Long Poems About Art
#art
MalcolmG
Poem Published
6th Nov 2024 12:25pm
6th Nov 2024 12:25pm
NOT ALL VAMPIRES SUCK BLOOD
Your gaze wanders through corridors of dead and living poets, devouring, slipping in like thieves at midnight—not for communion with the spirit’s insight, but to feast, to draw stolen breath and reshape it as your own, a mimicry born without debt to the muse, a hollow construct grasping for self acclaim, void of responsibility to its sources.
Poetic Vampires, the charlatans of thought, these pale shadows drift through other minds, cloaked in filched passion and counterfeit phrases—a theater of echoes lacking the marrow of originality. They linger, barren of fresh vision, bereft of...
Poetic Vampires, the charlatans of thought, these pale shadows drift through other minds, cloaked in filched passion and counterfeit phrases—a theater of echoes lacking the marrow of originality. They linger, barren of fresh vision, bereft of...
#anger
#art
#disappointment
#frustration
#morality
60 reads
2 Comments
goldenmyst
Poem Published
25th Oct 2024 2:10pm
25th Oct 2024 2:10pm
Warhol of Love
Warhol of Love
“Your bed sheets are tangled as though you’d just come in from a drunk. You must drink like a fish to have let your bed get into such a disarray.”
“I am a social drinker. Just a glass of Pinot Noir gets me through the night.”
“In the spirit of the women’s temperance society I look askance at men who need alcohol to make their nights placid. Is the liquor a red herring for a deeper existential angst such as a conflict between the id and the superego?”
“Not at all. My self-esteem is just fine why thank you.”
“I see you...
“Your bed sheets are tangled as though you’d just come in from a drunk. You must drink like a fish to have let your bed get into such a disarray.”
“I am a social drinker. Just a glass of Pinot Noir gets me through the night.”
“In the spirit of the women’s temperance society I look askance at men who need alcohol to make their nights placid. Is the liquor a red herring for a deeper existential angst such as a conflict between the id and the superego?”
“Not at all. My self-esteem is just fine why thank you.”
“I see you...
#art
#books
#funny
#learning
#romantic
96 reads
4 Comments
goldenmyst
Poem Published
22nd Sep 2024 2:36am
22nd Sep 2024 2:36am
Ghost of Giselle Haunts the Gallery After Lucifer’s Fire
#apocalypse
#art
#erotic
#love
#sensual
52 reads
0 Comments
Nixprty
Poem Published
2nd Jul 2024 1:13am
2nd Jul 2024 1:13am
Lament of a Creator (Not an Artist)
I often get asked how I got so good at art, it’s an assumption really. The question requires one to assume that I worked to become this way, and implies the existence of a mentor. The brush in my hands is self guided, held only in my fingers. I assume I doodled so long in the margins they spread into a mural.
I cannot imagine a painting before I create it, I cannot see the colors in my head. I cannot grasp perspective, I cannot draw exact. I lack the basics needed to be an artist, and yet I create in spite. Perhaps it’s the red stubborn streak in me that makes me create my works...
I cannot imagine a painting before I create it, I cannot see the colors in my head. I cannot grasp perspective, I cannot draw exact. I lack the basics needed to be an artist, and yet I create in spite. Perhaps it’s the red stubborn streak in me that makes me create my works...
#art
#bittersweet
107 reads
0 Comments
Thesilverymoon
Poem Published
25th Jun 2024 8:32am
25th Jun 2024 8:32am
When Hockney curtsies The Queen
When words trace pictures
and pictures hear colours
and colours bleed moments
and moments project music
and music believes dancing
and dancing explodes camera
and camera grips kaleidoscope
and kaleidoscope breathes melody
and melody tastes like birds
and birds dream in pigment
and pigment feels up Hockney
and Hockney curtsies the Queen...
and pictures hear colours
and colours bleed moments
and moments project music
and music believes dancing
and dancing explodes camera
and camera grips kaleidoscope
and kaleidoscope breathes melody
and melody tastes like birds
and birds dream in pigment
and pigment feels up Hockney
and Hockney curtsies the Queen...
#art
#WritingPoetry
121 reads
1 Comment
VictorDLopez
Poem Published
13th Jun 2024 5:32pm
13th Jun 2024 5:32pm
Modern Art and the Critics (short story)
A half dozen art critics stood around a naked white canvas perched at an angle below the empty wall space where one would have expected it to hang. They closely examined the piece, some squatting and some taking a knee to get a closer look. It was the opening day of a hot new artist’s exhibit featuring a variety of works in multiple media from oil paintings, to papier mâché sculptures, to collages rendered from a multitude of objects and some smaller pieces that appeared to have been made by particularly sadistic children dipping salamanders, frogs and worms in paint until nearly drowned and...
#art
#ShortStory
97 reads
0 Comments
Pinkdreams
Poem Published
17th May 2024 4:54am
17th May 2024 4:54am
Former Groupie Hates Influencers
She graced the cover of an important arty magazine
looking much like Twiggy
all big eyes and early 70s corkscrew tendrils
skin smooth as an alabaster pond
A year later she was dating the drummer of Deep Purple
I wonder if he appreciated what a good artist she is.
Her list of accolades, fifty years later, is impressive
She stopped wearing eye makeup ten years ago
It's irritating, she shrugs
her older, very wealthy husband
whom she has loved for 30 years
now has Alzheimer's
There's nothing to look forward to
she says ...
looking much like Twiggy
all big eyes and early 70s corkscrew tendrils
skin smooth as an alabaster pond
A year later she was dating the drummer of Deep Purple
I wonder if he appreciated what a good artist she is.
Her list of accolades, fifty years later, is impressive
She stopped wearing eye makeup ten years ago
It's irritating, she shrugs
her older, very wealthy husband
whom she has loved for 30 years
now has Alzheimer's
There's nothing to look forward to
she says ...
#aging
#art
#money
146 reads
7 Comments
Indie
Miss Indie
Miss Indie
Poem Published
16th May 2024 4:39am
16th May 2024 4:39am
Dear diary (how to be an artist)
People keep telling me I have a gift, like being gifted means I should be something, instead of someone. I'm that asshole that is good at almost anything I try my hand at, and in a way everything means nothing, because did I earn it if I didn't have to work hard to make it happen?
I also genuinely don't give a fuck about the fact that I'm a gifted writer, artist and photographer. I used to be in an art group, and there were some successful older artists there that asked me where I studied. I didn't study anywhere. Everything I am is self taught. I didn't finish high school, and...
I also genuinely don't give a fuck about the fact that I'm a gifted writer, artist and photographer. I used to be in an art group, and there were some successful older artists there that asked me where I studied. I didn't study anywhere. Everything I am is self taught. I didn't finish high school, and...
#art
#confessional
#SelfWorth #StreamOfConsciousness
#SelfWorth #StreamOfConsciousness
149 reads
11 Comments
Pinkdreams
Poem Published
1st Apr 2024 3:57am
1st Apr 2024 3:57am
The Art of Forgetting
At my age, my short-term memory sometimes sputters like a dollar store lighter. My long-term memory, however, flares bold and bright. Though I have the requisite sunny happy memories, a few ancient negative experiences sometimes outshine them. Can I really still be bothered by a bad experience in first grade, so many decades ago? Yeah. Watch.
. For the first three months of that year, I was only five. Way too young to be told I suck at art, but that is indeed what happened.
I remember the private school classroom perfectly. Tidy rows of brown desks. Large windows...
. For the first three months of that year, I was only five. Way too young to be told I suck at art, but that is indeed what happened.
I remember the private school classroom perfectly. Tidy rows of brown desks. Large windows...
#art
#SelfWorth
216 reads
10 Comments
Connotation
Poem Published
22nd Feb 2024 00:19am
22nd Feb 2024 00:19am
Loss of Inspiration
In the abyss of the deep, only grey matter reflected.
My breath was swept away by a witch's broom.
Secrets of dust were under a rug.
Astonishment took over like a surprise.
Magical, a flying carpet goes over my head, like deception.
The spell of time enthralled me with its flickering eminence of expiration.
My candle was hidden and about to burn out.
Hands on the wall, 6 o'clock, my attention was arrested.
Straight up and down, a power broadcast.
The thief in the night came and ransacked.
My captivated spirit. ...
My breath was swept away by a witch's broom.
Secrets of dust were under a rug.
Astonishment took over like a surprise.
Magical, a flying carpet goes over my head, like deception.
The spell of time enthralled me with its flickering eminence of expiration.
My candle was hidden and about to burn out.
Hands on the wall, 6 o'clock, my attention was arrested.
Straight up and down, a power broadcast.
The thief in the night came and ransacked.
My captivated spirit. ...
#identity
#spiritual
#prose
#art
#metaphor
162 reads
2 Comments
Pete66
Poem Published
11th Aug 2023 2:16pm
11th Aug 2023 2:16pm
Emotional Sunset
The true story of the artist Angus Fairhurst, a (Young British Artist) YBA, who committed suicide by
hanging himself from a tree on 29th March 2008
A true artist, to me, is exposed to an abyss,
A savage and unrelenting catharsis,
And in this intensely dangerous and beautiful land,
They pluck their visions and transmit by hand.
But sometimes, the artist, as they orbit this sun,
Don’t realise that some black holes have begun,
And this Angus, like none of us sane,
Was living this life again and again,
And while Damian Hirst sells...
hanging himself from a tree on 29th March 2008
A true artist, to me, is exposed to an abyss,
A savage and unrelenting catharsis,
And in this intensely dangerous and beautiful land,
They pluck their visions and transmit by hand.
But sometimes, the artist, as they orbit this sun,
Don’t realise that some black holes have begun,
And this Angus, like none of us sane,
Was living this life again and again,
And while Damian Hirst sells...
#death
#suicide
#art #philosophical
#art #philosophical
321 reads
0 Comments
Pinkdreams
Poem Published
10th Aug 2023 5:03am
10th Aug 2023 5:03am
Roller Coasting
She was 56, her siblings were Disney villains, and the husband she'd waited a lifetime for pronounced her "undiagnosed bipolar" a mere three months into their marriage. The woman he left her for wasn't particularly young, thin, or pretty. No, his new wife, Karla, was infuriatingly easy going, a pediatric social worker who taught yoga on Saturdays.
Mary Jane had nothing but substitute teaching jobs, a great set of anodized cookware, a small, paid-off condo and $35,000 inherited from her beloved mother. Her life was easy to leave, and that's what she would do, for a while....
Mary Jane had nothing but substitute teaching jobs, a great set of anodized cookware, a small, paid-off condo and $35,000 inherited from her beloved mother. Her life was easy to leave, and that's what she would do, for a while....
#BestFriend
#travel
#art
#MovingOn
#ThrillSeeking
205 reads
3 Comments
DU Poetry : Long Poems About Art
