Picasso Poems - Poems about Picasso

she rose from depths of his despair followed an artistic youthful D ...

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The searing sun has long been a revolving revelation of angst, repelling songs of the skies, sung by the strings of the wings. Pallid, poised only by muscle memory - a compositional backdrop, past the point of revival, yet something inside me still ticks. A trembling truth that never drifts, these broken blues: a silent shadow with loud hues. The bones...

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The searing sun has long been a revolving revelation of angst, repelling songs of the skies, sung by the strings of the wings. Pallid, poised only by muscle memory - a compositional backdrop, past the point of revival, yet something inside me still ticks. A trembling truth that never drifts, these broken blues: a silent shadow with loud hues. The bones...

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Picasso Vs. Matisse You're Looking At Me Sideways But I'm Just Trying To Catch The Drift. -Gray Squirrel 05-25-2025...

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When love has been forsaken, gone awry you would be wise and clever not to try opening your eyes in fear that you may see Pablo's painted sun as though a volcanic cyclops Vermillion lava flowing in serpentine rivers of tears Your own, sure to spill, voice screaming aloud throat burning with doused impassioned flames — but...

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Let’s imitate we share it The plan to make ends meet Negotiating fairly Things we don’t really need But let’s get rid of “we” For someone’s lofty goals Aren’t relevant to me And different from yours Let’s set the sail to find At least a metaphor That hails a peace of mind As it was long before In period of time When that Picasso’s dove Saved lives of you...

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my mind is an abstract vase, adorned with crystal gold lines~  from pixelated pearls homing whimsical wishes                and ...

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note the nothingness of the tag yet so much time was spent gazing, observing each inhalation, exhalation ~ each held breath ~ not disturbing her rest. love learns no more. she once had a name. perhaps it was unimportant in the end. love learns no more. "unimportant" ~ a title that occupies such space, especially when it’s breathed in, embedded into the lungs. muse turned subject turned...

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"Her Mind is a Carnival of Picasso Harlequins" Walking through the poetic frames of featureless ghosts her fingers play like harps their ectoplasmic cages strange symbols that clang the frivolity of vacuumed cleaned emptiness dissolving in the invisible time wasted in the chronicles of their newfound empires the meaning of their spectral presence swings like canaries singing home all...

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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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Don't take the pencil off the paper Draw the world held on a string The very last thing is the spinning plate It's all in the performance When nothing is real and you're a mark on an imagined page That's the time you should dance It's really rather dreadful That any waiting occurs at all Given the predicament of brief...

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give me strayed lines, dilated pupils I'm at one with our eye to eye moment let me brush my hair out of my face... to look at you I'm painted in ink, unchangeable more or less wholly drawn in when I'm here, I take up all of the page slender neck, shadows in the wrong places ill thought out next...

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I have claimed to be apolitical but there are times when the crop is ready for harvesting, so I put fuel in the John Deere, ink in my pen and wrote... He'll get millions of votes for that nicked ear The vengeful narcissist people should fear Picasso President With malicious intent He should be given the famous Bronx Cheer! It looks...

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. . . . . . . p erp lexi ties* . . . . . . ...

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banal                 yet deadpan absurd             clashing             symbols heard           in               the eye           where imagery is                   all dimensions share one           frontal           view side &back           converge- stark styles           merge into symbolic               cubes bright doodles erupt  from unconscious minds the common fears  and complaints of life             Of looking into                           of looking through the imperceptible  crowd   of creative gravity     found things      no-things  no-forms       afloat  whirling     or resting in the mansions   housed       within off the wall        out of this world drifting together without a care                 kissing missing minutes become hours      one dream becomes another No mirror of the soul- Archimboldo art, more satire by cartoon on nature's still life ...

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