Short Studio Poems

Simple
tech
unique
doing
intellectual
overwhelming...

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In the Meister Halle
The Geist of musicians
Feed on Zeit...

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i need to GET OUT
DEHYDRATING; stuffy
can't wait for OUTSIDE...

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what if america had a studio audience? 
what would they say????????...

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studio
exploding with
possibilities



posted on September 8, 2018...

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deep in studio
cloaked in thoughts, escaping strands 
dwindle to paper...

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Canvas Stretched and primed
Relaxation fills my time
Sketched painted signed


By Robb A. Kopp...

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its install
on my studio wall
idon' make
or take  call
my music is rap
am on there map
have a
PHONE TAP...

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Marco Rubio
would show best perhaps in a Tussaud's studio
stiff waxen smile
the Cuban marionette attempting to beguile....

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Let’s go here, there, everywhere
No thank you, I say. I have found my happy place.
In my art studio, in front of my computer,
surrounded by words and paints....

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only You can understand
the heat of mirrors
the brightness of cameras
the resistance of perfumes
the pain of existence
before the cold shower
in the studio of destiny...

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My art studio is calling me
pretty paints are yelling my name
muse is tugging on my heart
let us go paint today!
one big thing stops me
If I go out
I will have
to get
dressed...

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photograph is a dead being
placed on death bed of paper
by every  business murderer
using camera as the sword
operating in studio abattoir
on people who choose to die
to see themselves dead alive...

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No noise
No fear
No happiness
Void consumes me
Tears fall
Lonesome crawl
To no one

An empty chair
A quiet home
Place setting for one
A single bed
A studio 
Singular interpretations of life...

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music what they play
music has ;lot to say
in the studio they stay
theyer odd on the jod
with a mixs kit
they do this
for love music there theme
and its mean get down mean
its a
DISKS  JOCKEY DREAMS...

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I had not visited my art studio in a fortnight or more
There was a large box I had to push away from the door.
The paints were excited! I could feel their emotions sway.
They began to explode onto a canvas; yelling hip! hip! Hooray!...

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CHRISTINA ROSSETTI 'In an Artist Studio'


                               ___
                             /     /|          
                           /___/ |       _=__=___
                           \     / |         |          |...

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I began to clear my studio today
And water my flowers and feed my birds
I would write some poetry, but in every way
I am an outside girl who is out of words
I now have to run and chant and laugh and play
Sitting at a computer is for other nerds...

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Framed art
On the wall
I see a mistake
Take it down and redo it
Glad I am a painter

Feel sorry for non-painters today
Fixing art is no biggie for me.
Wouldn’t she look better in a red dress?
I take the next piece of art down
And run with it to my studio...

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an...a...log...an...a...log...
analog...analog...cofcof...
recorded as being there...
digital is a studio creation...
not original as basic analog...
the sound is not the same...
analog's real...digital's naught...
but structured to some psychological norm......

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Hiding from the heat
I decide to paint
But my studio is across the driveway

Several steps past a brutally hot driveway
Which will hurt Sophie’s paws
Because she will follow me

So here I sit
Lamenting the waste of a day
Wishing the dog was lighter to carry...

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Soft glimmer like an undertow;
Glimpse the multifaceted glow
painting nature's art studio:
Rainbow shadow, rainbow shadow;

Chill don't change that radio dial:
Fall hard into something gentle,
take a break for a little while;
Nap weather style, nap weather style....

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Sitting among my paints and glitter
reaching for a blank canvas
I smile at true me.

An artist, dream-maker, cartoonist, I
separate from regular snore bore life
Becoming more real than ever 
when I get to my studio.

I reach for my paint brush,
glorying in my bliss...

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each artist is working in their own world
they share a studio, but none are aware of others
they are in a self-involved warp of coziness
one with their canvas, paints calling to them
each one in a bubble of self-indulgence,
distracted by nothing, comfortable in their cocoon of art...

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Passion buried like a stone
When Alma left Oskar alone;
Their anagram she was to unpick
Leaving him bereft,lovesick..alack
His studio & life,painted..black on black

*anagram of their Christian names & title to Oskar's famous poem he dedicated to his love 
Alma Mahler.

http://www.thecityreview.com/kokosch.html...

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