Long Watercolor Poems
Long Watercolor Poems. Below are the most popular long Watercolor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Watercolor poems by poem length and keyword.
At least, let us both walk
alone with eyes open
and ready for every surprise
that nature has in store today,
and let us imagine our quiet, shared
conversation
as we traverse the woods
hopping to hear an owl,
or spot a purple finch,
maybe even,
an American goldfinch.
(They don't blend in,
after all).
I would love to spot
something rare or vivid
or yellow with a woman
who knows infinitely more
about everything
that chirps, croaks,
scuttles, and sways.
Adelola, Adelola, Adelola
Your name could be the
morning song
of a mourning dove.
Adelola, like all things in nature
you belong and sing your own
beautiful song.
On my walk with you
I will dig out red jasper
from the tough southern clay
and offer it to you, warm
from the Carolina sun.
On my walk with you,
I will make you a bouquet
of short bamboo stalks,
white jasmine, buttercups,
and azaleas (even though
they will be wilted by
tomorrow).
I will tie your bouquet with
the strongest grass
growing down by the pond.
I will paint you
down by the pond
in watercolor
after you teach me
about all the living
organisms we can
and cannot see.
You are a more useful human
than those that hoard plastic
treasures, fancy clothes, and
colorful, fashionable stuff.
You give, and your heart
is always full.
I'll flick all the bugs
off of you
and smile
at the ladybug
on your shoulder
(the lucky girl).
Nothing will make
my Adelola stumble
or trip while we
are walking together.
You are a woman of true grit
who loves the earth she walks on,
who gives all to her children
as the most altruistic animals do.
Adelola, you are
the African elephant:
always on a rescue mission,
or, if you prefer water,
the dolphin:
marine superhero
to the rescue!
Adelola, you are
the African bat
feeding the hungrier
bats around you.
You are much lovelier
than the bonobo,
but you share the same
loving qualities
for social harmony
that God smiles down on.
He has never
stopped smiling down
and up, and through you,
my Adelola.
Happy birthday
to an extraordinary woman
whom I will never meet
but like my grandmother,
I hope God will introduce me to
in heaven.
i g n o r a n c e,
a contagious disease
turning specks of stars to stones,
burning bridges of life,
locked with names
engraved in gold and glitter,
leaving a s k y of sorrow
filled with ashes,
singing haunting lullabies
to the grieving galaxies,
as if there is no
space in the city of the clueless,
where walls are painted
with black diamond tears.
O watercolor forests,
where the moon sails above
trees of tranquility~
every raven has a nest to rest
when cold is the wintry eye,
roaming through dark alleys
where twilight sighs,
reverberates, and colors rise,
awakening hibernating rivers~
free-flowing like fine wine.
and here I weave
heartbeats with herbs of h o p e,
longing to waltz through
a sphere that sees
beyond
skin and i n k ...
You and I,
letting go of foolishness,
no longer spectators of actors,
dressed for a
carnival of chaos.
I am not your
defined nightmare,
echoing paranoia.
I am the silhouette of sunsets,
shaped in clover green,
signs of p e a c e.
I serenade for the weak,
with lyrics of love
amidst a choir of integrity.
see me as I am~
I am more than
the tale within narratives
you’ve long been taught…
illuminate your eclipsed soul
with sparks of
c o m p a s s i o n,
erasing egoistic stains
pulsating within veins of vanity,
for I breathe lilac and lavender,
drizzling from a lantern-filled horizon,
like jasmine raindrops
t w i r l i n g and s w i r l i n g
in tune to the rose rhapsody
of symphonic serenity.
Yet
silence
is the dialect
that speaks~
to sins that dwell within insensitive soils,
pushing roots to
s w e l l
in musical delirium.
The mica-flecked granite outcroppings loom,
releasing bits of themselves randomly
sparkling, as they fall, in felted-light they bloom.
Blasted cliffs, yet brazen, they rise without decree,
unconcerned with the maples, and the birch,
releasing bits of themselves randomly.
An ashen, sulking, sky hides the eagle's perch
and softens all the jagged edges of the scene
unconcerned with the maples, and the birch.
A collage of layers blends all color in between
each angle decomposing in the rain,
and softens all the jagged edges of the scene.
Within the fog the distant mountain's strain
bruised in shades of lavender and forest green,
each angle decomposing in the rain.
A watercolor tableau where, unforeseen,
the mica-flecked granite outcroppings loom,
bruised in shades of lavender and forest green
sparkling as they fall, in felted-light they bloom.
1/4/15
This is no Nantucket watercolor,
Closeted, waiting for the artist’s death
To fetch a better price.
This is not some dusty postcard landscape,
Motionless, stocked in a convenience store
Beside the instant rice.
This is never taught to yawning students,
Analyzed, cautioned as a stale technique.
Dismissed as a device.
This is nothing but a sunset.
Fifty shades of mystic rose dry-brushed on the sky.
Here today and here tomorrow.
Gone before you’ve seen enough.
Burning through the ages and bordered by creation.
Now of life and now of death, beyond interpretation.
A riddle in simplicity of which one thing is certain:
The star we witness setting here
Is rising someplace else.
I lay down
the framework
of free verse
and a continuing
relationship
Rule one is set in granite:
dance like you are on fire
through the uncut lawn
of my forgotten backyard
and revel in your tripping
over the weeds and dandelions
Rule two is simpler:
laugh unfiltered;
no one special is listening,
after all
Rule three:
this isn't poetry,
this isn't a diary,
this isn't Druidism,
nor transcendentalism,
and my watercolor runs
its muddied rivers of mistakes
in truer tributaries
Be awake! Peter Pan
my flying dream,
my boy never stopped wishing
that the best is yet ahead!
Her heart was a watercolor foyer.
Drifting about eddies-beneath fatal falls.
Wishing away the violets,
morning roses and midnight glories.
Fading mist-stained beating.
Her loves inheriting the aromas
percolating from her water garden mind.
Those who thought they knew her,
stood high upon crystal-browed shores.
Slinging burning stones and bits of bone.
Summing up her life in bold font quips...
She was that-she was this.
Green viper bitten -black moon kissed...
As her final palette faded,
blackbirds escaped her brilliant veins.
Time greedily sweeps the gold to gray...
The thrashers scattering her starry soul.
Into the misty orbit of Monet.
~
Falling leaves blanket the day
as dawn wakes in hushed sighs
neath a near barren maple
where we watch the sunrise
paint a yawning eastern sky
in watercolor brushstrokes
I gaze into deep azure eyes
reflecting heaven’s tapestry
awakening our earth, aglow
in soft petal effervescence
upon your face illuminating
the radiance of your beauty
The embrace of dew drop lips,
sweet pastry bliss lifts me,
heightening my senses
as once again I breathe in
the aroma of your love on this
fall kissed morning
And as we stroll leisurely,
hand in hand through nature,
feeling the cool November breeze
waft against our yearning flesh
I find that everything is beautiful,
because to me, everything is you
~
~
Her love took me to a place,
the likes of which I have never seen
I was lost in the wonder that greeted me
along a pathway of stained glass tiger lilies
and hummingbirds singing in harmony
Where the beauty of the sunrise
was painted in watercolor brushstrokes
upon cerulean skies drifting beyond a
lazy horizon beckoning my eyes
in frilly fonts and promised smiles
I found castles carved of sweet dark chocolate
sitting atop lavender laced hillsides
overlooking evergreen forests
of butterflies and ladybugs
frolicking amidst feathery branches
When there before me floated
a heart shaped dream, crimson red
in satin wishes where we both would live
beside a flowing stream reflecting
every affection and desire we held
Yes, her love took me to this place,
lifting me from a darkness where moons hid
and stars cried beyond ashen clouds,
where happiness was a way of life
and forever a welcomed ending
~
O souls of the Island,
I have silently
heard through
tropical torrents
and surpassed
a million miles
of the milky seas,
away from
mint-marine
silhouettes of my
utopian wonderland,
as strawberry
ripples and
coconut-scented
musings called
upon my
flamboyant spirit,
to explore those
ebony-emeralds
of universe and
envelop my hope in
creamy pink shells.
I have soaked in
sepia impressions,
ebbing as
crepe currents
on splitting shores
and windsurfed
through the
hibiscus rays
of life by forbidding
heartache hymns
of yesteryears,
from lurking in
jewelled hours
of today
and built a
kryptonite kayak
to sail in the
turquoise times
of tomorrow.
For, now I know
that the
opalescent ocean
has chosen me,
to return the
riveting spirit
of sage-rufescent
rivulets back to
the 'Heart of
Humanity's Cosmos',
shaped in
soft serenades
of seraphim.
When the
whispers of a
mauve french-rose,
blooming within,
will uncurl their
farthest wish
in silken twinkles,
my eyes will always
remember these
watercolor heights
splashing crayon dusks
and revealing
silver moon truths,
for there's more
beyond the
neon networks
of syzygy pearl skies
and chestnut reefs,
yearning to be
cherished by the
blonde alchemy of love.
So, I abandon
those sooty
regrets that snorkel
with their fragile fins in
kohl-lily gulfs
and observe these
constellations
of intuitions, formed
by the star-kissed
manta rays and
sketch sagacious
saudades laced
with hope, as a
halo around the
lilac Pole Star.
In this mortal
seascape of
the seventh heaven,
every orphan
of darkness
shimmers as
the beacon
of lustrous
sugar-scintilla that
shapes this world,
in ivory-smitten
spheres of
magically
diaphanous helix,
waltzing in whispers
of wind and water.
Every lava-skinned,
feminine flame
of doleful daffodils
was once a glittered
cherry-red gardenia,
laced with
cardinal buds,
who nurtured
velvet seeds
in the womb of
celeste compassion
and edenic empathy.
And like myself,
every sea-maiden of
sequined lush ruminations,
crowned with
purple plumerias,
is a whimsical wayfinder,
wishing for ~
white bells of serenity
and blue-star petals of peace.
in an already crowded
canvas, and sure-
cornered life
Why do I put a Calvin
(drew, colored, cut out)
whistling
on top of my impressionist
lake watercolor
that my mother told me
needed fine-tuning?
I never made a small impression
I was always a little too loud
I combined colors and sounds
violently
I look like Annie Hall on Monday,
Frida Kahlo on Tuesday,
A hungover Greta Garbo on Wednesday,
Jack Black's twin-sister on Thursday,
a menopausal mess of me on Friday,
and the weekend is simply
a free-for-all
Why can't I love
peacefully?
The whales call their calves
in clicks, and know it better
than I do, up here