Poetry competition CLOSED 26th November 2020 11:56pm
WINNER
solanaceae
solanaceae
Painting Words
Poetry Contest Description
Write a poem based on your favorite piece of art
Write a poem based on your favorite work of art. It can be a painting, sculpture, photograph, etc. The artwork can be by a famous artist or someone unknown (though they may be known to you!).
Rules:
1. New poem only
2. One poem per poet/poetess
3. Please include a picture of your inspiration artwork here in the comp thread
4. On your profile page, in the authors note, be sure to name the artist and title of the artwork if known.
5. No collaborations
If you have any questions please PM me. You have three weeks!
Rules:
1. New poem only
2. One poem per poet/poetess
3. Please include a picture of your inspiration artwork here in the comp thread
4. On your profile page, in the authors note, be sure to name the artist and title of the artwork if known.
5. No collaborations
If you have any questions please PM me. You have three weeks!
Related submission no longer exists.
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Christina’s World
My life...
my legs they have kept far away from me
From the loft
From the rafters
In the night come rumbling
The pans had fallen from the shelves
In the growing distance
My home
In the growing distance
It has spread before me
And no longer reaches the gingham
The hem and floral petals
Shiver in the wind
Something grows in the space
From here to there..
an emptiness
And yet it grows
My smile haunts my forehead
It creases and is spittled with heat
My smile had fallen from the shelves
Along with the pans
And my Mothers booming laugh
My Mothers laughter echoes the distance
It is like lightning crack
When I awaken from it
And can no longer find my step
I reach ..
I pull away with timid hand
I am the field mouse
I am the scarecrow off her post
I am beauty on an island
Of memory and remorse
And the Sea
She folds into browns
The screams of the cicada
my legs they have kept far away from me
From the loft
From the rafters
In the night come rumbling
The pans had fallen from the shelves
In the growing distance
My home
In the growing distance
It has spread before me
And no longer reaches the gingham
The hem and floral petals
Shiver in the wind
Something grows in the space
From here to there..
an emptiness
And yet it grows
My smile haunts my forehead
It creases and is spittled with heat
My smile had fallen from the shelves
Along with the pans
And my Mothers booming laugh
My Mothers laughter echoes the distance
It is like lightning crack
When I awaken from it
And can no longer find my step
I reach ..
I pull away with timid hand
I am the field mouse
I am the scarecrow off her post
I am beauty on an island
Of memory and remorse
And the Sea
She folds into browns
The screams of the cicada
Written by Calamityofgin
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The Veil
I wonder,
do you feel me
underneath your veil?
You're close enough to touch,
but not enough to feel.
This veil gives us a
sense of comfort,
but it is merely an illusion.
For beneath the opacity
we suffer from
loneliness &
confusion.
As much as I love you,
and want you to stay,
inevitably, I feel you
once more
slipping away
--
into the veil's
suffocating
embrace.
do you feel me
underneath your veil?
You're close enough to touch,
but not enough to feel.
This veil gives us a
sense of comfort,
but it is merely an illusion.
For beneath the opacity
we suffer from
loneliness &
confusion.
As much as I love you,
and want you to stay,
inevitably, I feel you
once more
slipping away
--
into the veil's
suffocating
embrace.
Written by solanaceae
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Weathering The Storm
(Painting shown is not the painting described)
I can't show it to you
Haven't seen it for a long time
Not since 4th grade
A field trip to the art museum
I liked art
I looked at every painting there
But one
It stood out to me
I never understood art until that painting
It was a sailing ship
During a storm
But not one where you could see the ship fighting the waves
No
The point of view was from the cabin door
The point of view was everything
The winds were blowing
The rain was coming down in waves from the sky
You couldn't see the end of the ship
All I remember vividly was a bucket and a rope
Just outside the door
The rope was coiled and the wooden bucket sat in the middle
It was big rope
One end in the bucket and the other trailing from the coil
It traveled off into the nothingness of the storm
There were other items you could see
They were being tossed about from one side to the other
But not the rope and the bucket
You could tell
They didn't move
The sudden realization that the artist wasn't painting this because he liked ships
It wasn't something he read in a book
There was only one way he would have known the rope didn't move
He was there
Suddenly, so was I
The winds were howling in my ear
I could feel the rains hitting my face
The waves were tossing the ship
Like a pair of dice in a craps game in the alley behind the soda shop
Seasickness hit and like that I was back grabbing for a waste basket
I never told a soul
Years passed, and I went back to the art museum
Searching for an oil painting I never found
Imagine how I felt when I realized words can do the same
I can't show it to you
Haven't seen it for a long time
Not since 4th grade
A field trip to the art museum
I liked art
I looked at every painting there
But one
It stood out to me
I never understood art until that painting
It was a sailing ship
During a storm
But not one where you could see the ship fighting the waves
No
The point of view was from the cabin door
The point of view was everything
The winds were blowing
The rain was coming down in waves from the sky
You couldn't see the end of the ship
All I remember vividly was a bucket and a rope
Just outside the door
The rope was coiled and the wooden bucket sat in the middle
It was big rope
One end in the bucket and the other trailing from the coil
It traveled off into the nothingness of the storm
There were other items you could see
They were being tossed about from one side to the other
But not the rope and the bucket
You could tell
They didn't move
The sudden realization that the artist wasn't painting this because he liked ships
It wasn't something he read in a book
There was only one way he would have known the rope didn't move
He was there
Suddenly, so was I
The winds were howling in my ear
I could feel the rains hitting my face
The waves were tossing the ship
Like a pair of dice in a craps game in the alley behind the soda shop
Seasickness hit and like that I was back grabbing for a waste basket
I never told a soul
Years passed, and I went back to the art museum
Searching for an oil painting I never found
Imagine how I felt when I realized words can do the same
Written by TimWombles
Go To Page
England’s Rose
Spirits of ancient sovereign calls to the serenity of the stratosphere
A caressed embraced on the soft winds she proudly stands
In the soft continuance of such a beautiful mystique
Complacent hues of passion dances upon the silhouette of elegance, her eloquence
Appeasing admiration ordained in the chasm of her benevolent soul
Undefiled beauty in its splendid glory
Lamentable mourns the bestowed warmth behind the veil of the sun
Cherished among the cloak of celestial stars
Crestal cadence to the touch of hushed reminisce
The finality of hopes slowly flickered the ambience of forgotten visions
Mortality of lineage infinity moralized
The true essence of admiration behind the passion of such femininity
Silently bows to the throne of Heaven’s grace
Stalwart in absence’s despair for the longing of anointing poise
She is woman, she is England’s Rose
And I am me, monarch within
A caressed embraced on the soft winds she proudly stands
In the soft continuance of such a beautiful mystique
Complacent hues of passion dances upon the silhouette of elegance, her eloquence
Appeasing admiration ordained in the chasm of her benevolent soul
Undefiled beauty in its splendid glory
Lamentable mourns the bestowed warmth behind the veil of the sun
Cherished among the cloak of celestial stars
Crestal cadence to the touch of hushed reminisce
The finality of hopes slowly flickered the ambience of forgotten visions
Mortality of lineage infinity moralized
The true essence of admiration behind the passion of such femininity
Silently bows to the throne of Heaven’s grace
Stalwart in absence’s despair for the longing of anointing poise
She is woman, she is England’s Rose
And I am me, monarch within
Written by SweetKittyCat5
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Ode to The Persistence of Memory
tick
tock tock
tick tick
tock |___ tock
tick tick
tock tock
tick
The hands of time keep moving
Without stopping
or s-l-o-w-i-n-g down
But in my mind I’m drawn toward some surreal dream
To somewhere in –
- and out of memory
Maybe it’s the
nostalgia
Maybe it’s the
melancholy
Maybe it’s my
fondness for the sentimental of yesteryear
Perhaps the recollection of life
and times m
e
l
t
i g
n away
into an illusion
Born from the subconscious
Rising up to the surface
Time becomes relative
b
e
n
t
and
w
a
r
p
e
d
in my mind…
When something
Like
“The other day” may mean
-decades ago-
while recent fleeting moments |||| escape ||||
Only to be captured
By distorted colors
and purported words
I become entranced
O O
By \_ Dali _/
and his
interpretation
of mind
and
time
as the
persistence of memory
m
e
l s
t away…
Written by wallyroo92
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Banksy ?
Commissioned, by needs so profound
the salt that stings an open wound.
Pathos bringing its own cult
hangs the entire wall all by itself.
The gallery to make you gulp
the pleading eyes that ask for help.
Spray can etch a pentagram
to be a lion not a lamb.
A spell of everything so wrong
holds the futures on a slender string.
To feel and greet just suffering,
the bubble floats, should we just sit?
So tied with no initiative
or pull down tomorrows hopes decal.
The sign that time won't heed our call
Extinction - Rebellion will succeed.
And children not deafened to the need
to make their future evergreen.
the salt that stings an open wound.
Pathos bringing its own cult
hangs the entire wall all by itself.
The gallery to make you gulp
the pleading eyes that ask for help.
Spray can etch a pentagram
to be a lion not a lamb.
A spell of everything so wrong
holds the futures on a slender string.
To feel and greet just suffering,
the bubble floats, should we just sit?
So tied with no initiative
or pull down tomorrows hopes decal.
The sign that time won't heed our call
Extinction - Rebellion will succeed.
And children not deafened to the need
to make their future evergreen.
Written by slipalong
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