Short Canvasses Poems
Short Canvasses Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Canvasses by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Canvasses by length and keyword.
Searching
for his palette
the painter
wanders on
Dreaming
of each color
to visualize
his song
Tubes of paint
lie scattered
unsqueezed
their caps remain
In attics
of blank canvasses
with images
— unframed
(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)
Difficult to see through illusion-
to what things really are:
setting aside appearance
and self (the most pervasive artist)-
our minds canvasses
already primed
to accept certain shapes and colors,
excluding what won't sell,
those things that refuse brush strokes
remain negative space
no matter how we squint and frame….
'...with quenchless canvasses of twisted fire' - Mervyn Peake
Your vision was a beacon
gracing us with golden sheen,
your heart was dark and heavy
with redemption rarely seen.
You plumbed the incongruities
of faithfulness and fear,
you challenged life's inequities
so often with a tear
of sadness in your dream-dimm'd eyes
and shades of anguish too,
this world was never meant
for one as beautiful as you.
Remind me of magical things
Enhance my joy, my being alive,
Tiny newborn babies who thrive
Precious jewels in golden rings,
Canvasses of sentient colors
Starlit skies of deep velvet hue,
Morning grass, shimmering dew
Fresh powder-sugared crullers,
Tiny bouquets of fever few
Bows of ribbon in curly hair,
Ballroom dancing with a flair
Old cards reminding me of you.
Written June 13, 2022
'...quenchless canvasses of twisted fire,' Mervyn Peake
Your vision was a beacon
gracing us with golden sheen,
your heart was dark and heavy
with redemption rarely seen.
You plumbed the incongruities
of faithfulness and fear,
you challenged life's inequities
so often with a tear
of sadness in your dream-dimm'd eyes
and shades of anguish too,
this world was never meant
for one as beautiful as you.
I want to be good
but know I seldom am.
like a child at play in the garden
and then trailing dirt into the kitchen.
July rain soften life's drone
dusky sky canvasses the light
i plough, ox-like, at the task of the day
I want to be good
but know I seldom am.
Thoughts of kindness flit like butterflies
battle surface smiles and boredom lines
ponder family ties beyond choice
I want to be good
but know I seldom am.
A dog who lifts his leg to pee
Against a trunk’s solidity
Just simply wants to leave his mark –
It lasts much longer than his bark.
An artist, in a matching fashion,
Leaves the markings of his passion.
Canvasses shout loud and clear –
I exist! I once was here…
Writers do the same with phrases,
Hoping thus to garner praises.
We all want to leave our mark
Before our destiny goes dark.
Ilene Bauer (http://primetimerhyme.blogspot.com)
Black art will never whisper
It comes with its own rhythm,
Feet tapping to the djembe,
Reminiscing of home.
It survives in the hands that bend color into opportunity,
In bantu knots of constellations
Marking where we have been and still left to go.
It croons on street corners
On canvasses, big and bold.
Every line spoken, every beat formed
Uplifts our coily hair towards the sun.
We honor the echoes
We hold the same truth
We are the sound.
Words in life
are easily scorned,
derisively decided worthless
and yet;
I hear it, whispering through the wind,
welcome in anticipation...
your voice.
Sealing those canvasses
shut.
Waiting, on words
the brushed bruising of lips,
quickly accepting of my own
two, too blushed,
too blooming.
It is not just words I wait on
but your touch;
crushing the chasm inside
to build me.
Only then can the sparrow nestled on my chest
fly - fly free
to your arms.
Oh - encompass me?