Art Poems
Exploitation of The Artists Work
by Ian McClearyI came upon an article from Feb 2023 about the Joan Mitchell Foundation calling for Louis Vuitton to stop using her paintings in their handbag commerical. The artists work is often exploited by those who have little appreciation for what they do. This is just one of the many examples of that. Most people would see this as good exposure for her, they cannot understand how personal a work of art can be for someone. It's not something you can just give away like that. Sometimes obscurity has it's advantages.
Continue readingfallen [-----]
by e. m.
To think that this pain became nourishment.
They drink it up, you see them.
Fertilizer for the future
waiting under the oaks that grow from our eyes.
Our stories become theirs, taken by time, and then taken again, but no, not writ in the stars.
We wait in the soil while they rise to a world of their own choice.
To think that we, who created so many, do not choose our own end.
Fated to trip on a fell tree, destined to die alone in a shrouded cloak?
Our breath brought unity and hope
......
Exploitation of Art
by Ian McClearyI came upon an article from Feb 2023 about the Joan Mitchell Foundation calling for Louis Vuitton to stop using her paintings in their handbag commerical. The artists work is often exploited by those who have little appreciation for what they do. This is just one of the many examples of that. Most people would see this as good exposure for her, they cannot understand how personal a work of art can be for someone. It's not something you can just give away like that. Sometimes obscurity has it's advantages.
Continue readingThe 'Still' of the Night
by Evelyn Judy Buehler
I was for long an active art enthusiast, with a special passion for still lifes,
As the roving, scarlet sun, develops late passion for the bustling nightlife.
I was ofttimes in large art museums, and I had traveled this whole world,
Always looking for another beautiful work, like lustrous moonlight pearls.
I zealously hunted lovelies by day, but I was a wide eyed, night owl, too,
As bright meteors turn into shooting stars, then disappear from our view.
My fabulous family shared in my zeal, and we often compared artworks,
......
Hellfire and Back
by Percules The Poet
Life is full of beauty like constellations upon the sky.
I might take the time to look up at them tonight.
And I hope you can be here right by my side.
Together we could help each other better understand this confusing life.
Tell me every last problem that is upon your mind.
For you I walk through every pit of hellfire and back just for what you want to find.
I would not want to do anything else with my time.
Except make you feel good inside.
If you leave I might just take your life.
You can either ride or you can die.
......
fallen [-----]
by e. m.
To think that this pain became nourishment.
They drink it up, you see them.
Fertilizer for the future
waiting under the oaks that grow from our eyes.
Our stories become theirs, taken by time, and then taken again, but no, not writ in the stars.
We wait in the soil while they rise to a world of their own choice.
To think that we, who created so many, do not choose our own end.
Fated to trip on a fell tree, destined to die alone in a shrouded cloak?
Our breath brought unity and hope
......
heartbeat.
by e. m.
Away, avast.
We stand on the sidelines to watch.
We fight in the battle, too.
But we split apart, save ourselves
with a tourniquet of paper.
You, the stream, that threads through their fingers.
The darkness in your eyes
It bleeds into the cloth
......
Pablo Picasso the genius
by Mario Odekerken
A pencil in the hands of a genius,
lines flowing like thoughts untamed,
each stroke a glimpse into the soul,
shattering forms, embracing chaos.
Colors collide in vibrant disarray,
faces fractured, yet profoundly whole,
a dance of perception,
revealing truths beneath the surface.
......
A Painter's Work
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
The pigment of the eye
of the grazing bull threatens us
with unassailable blackness...
The blades of the tussock of a
raided field blench
from the trills of fornicating
fowls — coots exiled from
humiliated seas — exchanging
badinages rounded in fibs,
thus apprising the painter of
......
Stroke of Breath
by Gus Krueger
Art is a masterpiece
When no change is needed
To understand
Is to draw the last breath
