I welcome Autumn with a fond embrace,
Feeling Autumn's breath upon my face.
From high upon my Smoky Mountain stand,
I pause to behold Autumn's artistic hand.
Mist lifts slowly from the valley floor below,
As if a curtain rising on a long awaited show.
A majestic painting unfolds before my awestruck eyes,
Highlighted by the golden rays of a bright sunrise.
An endless carpet of trees, wet with morning dew,
Blazes with candy-colored leaves of nearly every hue.
My mind fails to recall a more stirring sight,
As unbidden tears upon my cheeks alight.
The sweet smell of ripened apples, littered on the ground,
Mingles with the earthy scent of mushrooms that abound.
Life is sustained by the season's bountiful fare;
Wild berries, fruits and nuts grow carelessly everywhere.
To eat hand to mouth is my childish heart's desire,
So, Autumn is the season that I most admire.
Having seen my nature
From the Holy Scripture
I have become a painter
I am painting my picture
My medium is the Scripture
I am still painting, my work
is still not finished.
Roses are a challenge to
capture --
I adore texture and color;
flips and curls, licks of
light -- scent that crosses
borders of night, here on
canvas preserved, for
treasured recall. Though
art cannot say it all –
one must allow the heart
to be inscribed, indelibly
brushed with what is vivid
and soulfully alive.
Performers play best to a captive
audience...our appreciation
are what blossoms seek,
why rains irrigate and seas
peak, the eye of a wave
an attention getter – my palate
seeking to intimately adjust
and transcribe -- Nature often
an illusive sitter --
"Love-drunk on desire,"
from the heavens above.
Will I,
"Seduce the stars without a script?"
The night is filled with diamond stars,
touching my heart and soul.
As morning arises,
"The clouds spill a thousand secrets."
Turning the clouds into rain drops.
Rain drops that,
"Melt my tears into your sweet fire."
I sit here seeing,
"A torn canvas is two paintings."
I wonder why not just one painting?
Maybe a,
"Fever of Fixation."
If you
Have the gift of
Art - draw, paint, sketch and write.
Even if no one else cares, your
Soul will.
Copyright © 2026 by Crystal David John
melodic moonshine
painting golden light as song
silhouettes singing
in a night so dark and sea so deep,
on the sandy shore we safely sleep,
yet far out on the rolling wave
fishermen on tiny boat venture out brave
a weather-beaten lantern is shining small
against shadows brooding and tall.
the tumultuous sea rises like a wall
threatening to engulf them all
the full moon above penetrates twilight
and kisses the sea with her silver light.
meanwhile, there are jagged rocks ahead
where the violent black sea portends dread.
there are two streaks of light on the foam
one from the sky, the other far from home.
a fragile shell of wood and twine
is tossed by the constantly churning brine.
nevertheless, they row on against the gale
with trembling hands and cumbersome sail
despite odds against the restless sea's might,
the fishermen battle on as they wait for light.
The years have been kind
and through the window of her memory
she sees all those long-lost days
when life was carefree
then times were not the same
it was a fun-filled game
nearly long-forgotten
as if tucked away in an old armoire
remembering herself light on her feet
as in a painting by Degas
I thought
I was shouting into the void
holding my brush
dropping my colours into the canvas
listening to voices
memories
traces of longing
moments in time.
No magic wand
to wind words
and speak my feel and thought
Spellbinding are my brushstrokes
they are my language and song.
Forget me not
See me
an Artist
call me.
Step into my world
need not know how I translate my word
Just see, till you lose your senses
Ascend and leave behind all the fences
Touch what makes your spine clutch
Feel, till no ground under your feet.
Then respond
reach for that bond
and learn
“Being seen matters”
Offering the gifts of the heart matters
Oozing audacity and joy
truly matters.
My fear might not disappear
but I am here
on a journey of no compeer
unlearning
understanding
embracing all that makes no sense
“Not knowing what to do next to grow”
Forget me not.
Besma
July 13th, 2026
Inspired by Zoe Davey's painting "Forget Me Not"
Ekphrasis Form poetry contest sponsored by Silent One.
Zombie love is still love
Deadly like wilting poisonous roses
Zero tolerance for growth
Images entwined embraced
Your fingers around my soul
Shades of gray wrapping
Like umbilical cords
A kiss to die for
Will you paint that please
Can you breathe life into
A dead romance
Black widow
with a webbed dance
Breaking my heart bones
Acidic love is so wrong
Strong
Homegrown
Weary of love jones
Sure to be the last to leave
Perhaps to be linked in eternity
As your famous subject matter
Stroking brush painting unflattered
No need to give us a name
We are broken bones of love’s disdain
Artist Annie Lee (1935-2014) “Blue Monday”
Sunken soul like setting sun
Inner child no longer smiles
Carmel like skin is no fun
Kissing hungry ribs all while
A wafting wind blows aroma in
Neighbors meals smell great
Decadent food not a sin
Tired of not having a taste
It’s a blessing bills are paid
Really appreciate that fact
Even if I won’t eat today
Do my best to not feel sad
Painting on the Wall
I stand upon the roof of the world,
Rakaposhi breathes soft clouds of light,
Hunza lies below, a painted wall.
Spring drapes the valley in pink and white,
Cherry blooms wake to morning’s light,
Peaks shift their shades with the turning hour.
Black cliffs hold lakes of glassy blue,
Attabad cuts deep with veins of light,
Turquoise water splits the stone in two.
Rakaposhi rises tall and proud,
Mist spreads wings across the height,
Clouds float low like lilies on a shroud.
Autumn comes in fire and gold,
Trees burn bright in amber light,
Valley wears its richest shawl of old.
Thin air shows how nature works true,
Stars fall soft into the night,
Silence speaks where mountains guard the view.
Wind moves slow through orchard rows,
Apricot branches hum with light,
Each breath I take, the valley knows.
Sunset spills gold across the crest,
Pink fire burns on canvas bright,
I’m lost in heaven, held by the night.
Morning settles over the meadow~
the faint warmth of sun touches her skin,
and the air smelling of dew and crushed stems.
Grass sways in uneven patches,
brushing her ankles with its cool, damp edges,
cicadas buzzing like a low electric wire.
The sky hangs low enough to warm her face~
a soft veil of heat and breeze.
Clouds drift slowly like cattle in afternoon light
A woman stands far off,
her dress lifting slightly in the wind,
the scent of wildflowers rising around her.
And the whole scene breathes~
warm earth, soft wind, sun-thick air~
a moment held steady before it moves again.
I quill whilst in a moment still,
I long to ink the sunrise pink,
capture shades of rapturous thrill.
I quill whilst in a moment still,
magentas petaled pleated frill,
floral painted in rosette-zinc.
I quill whilst in a moment still,
I long to ink the sunrise pink.
here are my rules, for cartooning and painting
1. Have fun
2. Have fun
3. Have fun
4. Have fun
5. Have fun
6. Play
7. Be daring
8. be bold
9. love what you are doing
10. If you do not love it, stop
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.