sing me your inspiration,
so that words may blossom
through the rings of the tree
in my paper.
gift me your passions,
so that pathways may carve
through inked rivers
and graphite daydreams.
paint me your love,
so that I may palette
your rainbow
and color my canvas
with my favorite colors of you.
the soft pink
of the inside of your lips,
and the offset grey
haloed through your eyelashes.
tiger lily freckles framed
by sweet peach
and wallflower blushes.
rainfall wrists
and dutch cocoa silk.
all my canvas needs
are the colors of you.
Oct 31, 2020
Oct 31, 2020 at 11:07 AM UTC
The sound of the leaves written primarily by trees.
As such was the beauty heard plainly with ease.
Up mountains, round rivers.
A song for the birds.
For the people that fly there.
Across valleys was heard.
Now what be the mention of this, you may wonder,
Alone to unravel the blur from down under.
A song can be sung from the language of trees.
I heard in the sky and then carried to thee.
https://www.susykamber.com/
Ekphrastic Poetry Explores Art
Oct 25, 2020
Oct 25, 2020 at 9:09 AM UTC
Filled flowers found on a hillside.
Absolute containment spread out freely.
As though one had finally realized how to venture that love is within.
Sweet the day heads into the night.
As laughter rolls down the curves of the earth and raindrops touch each other in their reflections.
Oh that the night may blush at the day.
The wonders of both.
Forever I say.
https://www.susykamber.com/
Ekphrastic Poetry Explores Art
Sep 27, 2020
Sep 27, 2020 at 10:16 AM UTC
The Romans made their statues out of marble and stone
The Chinese made terracota from the earth’s gifts alone
The Egyptians made paper from their great river Nile
So tell me, who crafted your beautiful smile?
Was it the Greeks who carved your hands from clay?
An Aztec’s turquoise for your eyes on display
Your skin a marble polished from leather
Your freckles India’s delicate embroider
I probably look strange when I do a double take
But I’m looking at my favorite thing, you can see it in my face
My insecurity strangles my wanted freedom
But I’m telling you, you look like you should be in a museum
Porcelain and jade behind enclosed glass
Just you in the exhibit, but my gaze isn’t fast
I’ll take my time drowning in you
And kiss you with my last, my lips turning blue...
-G.A.
Sep 18, 2020
Sep 18, 2020 at 10:46 AM UTC
A dress with a conversation inside. Take for instance a bright sunny day and a perfect dress is chosen for that day. I think I’d choose a soft blue one with white ruffles midway, empire waist style. Little flowers in the fabric and nothing else because it would look pretty enough to catch the light as I step out the door. On a bright sunny day a dress probably feels downright cheery, when it goes outside. The last time this dress was worn it had picked up all the scents of the day. If you held it real close you would for sure notice. I remembered it smelled of many flowers and the fruit stand I walked by early on. The peachy smell was there along with an earthy scent because I was eating one of the peaches when you walked by. Do people make a scent that attaches to their clothes, I know they do if you get real close to them, but I was just out there with a drippy peach and wiping it off the flowers on my dress and I looked up that way and caught your eyes. I really don’t know how you got in my dress, but you did.
https://www.susykamber.com/
Ekphrastic Poetry Explores Art
Sep 18, 2020
Sep 18, 2020 at 10:29 AM UTC
Writers choose pens that are inked with words.
The color of ink might be a peach colored verb.
The adverb joins in with a red that is flashy.
The prose is beginning to read somewhat ******
The noun is thinking to mellow this down,
But the writer wants more from what has been found.
An adjective presents with its green colored hue.
Then gold trickles in making the vivid story true.
Yes, writers choose pens and words choose colors.
Stories then written,
For us and for others.
https://www.susykamber.com/
Ekphrastic Poetry Explores Art
Sep 15, 2020
Sep 15, 2020 at 1:48 PM UTC
Up there the sky has a certain way of imparting,
More than clouds.
Take its mood for instance and translate.
Sometimes matching the observers who gaze upwards.
Stationed in a half moment’s gaze.
Watching the punctured holes of sunshine.
Freed.
The invisible substances.
Raining down.
Brushing shoulders with them.
As light is brought home.
https://www.susykamber.com/
Ekphrastic Poetry Explores Art
Sep 11, 2020
Sep 11, 2020 at 12:13 PM UTC