Poetry competition CLOSED 18th April 2024 8:18pm
WINNER
Anne-Ri999
Anne-Ri999
Frida Kahlo
Poetry Contest Description
Write a poem based on one of the Frida Kahlo quotes below.
Frida Kahlo (born July 6, 1907, Coyoacán, Mexico—died July 13, 1954, Coyoacán) was a Mexican painter best known for her uncompromising and brilliantly coloured self-portraits that deal with such themes as identity, the human body, sexuality, and death. Although she denied the connection, she is often identified as a Surrealist. In addition to her work, Kahlo was known for her tumultuous relationship with muralist Diego Rivera (married 1929, divorced 1939, remarried 1940).
In 1925 Kahlo was involved in a bus accident, which so seriously injured her that she had to undergo more than 30 medical operations in her lifetime. During her slow recovery, Kahlo taught herself to paint, and she read frequently, studying the art of the Old Masters.
Kahlo underwent several surgeries in the late 1940s and early ’50s, often with prolonged hospital stays. Toward the end of her life, she required assistance with walking. She appears in Self-Portrait with Portrait of Dr. Farill (1951) seated in a wheelchair. Her ill health caused her to attend her first solo exhibition in Mexico in 1953 lying on a bed. She died in La Casa Azul a year later, the official cause documented as a pulmonary embolism.
She remains an icon of art, feminism, body positivity, disability, and empowerment.
For this contest….
I would like you to write a poem based on one of the following Frida Kahlo quotes. The poem doesn’t necessarily have to be about Frida Kahlo herself - it just depends what the quote brings up for you.
Please put the number of the quote you were inspired by in your author’s note.
Quotes
1. I paint flowers so they will not die.
2. Everything can have beauty, even the worst horror.
3. Fall in love with yourself, with life and then with whoever you want.
4. At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can.
5. Always revolutionary. Never dead, never useless.
6. My painting carries with it the message of pain.
Guidelines
• New writes only
• AI forbidden
• No photos / videos / audio / visual poetry
• Poetry not prose
• No restrictions on word count. Just don’t go nuts.
• You can enter up to one time per quote (so you can enter six times should you wish)
• Two weeks
My painting carries with it the message of pain.
Sometimes there is a dignity in death
beauty in decay of a wounded hart
flora and fauna have escaped from
beneath these hands
I am a roe deer gallantly galloping
he adorns me with his voice
galvanized in each corner
burst at my spine ravenous
each chasm tingling
over my spinal cord
Diego is my canvas
adorned with his venemous arrows
I enveloped my artisan soul
from him rivers rise
his hands are a phoenix
coaxed figurines dancing
molen red kajal is dripping
through ferocious lips
I speak from this burning bed
hear here
this pain(t)
is how I bleed for his love
Diego my martyr
I am your concubine
copyrights © owned by Ri
beauty in decay of a wounded hart
flora and fauna have escaped from
beneath these hands
I am a roe deer gallantly galloping
he adorns me with his voice
galvanized in each corner
burst at my spine ravenous
each chasm tingling
over my spinal cord
Diego is my canvas
adorned with his venemous arrows
I enveloped my artisan soul
from him rivers rise
his hands are a phoenix
coaxed figurines dancing
molen red kajal is dripping
through ferocious lips
I speak from this burning bed
hear here
this pain(t)
is how I bleed for his love
Diego my martyr
I am your concubine
copyrights © owned by Ri
Written by Anne-Ri999
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Frida 🌹
she weeps in flowers
they grace her table
along with globs of paint
brushes stand in wait
aged and smooth from weary hands
stained with feelings of rebirth
slowly she paints
flowers convalesce
on a background
of muted tones
they flourish
each petal gracefully unfurls
easing her image
into a bounty of rich hues
where they are free to hang
bend without breaking
knowing no hardship
she imagines her
tears pooling in the vase
so clear and without the fog
of discomfort
flowers float and stand firm
on strong green stems
she sees herself
a flower in her own right
valid of the beauty
that flows and gracefully
purges from the tip of her brush
onto canvas
strong peduncles
rich fluid bounty of petiole
never to fade
never to feel the crush
of fingers grasping
for velvety flesh
to be conformed
manipulated to feel whole
they forever stand in bloom
flushed with pink
that stands high on warm cheeks
such effort to hold her prowess
in the beauty of blossoming
this is her gift to us
strength personified in every flower
held beautifully stemming
from imagination and the realness
of their longevity in Nature
her signature of life
on substance
"I paint flowers so they will not die"
they grace her table
along with globs of paint
brushes stand in wait
aged and smooth from weary hands
stained with feelings of rebirth
slowly she paints
flowers convalesce
on a background
of muted tones
they flourish
each petal gracefully unfurls
easing her image
into a bounty of rich hues
where they are free to hang
bend without breaking
knowing no hardship
she imagines her
tears pooling in the vase
so clear and without the fog
of discomfort
flowers float and stand firm
on strong green stems
she sees herself
a flower in her own right
valid of the beauty
that flows and gracefully
purges from the tip of her brush
onto canvas
strong peduncles
rich fluid bounty of petiole
never to fade
never to feel the crush
of fingers grasping
for velvety flesh
to be conformed
manipulated to feel whole
they forever stand in bloom
flushed with pink
that stands high on warm cheeks
such effort to hold her prowess
in the beauty of blossoming
this is her gift to us
strength personified in every flower
held beautifully stemming
from imagination and the realness
of their longevity in Nature
her signature of life
on substance
"I paint flowers so they will not die"
Written by jemac
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My darling you\in love with fairies
with hair spun as finest silver
she sits beside me as we stare
only this distinct distance
laden moons ignite her eyes
here no dark nettles grow
for she can hear light fall
Ella reminds me
of the lulling loons
their spellbind tune
I once heard
these dulcet tones
waters brought me clarity
Elphin is her name
Yeats already was her brother
he initiated fairy belief
I willed the wind
I raise my cup
teacher, student, fool, magician
hermit, mad men,
we take off all our hats
let
cauldron sword
spear and stone guide me
no longer will my wild hair be
no knot can save it
so I let it free
She twirls
I fled the gilded cage
I willed the wind
I raise my cup
let
cauldron sword
spear and stone guide me
no longer will my wild hair be
I fled the gilded cage
come back to these isles
of Ever-land
return not
let glassy blades swirl
circlets
chivalry
compendium
wind wind wind
I willed these words
from trails winding
come with me
bring your neighing horse
rattle snakes
from your kitchen
rebellion
both sides of the coin
the harmony of the stable
this
is
fulfilment
I ask of you
return!
copyrights © owned by Ri
dedicated to Ella Young
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
3. Fall in love with yourself, with life and then with whoever you want.
she sits beside me as we stare
only this distinct distance
laden moons ignite her eyes
here no dark nettles grow
for she can hear light fall
Ella reminds me
of the lulling loons
their spellbind tune
I once heard
these dulcet tones
waters brought me clarity
Elphin is her name
Yeats already was her brother
he initiated fairy belief
I willed the wind
I raise my cup
teacher, student, fool, magician
hermit, mad men,
we take off all our hats
let
cauldron sword
spear and stone guide me
no longer will my wild hair be
no knot can save it
so I let it free
She twirls
I fled the gilded cage
I willed the wind
I raise my cup
let
cauldron sword
spear and stone guide me
no longer will my wild hair be
I fled the gilded cage
come back to these isles
of Ever-land
return not
let glassy blades swirl
circlets
chivalry
compendium
wind wind wind
I willed these words
from trails winding
come with me
bring your neighing horse
rattle snakes
from your kitchen
rebellion
both sides of the coin
the harmony of the stable
this
is
fulfilment
I ask of you
return!
copyrights © owned by Ri
dedicated to Ella Young
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
3. Fall in love with yourself, with life and then with whoever you want.
Written by Anne-Ri999
Go To Page
"I Paint Flowers So They Will Not Die"
^^That's what Freida said
but I paint furniture so many things won't die.
The person who created it
The one who owned it
Their memories
Their touch
Their legacy
The scents of their kitchens, absorbed in the wood
Myself...
They must live on
Screaming in colors, saying
"Look at me, now!"
I keep the scars intact--
What would a table or chair, be
without the dents and gouges
of Thanksgiving platters
and pie knives
that have left their presence ?
Someone's essay, carved in
from a too heavy pen on paper,
still visible with new paint,
cleaned and polished
but still there
like their voices from the past
if you listen closely enough.
Everything has a story.
There's a story to everything.
I will find it and bring its luster back
and keep time for them
while I hope someone will do the same for me
someday.
but I paint furniture so many things won't die.
The person who created it
The one who owned it
Their memories
Their touch
Their legacy
The scents of their kitchens, absorbed in the wood
Myself...
They must live on
Screaming in colors, saying
"Look at me, now!"
I keep the scars intact--
What would a table or chair, be
without the dents and gouges
of Thanksgiving platters
and pie knives
that have left their presence ?
Someone's essay, carved in
from a too heavy pen on paper,
still visible with new paint,
cleaned and polished
but still there
like their voices from the past
if you listen closely enough.
Everything has a story.
There's a story to everything.
I will find it and bring its luster back
and keep time for them
while I hope someone will do the same for me
someday.
Written by MadameLavender
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Rebel MIS
Dormant as winter
vital like snow
I have long walked barefoot
through these herbariums
dismembering embers
while rain casts candle glow
If I were to call you
a unicorn of the universe
an aristocrat anarchist
or simply a channeled “beared Ishtar”
you would curse me with sin bewitched enchantment
telling me how you despise this title meaning divine madness
how personification reveals each chain
“do not define me ” you would add
I would remind you how you said “wit is a gesture of belief in something ”
how “harlot” means beggar and vagabond.
you would teach me how to pick coals from burning fires
how to make aurochs roar
through skulled words
well my confidant in contrasts
let us free dead mortified woods
no victor nor hero
Earth my first god
and
it
will be my last
copyrights © owned by Ri
dedicated to Barbara Mor
5. Always revolutionary. Never dead, never useless.
vital like snow
I have long walked barefoot
through these herbariums
dismembering embers
while rain casts candle glow
If I were to call you
a unicorn of the universe
an aristocrat anarchist
or simply a channeled “beared Ishtar”
you would curse me with sin bewitched enchantment
telling me how you despise this title meaning divine madness
how personification reveals each chain
“do not define me ” you would add
I would remind you how you said “wit is a gesture of belief in something ”
how “harlot” means beggar and vagabond.
you would teach me how to pick coals from burning fires
how to make aurochs roar
through skulled words
well my confidant in contrasts
let us free dead mortified woods
no victor nor hero
Earth my first god
and
it
will be my last
copyrights © owned by Ri
dedicated to Barbara Mor
5. Always revolutionary. Never dead, never useless.
Written by Anne-Ri999
Go To Page
January third is forever marked in my almanac of words
a forgotten hairbrush
longs to comb his chestnut hair
I marvel over old letters
your handwriting climbs
forgotten hills where hollow
through stained glass
I remember you
sitting among compost
reaching leaf born from
muddy stems into musk
until a lotus grew within
I was born that day
when I met you
all backbones
are skeleton closets
where your ghost breath blows
just for you
I became today
never knowing how russets
brought erubescent blood
blushing poesy
I dream of you bearing a simple white shirt
a cognac cologne vaporizing
as I think of you
geese fly by
perhaps it is you cheering me up
knowing if gratitude were a being
it surely would be you
this pain was never broken
for it unlocked a door
and my love begets a paladin
it is true like an old mantra shows
you do not fall in love, you rise
and may I add this
you arrive!
signed your troubadour
copyrights © owned by Ri
dedicated to my first love, he took his life aged 22
January 3rd is his birthday
2. Everything can have beauty, even the worst horror.
Ⓒ Copyrights owned by rianne
longs to comb his chestnut hair
I marvel over old letters
your handwriting climbs
forgotten hills where hollow
through stained glass
I remember you
sitting among compost
reaching leaf born from
muddy stems into musk
until a lotus grew within
I was born that day
when I met you
all backbones
are skeleton closets
where your ghost breath blows
just for you
I became today
never knowing how russets
brought erubescent blood
blushing poesy
I dream of you bearing a simple white shirt
a cognac cologne vaporizing
as I think of you
geese fly by
perhaps it is you cheering me up
knowing if gratitude were a being
it surely would be you
this pain was never broken
for it unlocked a door
and my love begets a paladin
it is true like an old mantra shows
you do not fall in love, you rise
and may I add this
you arrive!
signed your troubadour
copyrights © owned by Ri
dedicated to my first love, he took his life aged 22
January 3rd is his birthday
2. Everything can have beauty, even the worst horror.
Ⓒ Copyrights owned by rianne
Written by Anne-Ri999
Go To Page
whaha, yes I guess so, these quotes seem to have sparkled up the old odd fires
Repurposing a fist
I hear her on one again
and my eye rolls with
don't-even-starts
on a saturday morning
after a circus of
recycled insomnia,
my abdomen cramps
angrily in
what the fuck
have you done
this time pal
I think the last
ball shark
hauled itself
on the shore
baring it's teeth
to leftovers of
my meat
my blood
but I
remember
how you
can't swallow
what you
cannot
take in,
nowadays
I wear tongue
more than
fist.
Written by _feral
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