Pablo Picasso Poems - Poems about Pablo Picasso

Withered fingers Cannot play anymore; I drown in nuanced shades of blue, Not seeing, in my plight, My strings, wound tight, Suspending me Like a puppet, Tethered to life. I in my tattered clothes, Blue like sorrow, Torn like the heart that hopes, Unable to keep out the cold Or cover the secrets I hold— I am the man who mopes, ...

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Picasso, oval face and olive eyes, always solemn and searching. Pushing boundaries, challenging authority, his artistic torch cut through the fog of life. At times his scrutiny turned inwards. Self-critique of the physical and the psychological took hold. Could it be self-doubt or ego which drove him on? Or was it simply a visual diary of moments in his life? 1901, subdued...

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Pablo’s Plight Blinding color, third eye closed Squared off chin and angled nose Arms in the back, feet from head An odd sight it must be said Eyes are pared but rarely paired Ears an afterthought uncared Daring use of brush and paint Never quite described as quaint One boob here and two boobs there Disjointed limbs evry’ where Jumbled mess by child’s hand Or mastered work,...

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The abstracts of Pablo Picasso I think his paintings are a fiasco. For every one I see They're always upside down to me....

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I never can plumb the depths of your art Nor fathom the gifts of your fallen heart; I revere the skillful slither of you apt brush And here pay homage to your pencil's dash. Now ***** man of fourteen names after saints and kin, Let this rhyme titillate your somnolent spirit, And your faded flair stir awake and keen, To inspire your...

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In a riot of colours using brushes with valour, Many movements he started devoid of pallor. From a town called Malaga,far off in spain, Pouring his heart out,unloading his pain. What a journey he started from conformity parted, To paint till the last,until he departed. Many have aspired and wanted to be, Including your's truly,I say why not me? From erotic nudism to...

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