary
But that doesn't matter where they make the sweetest berry’s
This world is the Best
A magical oasis,
Green Skies,Purple Clouds,Blue Sun,Yellow Rays
This world,This World,This world..I say
I wish you could see the beauty I Do..
In this place there are no Issues
Not even tissues because there's no Tears.
Unless their of Happiness because you are Here!
I laugh and I smile,have the time of my life
The people break out into musicals in the Streets
The local bag boy provides all the beats
A beat so amazing,stands you up on your feet
A song so joyful you will sway in the heat
This world,This world,This world,I Say!
I only wish,sorta there will soon be a day
when you can imagine the love and the fate
Destent to be apart of my Way..
Form:
I can stare deep intou your eyes, and all i can do is wonder
Life itself is a mystery, and no one can predict how it will end
No one is perfect, we all make mistakes , its just so hard when you loose ur heart
I walk about empty, as can be, im afraid to look in the mirror and see the scars
The hands of time have slapped me deeply leaving pain that comes and goes
How can i look at another and try to see past the image that you left
How am i sopposed to forget you, and pretend you were never here
If i cant even breathe once without thinking of you
Sadly i must got on, the light is on yet no one is home
The pain is fresh but no soul to man the brush and create
The pen lays there in his hand, yet his heart wont allow him to feel
This world isnt real, then why do we feel
If it could all end today, i would be happy, if only i could stop this feeling
Slowly it's killing me, softly robbing my dreams
Let the world know that i am edward whom once was
I will live through my poetry and memories, but death took me long ago
Precious Haiti
Haiti sounds like hate I
Rhymes with Baby doc
And Papa doc
Feels like
Made in USA
But Unlike the Mariel Boatlift
The people are excluded from
Entering
Black
Dark
White teeth
African
Looking
French and Creole speaking
People
Haitians
Unwanted
Haiti
Shook the world
Fought and won
A great war
Against the French
But this black
Revolution
This first black republic
Like a white’s man rabbit’s foot
Like a white’s voodoo
Back fired
On Haiti
Because they
Paid
Reversed Reparation
For 100 years
250 years ago
An earthquake
Rocked Haiti
The world yawned
100 years ago
An earthquake
Rocked Haiti
The world
Announced the seismic
Reading
Minutes ago
Haiti sat on a wall
Haiti had a great fall
And like Humpty Dumpty
All the King’s horses and All the King’s men
Couldn’t put aside their hate and indifference
To put Haiti back together again…..
THE NEW WORLD.
Keep reading and don't talk,
Robots do major work
As I supervise and watch.
With my cold hands
I read psalm
As the sun is turning on
From the west lawn,
These new world is a song
Long told by the holy monk,
It was kept far in the elephants
Trunk
We didn't read to be wisdom
Drunk.
The world was a better place,
Till riches came with a sensitive
Scent,
Segregation enters every page
Poverty becomes a stain and
Pain of the destined age.
Tears is this healthy rain
She can express,
But will never explain.
The new world
Is these great spray
I can't challenge the other
Of the day,
Two stage is all time present
A present or punishment for
Man rent
The new world isn't the same
And will never remain
The same even for any saint.
HABIB AKEWUSOLA
the world of love
no negativity or diseases
the diseases that spread through violence
no pain
no tears
just the pursuit of happiness
the voices of pursuing success
no failure or people left behind
no judgment
just the fatal attraction of inner appeal
ask and thy shall receive answers
no silent lips of abuse
just the tongues of love
the taste of a lavish lifestyle, without the materialistic of fashion
the art of live that sometimes, we forget
to be unforgotten
left behind
the chains of separation
racism that still smothers the world with a closed blanket
the true reality of what we are , resolves in the environment and family that we have
resolute the problems before its a conflict
live for today and the goals of the future