Short poems by artists

[windsongmeditation]

After meeting other wc artists that love poetry, I thought it would be fun to to have a thread where we can post some short poems. I'll leave the definition short to the individual. I'll start it off with a poem that wrote a couple of tears ago........Bob

Old Walls
by Robert Stagemyer

Old walls, secrets and moss, in moonlight bathe.
Leaves blanket the ground and whisper softly in the night breeze.
Columns of branchless trees, cut on an ancient lathe.
A Sanctuary in my mind, to return to whenever I please.

[briannaM]

Love Remembered

Spring , time of love true
joy forever having you

The sands of time have blown
the days and summers flown

The autumns come and gone
like dry leaves I am done

This time of cold is grey
I shiver, wait and pray

Soon my spring will be here
and again I'll have you near

[bsnowden]

One I wrote last year - start of a song

Untitled

It's Late.
All I hear is the tic, tic, tic of my keyboard
And Seth Thomas hanging on the wall.
He sleeps.
Up since four a.m., while I dreamed of you,
He played his violin,
A rooster call for those of us
Who like to finish dreams

[windsongmeditation]

Ahhhhhhhh this was a good idea.....It's so nice to be able to come here and read these intimate treasures...........Bob

[AirBrushGoddess]

Hope you all enjoy this one

Special To Me


A wink and a grin,

you'd go that extra mile.

Just to make me laugh,

never fail to make me smile.



Whenever my emotional stability

is out of whack.

You reach out your hand,

and bring me back.



A true friend like you,

I hold close to my heart.

You're special to me,

you have been from the start.



Always there when I need you.

You're someone I can depend on.

To make me smile,

and keep me strong.



I love you,

I will always make you see,

how much I care.

You're special to me.



—Rebecca E. Bornemeier

[stlukesguild]

THE ARTIST AND HIS WORK
(Com' esser, donna, puo)


How can that be, lady, which all men learn
By long experience? Shapes that seem alive,
Wrought in hard mountain marble, will survive
Their maker, whom the years to dust return!
Thus to effect cause yields. Art hath her turn,
And triumphs over Nature. I, who strive
With Sculpture, know this well; her wonders live
In spite of time and death, those tyrants stern.
So I can give long life to both of us
In either way, by colour or by stone,
Making the semblance of thy face and mine.
Centuries hence when both are buried, thus
Thy beauty and my sadness shall be shown,
And men shall say, 'For her 'twas wise to pine.'

-Michelangelo Buonarotti

[henrik]

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Now you know
why I am a painter
- henrik

[bsnowden]

Henrik, Tsk, tsk! You can do better than that!

Henrik paints while roses and violets fade
Lost in a world full of magic and thought
His brush like a feather glides, thus he has made
His own paradise - has he not?

[Lady Rando]

This weight that is upon me
is tearing me apart
The pressure of its power
Is squeezing out my heart.

Numbness maliciously creeping
cloaking me in its hold
It steals the warmth of life
and leaves its frigid cold.

I witness life around me
feeling nothing deep inside
In gloom and in indifference
Is where I now abide.

Oh, depression take away
this pain you force on me
For once and then forever
simply let my spirit free.

december 2004

Tamara Dozier Withers

[RuthT]

Written MANY years ago.

For a heart to break, it must first be numbed.
Who numbed your heart, who broke it?

Let it heal, it will mend.

[bsnowden]

Here's another one Bob, written today. Really enjoying this! Another start to a song.

There is noise in silence,
A breath of regret released
From it's prison,
Or the ripples of contemplation
Expanding in wider circles -
The deafening sounds of solitude
As I walk through life without you.

[windsongmeditation]

I am enjoying so much reading and being part of this thread ....thanx Bob
I wrote this for here....

We who speak in paint and clay, open our hearts with what we say,
To put our souls on plates and serve them cold, when guests arrive.
In corner spaces or open fields we shape our visions by night and day,
To create is to breathe, to create is to labor, to create is to be alive. _R. Stagemyer

[briannaM]

Chains

Today I've tried to free me
to free me from those chains
chains of guilt that bind me
in sorrow and in vain
chains that bind me to you
with echoes of the pain
guilt of past remebrance
of dark and heavy days
forgive me if I hurt you
it cannot be undone
I cannot change that damage
which on you I imposed
my heart cries out in anguish
how can I make it right
there is no way I know it
and yet I hope in vain
I cannot ever tell you
your hate would be the price
I'd give my life to change it
and not forever be in chains

[windsongmeditation]

I decided when I started this thread that I would not comment on individual poems….I will say however that I don’t remember reading a collection of short poems or prose that is any better than these .

They are so honest and vulnerable…..

Please feel free to post as many times as you would like…. I am almost speechless….which is rare…..Bob

[bsnowden]

Something for the young at heart, Bob - written today

Fairies

After the rain the sky mellows
And a mist rises though the grass
Little wet creatures emerge to dry
Shaking the blossoms as they pass
Miniature prints from their nimble feet
A broken twig here and there
Look closely - as soon as they've dried their wings
You won't find them anywhere