Short Artiste Poems

Short Artiste Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Artiste by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Artiste by length and keyword.


Premium Member CLERIHEW ecphrasis 1

Pierre -Auguste Renoir - artiste
whose art ones eyes can always feast
Especially 'CUP of CHOCLATE'
one which all can easily relate
Form: Ekphrasis


Premium Member The Artist's Palette

The artist's palette featured
    every nuance and shade of color
  known to impressarios
    and assorted other patron saints

  Asked to comment, le artiste himself reflected
    ~ 'A bucket of paint, it ain't'
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member European Reprise

Ze French, they are haughty
    Kremlinites, vulgar, crude
  Le artiste charcoal sketches
    in the unvarnished nude  

  Brits keep a stiff upper lip
    Pointy-shoed Italians think they are hip
  Ukrainians fight like the dickens
    their stockpiles reduced to slim pickens
Form: Rhyme

That Infamous Myth

I was once in thrall to the infamous myth
Of the artiste souffrant,

But I’ve come ultimately to see it 
As the cruelest of delusions.

But could it not be said
That it’s still among us, 

That malefic notion 
That the artist is a spirit set apart, 

For some special purpose 
Of which pain is an essential component?

Premium Member Soft, Soothing Solitude

Lingering laughter brings out loving lines Within writings which echo warm, wild words Music - melodies moisten melted minds Feelings of hearts who flow furiously Soothing silence, semblance - with sensations Praises, prayers, poems who penetrate Attracting aloneness of the artiste March 24, 2021


Premium Member The First Abstract Expressionist

Louis 
Tiffany
artiste nouveau-
art-by-absorpion was
his theme
ahead 
of his time-
a controlled accident,
hand-made favrile,free formed,
design


Louis Tiffany considered by Pollock & Motherwell as an early exponent of pure form & colour 
in art

http://www.hyndburnbc.gov.uk/hag  

 largest public collection of Tiffany glass in Europe. Haworth art Gallery ,Accrington England
art
Form: Ekphrasis

Spirit Dancer

An artiste gently touching
In windswept circles

Painting
Imaginary wet pictures

Further, hearts afire
Sets free

A swan's grace
Life's caricature
An eagle higher soaring
A floating feather to be

Above the worlds
Of dancer's floors

Where in envy
Spirits follow
Soft subtle breezes

Unto whirlwind
Into afterglow
You lead the body

All other worlds
Are left behind

And Pandora's
Music box
Resurrected...
Comes to life
art

Spider's Purse

a dizain

Admire her casting, lines of silky floss;
survey as artist drafts her masterpiece.
Enclosing space invisibly across,
then single-handedly, she will increase
the center parts to form unseen valise.
A purse of unsuspected, vicious taint -
its straps in hand, she naps - a wily feint.
Artistic beauty flows, but will soon ebb,
when tender insects clutter her restraint.
Artiste awakes to wealth within her web.

Nov. 17, 2010
Form: Dizain

Music Met Madness

callous crest grows
into crumbling crescendoes
lost bounty balance
to moaning coda
wielding wanky melody -
smoldering mystic symmetry

punctured contractions pianissimo
bleeding concerto grosso
drowning dainty diapason

sour lyrics smirks
squashing salient thirst
jumpy jazz jerks


music met madness
turbulent twain wedded.
'20:01:22:05:25

Note: Dedicated to artiste like Nigerian Naira Marley, who fixes s into beats in the name of music.
Form: Sonnet

Life Will Soon Retire

Like the grass that will soon wither
Life seems to be growing older
And like an artiste that is leaving the stage
Life is now seen in its old age

Its strength is coming to an end
And its vigour reaching its last bend
Having the mind that is fast losing its dream
Never to be supportive again like a strong beam

Like a river it will flow away
And vanish like the wind without any trace
How great it shall be on that day
When life retires from its race
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Thursday Again

That old familiar rumble once again has begun
Weekend pulling closer no matter how hard I push
Breathe in… breathe out; stomach burns like the sun
Mom and Dad gearing up for one more bruising run

Trusted closet stands ready for my weekend escape
Ears filled with cotton only muffle the hate
My spirit impaled on the thorns of their pain
Breathe in… breathe out; it’s Thursday again 

Based loosely and somewhat darkly on the Figurative Artiste Stephanie Deshpande  painting "waiting"
© David Mohn  Create an image from this poem.

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