Art Poems
The Color of Laughter
by Evelyn Judy Buehler
I was in a love affair with art, which had lasted for most of my life,
As beauty graces bush tree and field, whenever hued blossoms are rife.
I started painting at a young age, and had actually sold quite a few,
And had held an exhibition, like the plum sunsets sometimes we knew!
While many considered me a success, something vital was yet lacking,
As a quest for sunshine gold, unerringly sends chill winter packing.
Being something of a perfectionist, I wanted my works to look alive,
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Ode To Artists
by D.A Yvii
An ode to poetry
An ode to the poet
A celebration to the tree
A dedication to the leaf which fell from it
Shame the thief
......
Annabelles charm
by Saleh Ben Saleh
In an urban street I met a girl
her name was Annabelle,
she was alone a jolly soul
with a happy tale to tell.
She stood so tall
a precious pearl
with a hat of golden locks,
her eyes were blue
with many hue
just like a marble rock.
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My Maths Queen (Ms. Teena Sharma)
by Priya Goel
Who lies in our heart,
Makes learning fun as art.
Generated my interest in her subject,
Helped us deal with geometrical object.
I just loved the way she taught,
Made our knowledge arise from a dot.
She always motivated all,
Helped us get up, when we did fall.
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why do you seek the living among the dead?
by Bogdan Dragos
The old lady kept coming by
the hospital to assure the medics that it'll be
okay
"He's a true fighter," she said. "I know he'll make it.
He has won the battle with drugs
twice in the past. He'll make it this time as well. I
know it. I feel it. I believe in him."
"Mam," said the doctor. "We found rusty fragments
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Folded wings
by Mario Odekerken
In paper still,a dream takes flight,
with creases crisp and edges light.
A butterfly born from silent art,
each folda whisper from the heart.
No fluttered breeze,no morning dew,
yet grace unfolds in shapes so true.
It dances not on meadow's bloom,
but on a desk in quiet room.
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cure-alls
by Rikske Kessner
naught save the peddlers of art
where entertainment’s a la carte
and the menu card’s kind a faulty
yet here we’re reasonably comfy
so show us the justice of poetry
lost in the valley of minutes and years
it’s audience so glad to have been found
consumers shall ever-consume and
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A Stroke of Hypocrisy
by Kimani Hare
Destruction in the name of the Arts,
Hypocrisy eclipses the creators, for their tools burn home.
Fossil fuels for abstracts and Deforestation for novels
Sisyphus laughs at their sophomoric efforts,
For humanity blinds us under the guise of protection.
42. True life considers more than the vessel
by Kea Campbell
True life considers more than the vessel it resides in.
Sincere music’s insights are unlimited to the ears.
Authentic art faults never to its boundless perspectives.
Intuitive photography narrates beyond its frames.
Empathetic poetry humbles every language comprehensible.
True media is commissioned by the intangible.
Thursday 6 June 2024
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The secret of heart - Alexis karpouzos
by alexis karpouzos
In the quiet chambers, where the soul resides, There lies a sacred wisdom, where true knowledge hides. Beyond the realms of logic, beyond the mind's vast art, There blooms a deeper knowing, the knowledge of the heart.
It whispers in the silence, in the spaces in between, In moments soft and tender, in visions deeply seen. It's felt in every heartbeat, in the rhythm of life's song, A truth that's pure and timeless, where hearts forever long.
This knowledge needs no language, no words to understand, It's written in the actions, in the touch of a loving hand. It sees beyond the surface, to the essence deep inside, A bridge that spans the distance, where souls can safely hide.
For in the heart's own knowing, there's a wisdom vast and true, A guide through all the shadows, a light in every hue. It teaches us compassion, to see with loving eyes, The beauty in each moment, where grace and wonder lie.
So trust the heart's own wisdom, let its knowledge be your guide, In every step you take, in every tear you've cried. For in the heart's own keeping, there's a wisdom pure and bright, A path to deeper meaning, where day transforms to night.
