Long Paintings Poems
Long Paintings Poems. Below are the most popular long Paintings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Paintings poems by poem length and keyword.
coruscating cosmic colours
dazzling in the skyline~
prismatic geometric shapes
of village houses from afar
dwarfed by enormous haystacks
a fiery cone resting
illuminating in varied hues
reminds me of
a mystic mountain ~
against the luminous sky;
emanating silhouette
resembling your shadow
as you gently fade away
the day you said,”goodbye”.
4 April 2021
For All Yours (April 5) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
1st place
Notes:
Haystacks is the common English title for a series of impressionist paintings by Claude Monet. The principal subject of each painting in the series is stacks of harvested wheat (or possibly barley or oats: the original French title, Les Meules à Giverny, simply means The Stacks at Giverny). The title refers primarily to a twenty-five canvas series which Monet began near the end of the summer of 1890 and continued through the following spring, though Monet also produced five earlier paintings using this same stack subject.(Photos and info credits to Wikipedia.)
Seven ton's fell down that day.
Crushed my life and took you away.
Left me standing in a pile of rubble.
Still in shock, I'm afraid I'm in trouble.
Post traumatic shuffling of paper's.
A day in the life of the soul shapers.
Begins the journey to where, you don't know.
Starting over, like it or not, it's time to go.
The world today doesn't look the same.
Makes yesterday's world seem like a game.
The artists paintings are coming into view.
It's the damndest thing, now you know it too.
You breath in deep to slow things down.
To calm those nerve's and get out of town.
Leave behind them worn out shoe's.
Starting over, win or lose.
There must be a storm coming around three,
the low waves are sulky as they roll in by making dull sounds;
the smile on two boys searching for seashells
is somewhat somber, not radiant and vibrant as it should be!
They didn't expect a sunless day...they had trusted the morning forecast,
but they were saddened by the disappearance of seashells on the wet sand;
with careful footsteps, they looked down with the shy eyes of baby cat
and digging deeper with their tingling toes, they found jelly fish instead!
Despite the lack of sunshine, they went on and had fun, kids always
dream of discovering something new with their enthusiasm;
there they are laughing and screaming being washed by cold waves
and anticipating the end of Fall, deep sadness overcomes them!
Entered in Eve Roper's contest,
" Oil Paintings 1, 2, 3 Any Poem Form "
My pick: # 1
Written on 11/15/2015
My door is open
I welcome you
To my Highland lands
Off heathers and hue
Cross the bridge
Of centuries old
To my castle of grey
In it's regal fold
Stand with me
In the great hall of my past
Like generations
Us Fraser's will last
Climb spiral stairs
To a turreted tower
Look out on my lands
As the northern lights shower
Turn to the left
Look out to the fields
They stretch for miles
Many harvests they yield
The moat leads off
Into a river so pure
With it's salmon ladder
Caught to mature
Lets take to the horses
To forests of pine
They carpet the glens
In greenery fine
Centuries old
Camp fire and cheer
Weeks away
Chasing the deer
The welcome we received
When we reached home
Venison and pheasant
From our Highland roam
Off the great hall
To the room of the past
Where tartans and paintings
My ancestral past
Open great fireplace
Lights up the room
Claymores and armour
In past battles bloom
The evening draws
Arrival of guests
To feast on the roam
For the food we are blessed
Midnight approaches
Bedtime retire for all
As i look out my window
In awe at it all
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland.php
After a quite long time
Leaning on dad's shoulder warm
Like a newly speaking child
Babbling trivial stories wildly
Showing my poetry on soup's first book
Sharing the biscuit ice-cream I cooked
Asking him to review the paintings I've drawn
And complaining badly about the relatives gone
Ravished by his sudden arrival
I saw a gleam of hope in survival
When I was lucidly expounding the episodes
All he did was Laughing out loud
" Hey, kutti, Do you think I've been faraway?
Don't you know I can't go anywhere away?
I am still here watching all the happenings
Now, come, just relax and speak to me"
Uttered he, subtly in my dream
The warmth, the caress, the secured feel
Made me feel the plot so real and surreal
Oh! How I wish the dream not to end!
Feb 10 2022
Museums
A place full of stories
Of art
Not just in the paintings
But in the people too
A little black girl walking hand in hand with her mother
Her eyes lit up in wonder
Wandering what she would discover
While she walks around
Spinning around
And jumping up and down
She doesn't see
That everytime she jumps the light reflecting on her beautiful brown skin makes it glimmer
Like little flecks of gold placed exactly
Like when the sun reflects a river
She doesn't see
The way her beaded braids move
Eagerly trying to catch up with her
Dancing in excitement
Enjoying this moment
Wishing she could forever stay this innocent
She shines like a diamond
She doesn't see
Her warm chocolate eyes
The way the brown melts peoples hearts
Her eyes alone could be artwork
An artwork that could instill innocence in every person It meets
Her eyes A superpower
That could bring people together
Just before she leaves
She looks at a final art piece
And for the first time she sees -
"Mommy it's me"
It was called the art of the reflection in the mirror
And when she looked in it she felt prettier
Screaming red, green with blotchy blue,
What it says I have not a clue,
Imagination! call it art,
If you have some then get a start!
Is it woman with child in arm?
Or some cattle in country farm?
warring soldier with loaded gun?
The guessing game has just begun!
More gathered at the city wall,
All in wonder! No clue at all!!
Boys and girls on the way from school,
They all thought it looked rather cool!
Wise, old headmaster came along,
smiling at crowd that looked agog,
Said “ colour has seeped through the wall!
This is not real painting at all!
You have been taken for a ride,
Masterpiece is on the other side!!”
“Cityscape” Poetry contest, sponsored by Julia ward
The dream begins at the old rusty gate,
it groans- moans as I push it open wide;
to reveal a house in a ruined state,
and through decaying tangled vines I glide.
The house like an elegant sinking ship,
I ignore the grand staircase and paintings;
and on gnarled invading tree roots I trip,
the faded walls covered in moss veinings.
Always my dream steps take me to the books,
the once library room with shelves falling;
old, sad, tattered- my heart on tenterhooks,
I find them all precious and enthralling.
Then- the ivy draped old rusty gate calls;
and I close it . . . to sounds of morn' birdcalls.
__________________
June 23, 2022
Poetry/Sonnet/The Rusty Old Gate
Copyright Protected, 06-1467-307-23
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Theme chosen - The Old Rusty Gate
Written for the Standard contest, One in Five
sponsor, Joseph May, Judged 07/11/2022
First Place
Submitted to the Premiere contest, 2022 Poetry Marathon, Mile 11
sponsor, Mark Toney, Judged 08/12/2022
Miss Sunshine was her sobriquet, and she the golden child
All through her happy infant days she wore that winning smile
She loved the colors nature gave, but sensitive and shy
She suffered from the thoughtlessness of some at junior high.
So music was her salvation, she practiced all the while
And breathed new life into sad songs with unique wondrous style
And harmony came naturally, in shades of dark and light
As with her paintings and her song she kept her spirit bright.
In the Valley of the Nightingales, by peaceful waters there
That sylvan voice of honeyed cream still dances in the air
Gifted by the shooting star with heart and mind so pure
The softly spoken blue chanteuse too fragile to endure.
Then morphine -laced to ease her pain and lifted to her chair
She sang out What A Wonderful World and left pure magic there
Adored by friends and family, her last performed goodbye
She graced the notes with perfect pitch and heard her angels cry.
She never got that little house, dreamed of, by ocean's roar
She never sang out to the seas from treasured golden shore
The brigade choir out of sight down some yellow brick road
Sings clear with Eva clothed in white, in Toto's fields of gold.
In the Valley of the Nightingales, by peaceful waters there
That sylvan voice of honeyed cream still dances in the air
Gifted by the shooting star with heart and mind so pure
The softly spoken blue chanteuse too fragile to endure.
INSPIRED BY FACTS FROM THE BOOK - EVA CASSIDY- SONGBIRD
HEAR ME SING THIS IN CONCERT.
ON YOUTUBE - VALLEY OF THE NIGHTINGALES, LOUIS SPENCE
THANK YOU.
Ugah Fugah (A moralistic tale)
.Ugah Fugah lived in a cave,
away back at Earths dawn.
You would have really liked him.
( he never cut the lawn.)
Now eating was a hassle,
there was no local store.
You had to chase and kill.
( a lot of blood and gore.)
Unless you were a veggie.
There were lots of fruit and fishes
and there was no washing up.
( he didn"t have no dishes.)
His cave it was quite sparse,
no paper on the walls.
He had a few cave paintings.
( but that was really all.)
The view was picturesque,
a Planners dream for sure.
It really did look nice.
(like a glossy pic brochure.)
Ugah Fugah was a guy
who thought he had it made.
Surrounded by young ladies.
( their attention did not fade.)
Especially when by accident,
he started a small fire.
Just by hitting flint together.
( that"s all that was required.)
But the flames they just got higher,
and then it was no joke!
The whole place disappeared.
(up in a puff of smoke.)
There was no Fire Brigade,
it really was a Buggah,
and guess who got the blame.
(poor old Ugah Fugah.)
He really was the first,
that as this New World turned.
To find himself in trouble!
(and get his fingers burned.)
And it is true today,
a glowering look "I" catches,
when I hear Mother say.
("Don"t ever play with MATCHES!)