Art Sonnet Poems | Examples
These Art Sonnet poems are examples of Sonnet poems about Art. These are the best examples of Sonnet Art poems written by international poets.
A sonnet to a friend
Lately, every evening, I listen to music on
short clips on the internet
I have not been taking this art seriously
busy as I have been composing unwilling words
trying to create art
How wrong I was not to hear
It is all there, beautiful humanity
in classical form or popular
Suddenly, as my world is coming to an end
the beauty I have missed by not listening to
the love expressed in an instrument or in
A human voice makes me long for more years
Poetry paints prismatic word-pictures
A cubist painting programmed in plain air
Poetry and painting prize pure features,
For centuries, art crafted with grand care
Let us journey to juxtapose the two
Both attract the primeval painters' flair
With colours in rich red, yellow, and blue
Words sketching with wise theatrical care.
Try to catch and caress the words you see
Draw sights and sounds into your fractal soul
Organic lines jotted down joyously
As fractal forms that fill Metatron's scroll
Golden spirals smeared in an author's room
Are geometry's homage on a loom.
To penetrate the fresh bloom of a flower,
is a rare joy, a kind of love felt deeply,
when virgins struggle, full of desire's power,
then collapse in warm, sensual link so sweetly.
With one, I have not known such love before;
not in a touch, but found in books and lines,
a joy that I love, rapturously explore,
and whose sung beauty lyrically shines.
Although I'll never know the former love
aforementioned, the Muse's consolation
is my reward: chaste, and pure as a dove,
she uplifts me to peaks of inspiration!
If love must be to love a woman only,
then the Muse's bloom keeps me from being lonely.
A cobalt surge, a sky of pearly grey,
A mountain watches, silent, capped with snow.
The wave ascends, where tiny boats hold sway,
While foamy fingers beckon from below.
Against the tide, a challenge they embrace,
With strength they push, against the swelling might,
A test of skill, within this watery space,
Their tiny crafts, in shades of dark and light.
The churning foam, a dance of wild delight,
And Fuji’s form, a calm and steady guide,
A vision bold, a captivating sight,
Where nature’s power cannot be denied.
So ride the wave, let courage be your art,
And find the beauty in a brand new start.
Gaza Sonnet
A doctor`s house with two daughters came under artillery fire
while he who worked at the hospital in Gaza
Trying to save life after yet another Israeli attack, lost both
His children, the military late apologized.
After the funeral, the good doctor did not seek help for his
Immense suffering , but carried on working while
grief unburdened was eating him up.
One day he went to the beach the sea was calm and blue
He undressed and began swimming he had to get away
A strong swimmer he swam long before an Israeli gunboat
blew him out of the water, red turned to pink and then
ack to calming azure as the warped thinking of the occupiers
said go he should have sought psychological help
For sorrow so deep that no well-meaning words suffice
Gods and Devils
By S. Ravichandran (Elizabethan Sonnet)
From Heaven’s grace doth fall the gentle rain,
That healeth wounds within the suff’ring soul;
From Hell’s dark hand doth rise the tyrant’s chain,
Which bindeth hearts beneath his grim control.
Though devils reign o’er earth with scepter’d might,
And spread their power broad, both deep and strong,
Yet one small drop of love shall quell their night,
And break the cords that held thee bound so long.
When thou art cast into a pit of woe,
And grievous wounds do make thy spirit bleed,
Lo! Heaven’s light shall on thy pathway glow,
And grant thy heart the solace that it need.
Then lift thy prayer; His hand shall raise thee high,
To dwell with Him in peace beyond the sky.
Degenerate house filled with ancestry
one short hand stretches from statues to shame
pervading loose boundedness within the same
or toward less classical geometry
on this continuous interplay to show
how apotheosis may interchange the crow
this desire between rough designs, I try
to withstand its whirlwind and real rephaim
into flexible modules overclaim
terrain through the abundant baptistery
we have dispersed vital functions for coe
by distinctive architectural doe
we provide few clues from dictionary
this situation contracts markedly beldame
For sparks of joy to which our hearts have hold,
Like fireflies which the flows of time ignore,
And soon forgot, the moment we are cold,
The artist said, "Of this, I shall know more."
For vast unkindness which shall often come,
For not of justice is life's vessel full,
Which those afflicted would of it be numb,
The artist said, "I'll wear this on my soul."
For all the dreams of what the world might be,
The flowers of hope and industry we sow,
And little know what sun or snow they'll see,
The artist said, "This garden shall I grow."
The beauty, and the burden, artists bear,
Is that, for all of life, their hearts must care.
This Cosmos knows all must escape the war.
The sky beckons peace for the Bard's journey,
Hoping there will be joy forevermore.
Music, dance, poetry--art is beauty!
Raise a cheer for nature's forest bounty.
Let's gather memories that are gleeful!
The green woodlands breathe with vitality
And gift to us a rocky pocketful!
Awen drifts through every breath of nature,
Kindling the mind with vivid ideas,
Flying forward to chase the bright future.
Bards guard pure hearts as meek overseers.
Every balm that will make us feel better
Spills from the Cosmos' wildest pleasure!
The art of comedy's a sacred thing,
as fresh and precious in its gift of bliss
as when a worshipped one's initial kiss
transports us first. Like Fragonard, we swing
to Lena Horne's delightful rites of spring
on wings of wonder. No analysis
can pull apart a pleasure pure as this.
We humans laugh as nightingales might sing.
We're taught to think creators must be serious,
but humour's both unruly and imperious,
and ridicule's the boy-god's sharpest dart.
We laugh and learn, and don't let worries weary us,
for dreariness is deadly, deleterious:
thanks, heaven, for the comedy of art.
Hear me, blonde tressed bonnie-lassie!
Kill me not by thine raunchy eyes.
Never could ye imprison me
By thy voluptuous coax
Thou can't get blood out of a stone
Akin to it, tranquility from my heart
I'll never get drowned to your fathomless sea of love
As I fell in love with nature
Rose, indeed, art thou be depicted by bards
Lacks they, to ponder spine thee beneath it
Trust I on a hissing snake
Than an enticing Circe
Virile juvenile may thou admire
Realize they not in thy love quagmire.
Oh waxing Phoebe!how merciless art thou?
To stalk when my Psyche lamenting.
Thou art stoleth radiance of her sanctity face
Ye haven't thy own
Never bud aroma roses, it's not virtue
When my loved mourns
It's from her rosette cheeks
Thou grasped away her colour
Aurora!I pray unto thee
Ensconce my loved for mercy sake
Fear I, the lustful Sun
May perhaps, copulate her through radiance
Pluck away my eyes, oh lightning!
For I dare not to witness, my dying Psyche.
Obscured Cupid as a brimming stream
To drench when thou hath bathe
Transformed he as a adherence
And hath entwined ye abdomen
Disguised as maid in thy harem
To admire your ravishing beauty
Art thou giveth aroma to flowers?
For sure! when thou blush, feel I.
Chisels he, insanely thy name
On his love-shaft
Beneath the Sea, scribes he bewitching songs
That testaments his lunatic love on you
Why thou maketh virile men fanatic?
Cupid! Ensconse her from this tranquil earth.
Oh! illusion of all illusions
Art thou incarnated as Cupid?
Depicted ye with wings
And hath armed with love-shaft
Entwines ye many hearts of innocence
And warms thyself in their perdu passion
Thou drowns many hearts of sanctity love
Into your fathomless Lethe
And creates many insane encomiast
To eulogize thy illusion deeds
As Apollo transformed Clytie to sunflower
Thou endears innocent hearts bend towards you
Cadeceus, I pray unto thee, resurrect true-hearts
Whom the nebulous, fiend Cupid has entombed.
We poets, writers, misfits of the world
like artist or mystics or troubadours
use our gifts to give insight to others
we offer more pulling back the covers.
We did not fit in with most of our peers.
When young we were often taunted to tears.
We often were quiet in our own zone.
And most of the time you’d find us alone.
We’re awkwardly honest most of the time.
Our minds think rhythmically also in rhyme.
Counting syllables can be frustrating.
Keep the lines in each verse relating.
Through each medium the end is the same.
Sharing our thoughts is the name of the game.