Long Painting Poems
Long Painting Poems. Below are the most popular long Painting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Painting poems by poem length and keyword.
Yesterday I wrote poem how about how when the ocean waves meet the land they leave little drawings in their wake…little artworks in the sand.
Marilyn, and old friend from my Ohio high school days (that was a long time ago!) reminded this now-Floridian…there’s also artistry in the snow.
She opened a door into a room in my mind where memories of old art I retain:
Like waking up and looking out my window to see the snow after a rain…
How the world outside was different than when I went to bed at night.
How everything was coated in little coverlets of white.
How overnight while I slept…there was an unexpected freeze…allowing nature to paint the snow that fell onto the branches of the trees.
Everywhere I looked snowflakes could be found…
Clinging to the rooftops…blanketing the ground.
But nature was not content with snow dominating my entire view…
So she added beams of yellow from the sun against a sky she painted blue.
And knowing she needed to add more color into that day’s art’s design…she added drops of red by painting cardinals in the pines.
So thank you Marilyn for reminding me…for making me aware
nature’s beauty is not unique to Florida…it can be found everywhere.
Thanks for reminding me it’s in the widest ocean…in the smallest babbling brook…that beauty’s all around us…if we take the time to look.
Thanks for opening a door to a room I closed long ago…
Thanks for allowing me to stand on a beach in Florida…
and remember the beauty of a winter snow.
Inside, there are hopes
Breathes of dreams, fantasies
Murmuring promises, wishes
Aspirations who make me smile
Come alive with laughing desires
Inside, there are ideas
Gentle light, reflecting joy
Wonders so graceful, dazzling
Shimmering stardust poems
Silencing the roar of loneliness
Inside, there are beliefs
Threading through the veins
Making promises with crimson,
Liquid promises so tender
Calming and uplifting, trembling
Inside, there are yearnings
Lovely encouragements, thriving
Surviving the darkest warnings,
Whispering to the thunder
Inspiring the heart to believe
Inside, there are feelings
Broken into pieces, memories
Nuances of love and affection
Grace falling from above
In dewdrop judgements, healing
Inside, there are celebrations
Elations enchanting, gratifying
Echoing appreciation, the charm
Creator, painting moon and stars
Wistful and whimsical, prayers
Inside, there are assumptions
Statements in sapphire and emerald
Treasures – rich and bold, silencing
Dark shadows with the truth…
Love this wise is inspired by the light…
Who pours out from the Son!
Inside, He abides – burning with a fire
Ignited by the love that only He can move
A love that is stronger, more powerful
Than any sorrow, anxiety or grief, stronger
Even, than the dark night who deceives
With the light of this Son, there is peace!
I was beyond bereft!
With very little money, sure, we had a small place.
But no cash nor tree nor presents nor food were to
be.
I cried a lot, so did my daughter.
I prayed very hard for some kind of answer.
Then I recalled "Operation Blessing"!
They wanted a complete list of what I needed.
It was long indeed, including a tree, a turkey, food
for an empty pantry,and toys for my daughter.
They told me to trust God and stop my crying.
It was a relief for me to know I was trying.
There was no plethora of jobs, then, as there are now.
Nor were lowest income earners having an 8% increase
hidden by the media mogul cows
And we were in a recession, then.
"Operation Blessing" came to our humble place.
I had been truly blessed by God's holy grace.
First they brought in a six foot,live, fully decorated tree!
In my daughter's eyes, I saw such happiness and glee!
The turkey was a Tom, hence more than generous.
All the trimmings, too. Plus other foods to fill my barren
kitchen cabinets.
Toys came next, plentiful,all beautifully wrapped.
My hopelessness disappeared knowing the world is so
generous and way far from crass.
Many organizations are doing good this season,
After all there is a reason!
People are cooking for the homeless all day across this
wonderful nation. Shelters are open.
Groups are cleaning up tent cities!!
Oh, no! Forbidden for you to know.
The painting of rich crushing the poor,
Is the center of the political boors.
Do what we can in money or in person!
Christmas is about His love, His birth.
Share your time and care and love with those who may
have less.
I learned that Christmas, to be humble and stop complaining!
To do for others, to tithe, to contribute.
To be grateful for what little I had.
And to ask when I needed help.
There are seniors living in nursing homes, go visit them,
their relatives won't!
How about badly wounded veterans, who lost limbs for you?
Can you spare them an hour or two?
Make this Christmas not about you.
It's a transformational experience,
I promise you!
December 10, 2019
Speaking and living off experience,
what I've experienced goes against
what I know, like I should take it
slow, slow down my emotions I'm
soaking in love because I love that
feeling, but the cards I been dealing
is sort of like the cards I been dealt.
I sink head first instead of just
taking it slow, so I end up with a lot
of deleted numbers, text messages,
and burned pictures Yeah I'm filled
with love but still I'm drowning in
this pitcher I drink from. Painting
perfect pictures with my imperfect
hands, Yeah I what this and I really
need that look at my check list can I
really give it back. I'll admit it
sometimes I'm double minded but I
put away those thoughts like never
mind it, trying to align it with what I
would like to call Ms. Right, there's
no such thing most people change
overnight, so in light of my new
discovery having the rug pulled right
from under me I hate this feeling so
I go back to the drawing board,
write a new blueprint that's fits me
fundamentally and hopefully to find
someone that I'm mentally
spiritually & emotionally compatible
with, story of my life right I guess I'll
just dismantle it again. There's no
rush I know chalk it up to me always
getting so caught up ready to give
my all it's amazing this heart of
mine isn't tore up, but I guess with
every short story I have more to tell
than actually show, it's hard to take
your own advice sometimes, but I
gotta stay meek with the next one
and just take it slow.
What the hell you looking at
It’s rude to stare you daft old bat
I think I’m gonna look right back
Some might call that tit for tat
That bloke you're with seems quite refined
Doesn’t seem to be your kind
His taste in women I’m debating
Clearly, you’re no oil painting
You’ve stared at me for quite a while
Debating if I smirk or smile
But here’s a secret you should know
that look means I’ve just let one go
So, rest assured that I’m not down
And that my smile is not a frown
Don’t listen to that tour guide geezer
I’m not a moaner… and my name ain’t Lisa
15 November 2021
Contest: Become A Painting
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
I'm retired and now possess an acre of land
with plans to build a home. This acre is a few
feet from the spot where I was born. If the home
is where your story begins, I'm home now.*
I've been away for many a day from this lovely place
where I used to play. But I'm home now, and I came over
2000 miles to get here; not just for a visit, but to stay.
I left home more than 50 years ago, but I'm home now.
Presently, three of my siblings have homes within a mile
of our birthplace. Our birth home grew old and feeble and
had to be demolished about 10 years ago. But I'm home now.
I miss the places where I have been, what I have done in life,
and the people I've met. But they are all history now, and the
future shines bright just ahead. All is well because I'm home now.
Yes, it was very difficult to leave adult children and our grandchildren
2000 miles away in California, but I'm home now. Perhaps someday,
this will be their retirement place, even if strange to them.
As my husband and I grow old, there are stories yet to be born, yet
to unfold. But there are no stories better than those to be told about
where my story began. The chickens and their coups, the cows and their
pasture, the pigs and their pins; all are gone, but not the memory of them.
The people here are still most dear, and it's so soothing to hear so clearly
the whispering of the wind reminding me of how it was way back then. Yes,
I will surely miss so deeply the many people and things that came in between the year 1968 when I departed and the year 2022 when I returned.
It's been a great ride, and there have been great strides because God has been good. Like the song says, "Country Road, take me home where I belong". Where the skies reveal a God who loves art, painting breathtaking clouds. Where the air is clean as I stare across the fields of corn and beans. 'I'm home now.
92522PSCtest, A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest.
cjonthebehalfofbj
*Written by me as if my wife was speaking.
In dreams of yonder, wishes wistfully conceive,
A cradle of lost tomorrows, where shadows sway;
To a realm unseen, where hearts believe,
Past where twilight’s lulling lullabies lay,
A world where reverie and reality secretly play.
Through the veil of verity…
…Aisling nocturnally creates,
Mountains of moonlight, rivers of rhyme,
A world untouched by changing tides and capricious fate.
In this land, where we lose track of all time,
A place where voices harmonize; oh, so surreal, so sublime.
A city of silence, a forest of fears,
The cloud-kissed towers, an ocean of sorrow,
Beneath twilight's gentle, silent tears.
An ephemeral world free of yesterdays and tomorrow,
A dreamscape unfolding where sleep freely borrows.
A tremor runs through castle walls,
A sigh escapes the forest deep,
Twilight's tears turn into calls
Of roosters waking from their sleep.
The ocean's sorrow shimmers pale
A canvas primed for sun's first brush.
The mountains, caught in morning's veil
Dissolves to silence, whispers hush.
As a new dawn dances
the dream dissipates
The illusion shatters
reality reinstates.
For the land was an Elysium delight
A mere mirage in the moonlit night.
Dissolving in dawn's delicate dance
…like a mist in morning sacred light.
Fading Starlight sifts through leaves, painting emerald shadows on the ground.
Lost in the morning's mellowness,
a sigh escapes,
the dream departs,
unrenown…
Though dawn reclaims the waking world,
a yearning in my heart resides,
For Elysium's lost melody,
where time and sorrow gently subside.
Leonora
I am a loyal, loving, caring and responsible friend and sister
The only daughter of my loving parents , Manuela and deceased father Leonilo
Lover of poetry, arts (portraits and painting) and playing piano
Who feels alone, exhausted and so bored
Who fears loss of love, loss of life and snake is the most
Who would like to see different countries, future kids and great poets on
poetry soup
A proud resident of Candon which is not a boarder of Canada and London
Galinta
written: Oct. 1,2012
First Place
Contest: Life These Days Poem
Judged:
Sponsor: Poet Carol Sunshine Brown
Somber willows bend
To touch their gnarled knees.
Faithful tree trunks stand
Against the angry breeze.
So who am I to question
Nature’s grander scheme?
I know there is a lesson
In this telling dream.
Slowly setting sun
Is painting wispy clouds.
Beauty meant for one,
Yet drawing in the crowds.
So what am I to gather,
From this dream of mine?
That love’s not free, but rather
Only just a sign.
Oceans rolling in
Are symptoms of the tide;
Just as growing sin –
Depravity slung wide.
Do lightning and the thunder
Just reflect the storm?
And is it love, I wonder,
That will keep us warm.
So the lesson learned
Is water’s very deep.
Forests do get burned
When Nature’s gone to sleep.
My dream is a reflection
Of a wondrous find -
That love is just a vision
Of the ties that bind.
¡Ay, Borinquen!
Puerto Rico greets you first with sofrito
green pepper, cilantro, ajo
it sizzles like a drum roll,
pop-pop of oil in abuela’s pan.
Pernil hums slow,
sancocho thick as a secret kept between prayers.
The air tastes like hunger … and love.
¡Eh, tierra mía!
Listen …
the coquí keeps time with the tide,
congas talk back to the waves.
Salsa spills from open doors
bodies move like wind through cane.
A laugh- a clap- a heel to the ground
boom-boom, pa! boom-boom, pa!
The island don’t sleep … she sways.
¡Ay, mira eso!
Look how the sun kisses the sea,
painting gold over her blue dress.
Fish flash silver under glass water,
and the sky bends low to whisper,
“Welcome home, mi corazón.”
Colors here don’t fade — they sing.
¡Dale, abuela!
Her arms - soft thunder.
Her hug - drum and halo both.
She pulls you in till the world forgets its noise.
Sand trails your steps like a promise,
the sun warms your skin …
till you shine like honey.
¡Wepa!
Then comes the bite
pastelillos hot and bold,
cheese stretching like a song you don’t want to end.
Coco limber slides down sweet,
cold kiss on a summer tongue.
You close your eyes …
hear the drum again,
feel the island hum inside your chest.
¡Ay, Borinquen!
Every sense remembers you
every beat brings you back home.