Paul Gauguin Poems | Examples


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A prose poem based on Copotronic love Scifie

A prose poem based on Copotronic love (Scifie)
by Tamanna Ferdous
One day, I was all prepared to test him about his IQ.

After testing him with different questions in general knowledge,

I read him from an antique Bengali poet, Jibanananda Das.

 

"The resting place placed the restful here

Never certain if the restful is resting here, though.”

 

 

Then I asked his opinion about these two lines.

He informed me," A humane quotation with an outlier in deeper introspection."

 

When he was showed an art piece of Paul Gaugin,

of a polynatian girl,

he tried to perceive the art from different angles and then said,

“A deformed body had a strange reason to occupy the usage of all the colors

used otherwise irregularly.”

 

The valuation of paul gauguin and the remark,

it was too difficult to control a wild laughter.

After a while I stopped my loud amusement and asked him.

What was I doing?”

“You were laughing.”

 

“What is laughing?”

“A physical procedure devoid of meaningfulness.”

“Please try to laugh!”

 

He followed up with a mechanical noisy aptitude, sensible.

 

Prometheus, he was a machine!

Premium Member The Fish Tale

"Life being what it is when one dreams of revenge," ... Paul Gauguin

Light seasoning dash a chain last resort
as zephyr courses an edged clement squeeze ...
sun gods and goddesses front more ... last sort.
Muzzled chartreuse turtles exhale teal seas,

fed cool streams persuade a lush verdant spree.
Cascading falls echoed balanced wildlife,
aground or in flight where heaven's decree,
claimants amity free beyond the rife.

Hawaiian spun air spells a differing,
abated Summer rains, engorge their Fall.
Ocean water's temperate offering
uncommon to most except those who call

these islands, their home. The tourists share cold
tales, saying here's paradise--we've been told.

Premium Member Oh, God Knows, So Go Slow, Show No Woe, Doh

An existential waiting for Godot,
when aggravated, drinking much Bordeaux,
could even bring Thoreau dismay and woe,
to mutilate one’s ear like poor van Gogh.
When we despair, impatience flaring, though,
in spite of claims of piety, we show
our unbelief about the debt we owe,
a faith that’s shallow, feeble, even faux.
Oh Lord, come to me now and do not go!

—————

for the Monomixorhyme Poetry Contest
63 words, 90 syllables, checked by HowManySyllables.com
sponsored by Hilo Poet
written on 11/4/22


Waiting for Godot, (pronounced “Guh-DOH”, although some prefer “GOD-oh”) a play written by Samuel Beckett in 1948, is often view through a Christian existential lens.

Henry David Thoreau, author of Walden was a transcendentalist, philosopher, and naturalist.

Vincent van Gogh was a post-impressionist artist who suffered from mental illness and heavy drinking, famously severing his own ear with a razor during an argument with his friend, Paul Gauguin.


Premium Member Autumn

Autumn

I looked up to see
the day receding from me
and it’s falling leaves.
            ***

Note:
   The 'Alyscamps' is an ancient Roman cemetery founded in the 4th century in Arles, France. Vincent van Gogh was inspired by Japanese woodblock prints and expressed his feelings about Japanese art in letters he wrote to his brother Theo and fellow artist Paul Gauguin.

Premium Member Fire In Her Body

Mid-life street woman from red town
she was...I grew up with her under 
mango trees now softly drooping
their shoulders much like hers.. but she,
still contoured  like a Paul Gauguin urn, is wrapped
in arms lovely in flesh and heat: fanned banana
leaves swaying to samba notes while cooking
fried bamboo roots; her fragrance buzzing along 
summer's exotic beat. How she then pinched 
my cheeks with her tapered fingers still
pink on veins floating through her quivering
body… 

Somehow, she gave me this epiphany of touch;
the slow wave of  body rhythm lightly fondling
the rosiness of my adolescent skin. If i knew how
to pivot  in the wakening garlands of Latin
steps, it was her ample hips winding and bellying 
in nights and morns of her own wanton sashays... 
Oh how I long to climb her mango tree,
her waxing then waning shape still blazing among
bursting seeds of female treachery or finery.
I tell myself, there is no age when her fire sways
in places where tropical eyes dazzle with her
near flowing, soaking limbs…so tenderly
wild because she, Livia, nymph of the forest raw,
has nothing else to lose.



©


for Debbie's Women, and SKAT's  Poem #2
by nette onclaud

The Starry Night

Thick swirls of paint coat the blue night sky,
Luminescent stars ablaze: yellow white orbs, large in size.

Whirling white clouds under the crescent moon,
Above the asylum’s window the night sky blooms.

Below the rolling hills rests a sleepy little town,
A peaceful essence flows, cool dark colors unwound.

Reigning over the small buildings is the steeple of the church,
Beauty’s released from the bristles as he’s sitting at his perch.

With memories of Theo and thoughts of Paul Gauguin,
He attacks the canvas with broad strokes from his hand.

A single silhouette of a cypress on the left side,
Hides an early mistake as his broken heart cries.

1889, a typical night in Saint-Remy, Vincent’s puffing his pipe,
A committed genius from the asylum’s window painted the starry night.




_____________________________________
For Brian’s Contest PICTURE POEMS 

The Starry Night
Vincent van Gogh, 
1889 Oil on canvas 
73 cm × 92 cm (28¾ in × 36¼ in) 
Museum of Modern Art, New York City

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Starry_Night


A Broken Heart In Arles

The elemental powers,
Of natural scenes to paint.
Combined with intangible drama,
In a time so far and quaint.

Below the hills of Arles,
All the landscapes thrive.
The hands of Vincent Van Gogh,
Painted them alive.

Enveloped by harmony of things,
While he waited for Gauguin.
Vincent found in Arles,
What others looked for in Japan.

Paul Gauguin came and stayed,
But then he left out of fear.
Which broke Vincent’s heart,
That led to the cutting of his ear.

Vincent grew disturbed,
After his friendships quarrel.
The inception of an ill saga,
And a broken heart in Arles.




________________________
*Note: Inspired by Vincent Van Gogh's 
Life and work. A true genius who
suffered of a broken heart.

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