Vincent Poems - Poems about Vincent

heart ~ a wild collage of gold-smeared skies pressed within oil-washed layers of breathing melancholy as leaves curled in cashmere greens trace condensed contours between ...

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I fancy that I have a name as I tentatively note that my skin can still be warmed my heart soars - not forgotten by the rising sun gifted the chance to stare ...

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Vincent Damon Furnier his musical acts are funny when asked why he is so strange he could only say Alice is my first name ...

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Two figures in a meadow of years crowns with lilacs are their memories moments of beauty but also tears Now, but ghosts, they amble silently Often they walked here in younger days in life, they journeyed, his hand with hers Searching for the sun in a grey malaise a summer rain couldn't wash their tears They like to stroll here 'neath pastel skies among...

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when Vincent stumbled home through a drizzle of rain ~ what was going on inside that teeming, torturous brain? Did he blaspheme heaven with every profanity and curse? Or did he gaze in wonder at the stars of his exploding universe, and try to make of their blue and yellow light a poultice for his pain?...

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Today I’m thankful for the stars and the words of Vincent Van Gogh (I hold these in high esteem) For my part I know nothing of any certainty but the sight of stars makes me dream. ...

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His life came to a ruinous end Plummeted into insanity The red-bearded painter With his self-hatred, despair and desperation for understanding He drank yellow paint thinking it would make him happy Locked up in a mental asylum that would shatter any person’s self-belief Deceived Vincent cut his earlobe in an unforeseen calamity But he channelled the awful torment into...

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Can a song be so sad it becomes beautiful? A record listened to with such incessance Its needle scratches and wobbles Becomes desperate new notes for the melody? The song unrecognizable to the listener Without its own personalized warp From a thousand roundabout journeys? Try Hurrah For The Riff Raff’s Good Time Blues (An Outlaw’s Lament) Or their Ogallala Try on Steve Earle’s Last Words Or...

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How dare you I thought to the questioner Out of bounds The NPR reporter asks Annie Clark aka St. Vincent Are you, are you, you know ok? Referencing her latest song Smoking Section Ok so maybe she takes pills I don’t know Lives on the stage Of bravery or depravity but it’s just a way It’s ok Like as Robert Plant once said in...

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In sunlit fields where olive trees grow, Vincent wandered, mind aglow. The blue of skies, a restless sea, Matched the turmoil he longed to free. The cypresses stood tall and proud, Dark green fingers, reaching the cloud. They whispered secrets to the breeze, Of madness, pain, and transient peace. Golden hues of wheat did dance, In the light’s eternal trance. A vivid orange, a burning...

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I knew it was not Alberts style.' Namatijira with scenes so Bold and wild..The name of fame it caught me though.!! Guess its All part of (the game?) Noteriety, quick expos'e yet I can't Help but wish for better.' I think art? (in this case specially)! Shows the creator? in the letter..And not the spirit of...

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. . . . . . S. E. L. F I E * . . . . . ....

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Dew drops grace green grasses Soothing like my pearly power shower I choose the right outfit for an orange day Under the fruit bowl by Vincent Van Gogh Breakfast bar stool welcomes hungry hips Honey dew melon kisses lips Pray meditate talk to God and myself Water plants feed perky pets sweep steps Thunderous thud at the French door Blue genes deliver...

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It's pure excitement, on the edge To know what I have, what I do - is admired Creating from insight into pigment Repeating, surrounding myself, you My friend This is all, it is I'm bold, emblazon myself Watched over they go through it all In bud or to seed embodying beauty Head held high or slumped - it is there We're all triptychs or frieze Stages...

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install me in front of anything just let me sit, I can do this there is a gift of immortality that I bestow, on the best of days ...

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