Long Stencils Poems
Long Stencils Poems. Below are the most popular long Stencils by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stencils poems by poem length and keyword.
Pablo...according to me (Part 1a), read Part 1b to finish
Re Pablo Picasso printmaking exhibition at Bellagio Hotel's Fine Art Gallery.
(1) Left Profile of a Woman with Blue Hair
The lass you slay here rebukes your dogma while submitting to greater cause. I wonder if her soul preempted her locks in route to this blue oblivion.
(2) Woman with a Yellow Necklace
I don't blame you, I'd chase her too. The untamed lass -- part figurine, part conundrum, part hurricane -- who pried, cried and tried your fervor until committing to the menu and after-party.
(3) El Greco's Portrait of a Man with a Ruff
The patience you must have had, I never would. Slicing, dicing, razors slashing this debonair freak, and from the misery of linoleum too. Seems like you took 3rd Grade stencils, dipped them in the blood of barbarians, and chased it with a cocktail of speed, habanero grits and rancor. Well done.
(4) The Painter and His Easel
So it's me, watching you, watching this painter, watching and coloring the world in hope that someone is watching. Eye drops, anyone?
(5) Reclining Woman
If my wife looked like that on the sectional, maybe the dogs might behave, and I might get peace and quiet every once in a while.
(6) Head of a Woman Next to a Window
The pink streak grabs my gut, saying trace my face with grace, then maybe you tackle what I see, what l need. On that note, Windex ever?
..to be continued in Part 1b (because the Soup won't let me post it all here, ugh)...
(8/1/15)
Madeline’s McMansion with the adorable painted flowers
Hidden in the meadow where the best vegetation grows,
Peeks at the rare visitor, ready to unleash her magic powers.
Ethereal and fantastic, her artistry in land and paintings show.
She has been loved thoroughly, a tribute to what one woman can do.
Madeline has been creating art on her walls, every day since 1992.
Her McMansion is the child she never was honored with in life.
Her legacy, created with oils, acrylics, glitters, stencils, and some strife.
The people who visit it now also marvel at the green thumb she must have had.
She left this gorgeous mansion to my family, mainly, her nephew, my sweet dad.
We have kept it the way she kept It, the upkeep is a joy to do for her memory.
It is the prettiest home in the world, as far as my siblings and I can see.
A simple recipe of water, silt, soil and clay
Nature's potion; so powerful, so useful, so dangerous
Uncontrollable and untethered is this egalitarian mixture
Loved and loathed by human and animal
Low tide, the muddy shores of the Victorian Thames beckoned
The ragged-clothed mudlark scavenged for anything he could sell
Scrap iron, animal fat, coal, pieces of rope and canvas - the daily fayre
Few pennies for bread and beer, so cruel for the young, orphaned, homeless child
They came to Woodstock and Glastonbury with a light heart
Tens of thousands flocked to share music and the experience
Rain-turned fields of mud bound them together
They freely left muddied, smiling and uplifted
Yet, in another time the mudscape of the battlefield was the real enemy
The toxic mix of natural mud contaminated with human bi-products
Was the welcome each new trench soldier received
It oozed into the very soul of every pawn on both sides
In another place, Musgum people are at one with the earth
The simple beauty of their mud huts lingers on
Tall conical form cools the summer heat
Outside, geometrical patterns channel the monsoon rains
Elsewhere, acrid black smoke hangs over the valley like a spectre
Families live and work in squalor, slaves in all but name
A child finishes a mud brick her father moulded and her mother will bake
India’s economic miracle built in the mud hell of the poor
Strong, viscous, colourfully rich
Powerful images of mud stencils of the street
Dramatic forms of the land artist’s river mud
Subtle negative spaces in mud cloth designs
Yet in one moment, nature's art supersedes
The deadly ride of everything in the mudflow’s path
The open wound of a hillside landslide
The jigsaw pattern in sun-baked mud of a riverbed
The figurative use of mud exudes negative undertones
Worthless and polluting, it described sixteenth century people and things
Mixed with a sense of extreme, an insult it soon became
Dragged through the mud by mudslinging of others, your name becomes mud
Mud, O glorious mud
You take no sides, you give no quarter
Fluid in your journey, solid in your destiny
Eternal existence assured
Cloaked in black she sat
with covered eyes from a broad rimmed hat.
Encircled in a wispy shade of cerise
that dripped to fade into the fleece.
Lines that linger on the chair
follow her finger like liquid air
as she stencils out the curlicue
depicted with pencils in her view.
Down the wall with a dilatory slither
and intent to enthrall by use of his myrrh
he skillfully eluded his own detection
making her mind his chamber of protection.
His volcanic eyes thrust into her thought
erupting the lust she longfully sought
igniting her vision like a candelabrum
an incision devising her to succumb.
Licking the salt from a lover's lips
speaking the scripts in hum
becoming embossed in indium
and forgetting fault of nothing but tongues.
Silhouetting the cast of questions surpassed
indulging in the treasure of temporary leisure.
Her guard was let down as she started to drown
in the light of the fire and her own desire
Unforeseen antecedently.
A scene drawn out by a welcoming invasion
she remains devout to enamouring persuasion
Still life flickering and unceasing to amaze
Like a liquor releasing inward
The inebriating reward of her very own blaze.
time cloaked fierce wrath
I gave up the past or the wind
wipe the chill off my flesh
bury the sun in brine
watch the warped beams
an intricate mosaic
bathing inside
the dripping rays
In utter
crystal testimony
pectoriloquy
squiggles sloppy stencils
shattered insights
defiant & resistant
shoreless traveler mood
of
braided stories drifting
left unmarked
unsoiled
knead to the ground
lap up the virgin earth
with
my thirsty soul
tangible
&sprawled
untouched
by the
contaminated
fingers
of
perception.
my
broken
reflection
on
endless pages of poetry
perfectly aligned
melting
into
unrefined masterpiece
1st place contest winner
You Say Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
I am the master of my fate - William Ernest Henley
Universe shelters deceit in crimson reflections of hope
Why and what now where to on the star studded path
I long for orange shade and purple caress
Self-soothing I take out crayons and paint like a child
Stick men craggy women and lost souls scribbled in pain
Wax melts the paper struggles to shine
Hurt pain abuse and allegations of crude abandonment
Projected chaos calligraphed in stencils and pencils
Broken charcoal putrid ink seeking comfort
You broke promises and abandoned earning my trust
Took toxic crunch to its limits lured venom into my care
Insomnia at rest you make your own bed
Toss and turn hopeful daggers into skillets of runaway prey
Actions have consequences just as causes harvest conclusions
But I am tired of picking up the pieces
As emotions feed reason and thoughts combine with emotion
The poet turns on his tap while you ooze your manipulation
Each to their own but I am the master of my fate
Time will tell whether there is a winner in your pack of lies
If dubiose credence can survive another foul roll of the die
But my own sanity rests on cutting some ties
03rd January 2020
Everything I buy to touch or taste
is made in China, made in China
leave alone my china set, even my toothpaste
is made in China, made in China.
From my pencils to my stencils
to the golden locks on my stylish lockers
all bore labels of 'made in China' in block capitals
and that explains thriving doorbell hawkers.
And for 'economical' me, stuff made in China
does hold a lot of frugal charm
Comes all the way from China, my granny's parka
About 'made in China' I've never had any qualms.
And because I don't intend to fritter away
hard-earned savings on any frippery
for 'made in china' alone shall my purse'n' pocket pay
and don't they play their part perfectly,
both my 'made in China' stereo and frisbee?
And all that 'made in China cutlery and crockery
is just as fragile and breakable as any other
All my life I've stuck to made in China stationery
and their costs haven't been any exorbitant so far.
L
I have seen latest High quality samsung Chinese cellphones
My TV a longlasting decade old, yes chinese Hitachi brand
You can wisely avoid debts and loans
purchasing brand new grand stuff from
the Chinese land
And then to my surprise I discovered
that many people both here and abroad
tended to buy things made in the land of the Great Wall
for similar reasons: esp they're easier to afford.
Ah, I don't like the idea of squandering away
or thoughtless wasting of wealth
No one could ever make a spendthrift out of me
For that would be unhealthy for budget health!
To refrain from prodigality and unfeeling extravagancy
'made in China' seems to me the solution
Let millionnaires make-believe that only the costly has quality
for I ain't gonna buy that pricey notion!
Books and erasers on pencils
Alphabet and numbered stencils
A plastic chair attached to
A desk reserved just for you
Chalk boards are for taking notes
A cubby for backpacks and coats
Milk and cookies for a snack
Music and stories are fun
Recess in the warm bright sun
Taking naps to get some rest
Learning skills put to the test
Baby dolls--red fire trucks
Show and tell with baby ducks
Time out's by the corner wall
Bandaged boo boo's when you fall
Memories are being made
From this kindergarten grade
Helping you to learn and grow
As each lesson always flows
In your memories and heart
They will never leave or part
Tonight, a montage is brushed with a splendor
of glazed branches : an arrangement of russet
teal and orange; dappled wisps enticing
my spirit for a pilgrim beyond my own angst.
In pure delight, tendrils of leaves are aflame
through the glory of a varnished summer.
Feathery rims unfurl in dotted patterns
adorning a cherry tree with iridescent flush
as its arms seem to layout
the stencils of hours' burdens.
Yet, miniature stars flicker on its robe
this cherry timber blowing heavenward,
perhaps content in the radiance
of its caressed blooms and harvest,
glazed by rapture of nature's lasting charm .
...................
Brian Strand's Whitsun Premiere Contest
In the quiet hush of dawn’s first light, hussily strewn,
as oil painting life,
exactly whispers secrets of easy night,
spreading open dews, slappy cold earthy maw,
bubbling crude, trefoil in the raw.
Clovers of hope in emer_hold,
holding dreams in a tender fold, unspoiled cocoon.
Starlust, fermented, hits the floor,
ambrosia meets eco-saloon.
Wetted sheen of eye- in life’s fleeting dye,
chasteful chase meadow chased down
with purples and rye.
Crystal lover, in your gaze so clear, mirrored,
reflections of truth that draws us nearer,
to nigh, vulnerability, fragile as glass,
yet fierce with grace, graceful as undeniability.
Alas, lass
A chrysalis, evolution, symbol of luck, thine nature’s art, chosen- art thou set, app art plucked.
A gentle reminder, four leaf lover
touches over
the heart, of matters,
and in the shards of broken algor,
Maddest Hatter,
Petrichaste portis trigger.
Guarded by the fae, a watchful eye,
protection beneath the open marillion sky.
Yet within the crystal’s shimmering gleam de opulence, wined, dined.
Here lies a yearning to dream, to believe,
to redeem our vigil-stance tangled de vine.
So hold your trefoil, your crystal’s stencils and spoils, pixels, spaded in bubbling soil, toil and trouble.
In a world that’s often fast and low,
bones to be measured,
tones, symbols, thusly tethered- tethered thusly,
double meaning, ingested subtly.
O beyond the lies, lies the whispered — hope,
though green and out of the blue,
emerald of dopamines— treasures true,
three lock boxed,
laid in womb, purity— born anew.