Short Canvases Poems

the tweeting morning
on the purple canvases
the sea in the flute

25/4/2018...

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I didn’t really know that I am
Falling in love with your colored
Canvases of varied shades
Transparent dewy dawn
Alluring twilight
Nature’s magic
Palate paints
Spring and
Fall

-puvi-
(5/12/2015)...

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In Paris away from darker side 
shows his aptitude for still life.
Painted with a genius brush
his vases of flowers,
vibrant visions are
captured on his
canvases.
Van Gogh
lives.



Penned 23 November 2015...

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On his trumpet
Willie happily plays jazz every day
his canvases dance and applaud
he adores the French quarter
who would go to New Orleans his kin had taunted him. 
Willie was grateful.....
his parents' disappointment had chased him to his best life...

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 You are not the stars.
You are the Moon.
You are the centerpiece;
a painting that canvases the night sky.

I am a wolf's howl;
a desperate call through the dark.
I am longing paws clinging to forgotten earth.
I am forever chasing the Waxing Moon. ...

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She is a flapper
1920
vintage

I am enthralled and enthused
I cannot get enough of her
I have drawn her on many canvases

She reminds me of my grandmother
who divorced two men by the time she was nineteen
a woman who was unafraid to live her truth before women knew they could...

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Working on ten canvases today 
Black eyes, green eyes, brown eyes, yellow eyes too
Hot pink, fluorescent orange, silver so gay.
Backgrounds of almost every kind of hue.
Azure husky, not just regular gray.
Next painting is calling out tome too.
You know for sure it will be art my way....

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envelope captive beautiful picture on wall

colorized, copied, canvases
pictured scene enveloped captive views
colors so beautiful
~
I enjoy the view
beautiful
those pictures on wall



5/18/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021 ©
LUNE poetry type
3/5/3 Words Count
5/3/5 Syllable Count...

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Pigtail girl was so adamant and indignant
That I had to draw her more than once.
I believe I have drawn and painted six versions of her.

She has landed in canvases all over my home
in different colors, a variety of backgrounds.
I have loved each version of Pigtail Girl.
Congratulating her on her exuberance and fun....

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The macrocosm of
the unquiet mind
Shines brightly in
poetically timed lines
Deep thoughts go
swirling
spinning into rhymes
Intelligence is found
writing with chimes
Inspiration is
sought in
dreamy bedtimes
Sleeping apon ways
painted
canvases primed
Vividly wonderous
masterpieces
That last
until
we end our time...

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April day is gorgeous.
I wake up early, head to my art studio.
Surrounded by paints and glitter, I feel wonderful.
Working simultaneously on four canvases, in the best of moods.
Humming to The Mamas and the Papas, seventies music.
My eye catches something running rapidly.
Screech!
Day ruined by one small black field mouse....

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How is it in this meadow plush with grass
Where sturdy oaks stand holding up the sky
Their shade recedes -long summer days decry
To fade their glinting leaves to molten brass

Leaves that turn into October’s dream
Floating down as rustic butterflies
In Nature’s oft repeating Fall disguise 
Bright canvases that set first frost agleam...

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Slashing and striking, 
Brushes lay marks on 
Lifeless canvases.
Filling them with breath 

The incandescent lamp to
The buried images of soul's gallery,
Guiding out images lost 
From the depth of man's heart 

Narrating stories told and untold 
To onlookers of every variety 
All these; the magnificence of 
Painters painting paintings...

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Waking up to happinessville.
New fresh clean white canvases await my touch.
I begin painting with my favorite – the neon’s.
My husband walks by, offers to purchase new paints.
I roll my eyes and he laughs, knowing I only use my favorite colors.
Browns, grays, blacks, tans, and other dull colors are used sparingly.
I am a Gemini; my paintings reflect me....

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I am a painting factory
cranking out eight to ten canvases a week
it is my gemini mentality
it is my high mccormick energy

I am a poetry factory
slapping out seventy poems a week
it is my iowa roots
it is what I know how to do

I am a cartoon factory
scribbling down eight cartoons a day
it is my cross to bear
I blame my mother, the energizer bunny...

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books
paint brushes
glitter glue
canvases
paper
sewing machines
balls and toys
bats and mats
scooters and bikes
Batman and Wonder Woman
Red Flyer Wagon
rakes
Two axes and a hatchet
Barbeque grill
Couch, chair, three tables
Microwave, TV, light fixtures
Shredder and Fax machine
Bed, freezer, extra mattress
A three car garage but no room for a car...

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I reach for fluorescent pink paint
My go-to favorite color of the hour
It looks more like neon orange thank pink

I slather it lavishly onto the canvas
It makes me smile, so I add more.
Pretty soon the canvas has it in five places.

It brings me artistic joy 
Enthusiasm rises up from the canvas
The faeries like it as much as I do.

I begin to paint the dragon…....

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Drowning in foolish beliefs;
Pixilated portraits falling off
Corroded walls;
Blank canvases pervaded by
Grainy brush strokes,
Billowing amidst scattered flickers of
Crumbling structures,
Ambling in blighted stillness.
Venturing to find equilibrium in
This cryptic world,
Stranded and abandoned,
Layered upon a
Pillar of empiric darkness,
Glazed in meaningless semantics....

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I Love My World

I love my world
Alone in my studio
Cloth on the tables before me
Canvases in the corner
Paints stored in the cupboard
I can listen to music
Read the books I have wanted to read
Or just sit and think
I close the door
Pull the curtains shut
And for a short time the world does not exist
I am all alone in the quiet
Just me and my thoughts
I love my world...

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Ars est longa,
vita brevis.
Art is immortal.
Art is infinite.
Pictograms tell a story,
of Man that have past.
Terra cotta pots and cuneiforms,
Depicts their details of Lives.
Paintbrushes and canvases,
bring history alive.
Statues of stone or metal,
Remind us of the legacies,
That people left behind.
Art is history,
And forever it will be,
The story of Life
as we see it....

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2:36 a.m.
the witching hour is near
I am wide awake
Drink coffee
Draw out three canvases
ink them
erase the pencil lines
stare at my paints
Am I a bit tired?
It is a Monday, a working day
I pick up my paint brush.
Put it down.
Write ten poems.
Look at my I-pad.
Think about playing my word games.
I work today!
What am I doing?
I am not a bit tired.
I drink another coffee....

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They follow her around at school
Where she leaves most of them
She has not learned yet to leave the others
They tug on her arms and beg for extra attention
She sees them in her poetry
She meets them on canvases
She dances with them in her dreams
With no idea how to shake them, she nurtures them and loves them
Giving them the tiny bits of extra attention, they need
Even in her dreams...

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Hippies, dogs, cats, pirates, and flowers
My paintings are oozing with magical powers.
Women with hair of every color, pattern and hue,
Painted in pinks, silvers, purples and electric blue.

Steadily working on canvases during the day,
Dragons, unicorns, turtles stop by to say “hey”.
I usually have four to five going with castles sublime.
A Gemini spirit, I cannot work on one at a time....

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Swaying, 
Rocking, 
Like water against a boat
Her unfamiliar fragrance snatches sense with every whiff.
Tall and exquisite.

I sat watching 
Her slender frame stately set
against traveling commonalities
Who, in comparison,
were a mere eyesore
 than equivalent.

Had I been an artisan, 
Canvases would walk and speak

Up, she looked
 Our eyes entwined—
An instant connection,
Train Love....

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tried to save a honeybee
three times yesterday
heard him buzzing
he was close
maybe in my paintbrush towel
discovered him upside down
on one of my canvases
had he gotten stuck in paint?
captured him in a cottage cheese carton
using heavy paper underneath
took him outside three times for release
was amazed each time when he was not there
up on the moment of release
a spirit animal?
possibly...

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