Take a peace of my mind and create art
Her words were concupiscent
Her mind acumen
Her soul anomalistic
Her body seductive
She was pure art
Not really a poem but whatever
floriculturist Oct 2017
i drink philosophy like water,
in hopes of it being the remedy i need.

i’m strong until i’m not;
they say i’ve got sad eyes –
just as i came into this world.

i want to be looked at like i’m art –
i think the best feeling is knowing,
even your most broken pieces,
have meaning and worth.

i don’t really know me,
but i promise i will still try to learn;
and perhaps i will forever be curious,
of the things that are unknown.

you’re the greatest joy and the greatest grief,
i’ve ever tasted –
i’m still trying to figure out how that could be.

sometimes i wonder what i look like to the universe –
or to you, ‘cause all i want is to be seen,
for my old soul.

i’m still sad;
that’s why i write words you don’t understand.

Lily 1d
People frequently ask me,
“Please write this for me?”
“Can you make a character based off of me?”
“Can I be in your story?”
“Will you write a poem for me?”
And every time I get a question like that
I just want to scream,
I want to shout in their ears to
Make sure they understand that
I only write things I’m passionate about.
If it’s not a topic or a character that I am
Willing to put my entire heart and soul into,
I’m not doing it.
Please understand that this art for me is
A release, not necessarily a hobby.
I can’t take requests.
And I can’t control this passion.
My mind is a fireworks display
A single thought shoots out into the dark, infinite abyss, like a rocket against the night sky
Its presence ignites a phantasmagoria of colors and emotion that defy description and belief
A thief in the night alights upon my brow, he is the embodiment of how, who, what, where and why
Birthed from fireworks, he sparks another fire, building the pyre higher
A pied piper, taking aim like a sniper
Firing at the page he creates another cypher
A rhyme so clever it takes years to decipher
After which flees back into the abyss
Formless night returns, a solemn song
But it doesn’t take long for a new show to start
The sky fills up with fiery art
Neurons crackling, cackling laughter from the afterlife
A thunderstorm destroying norms, ripping open conceptual forms
Stitching them back haphazardly, I look and see a radically different reality
From placid and serene to wildly careening
And everything in between at this private screening
All I know is it starts a flow that goes and goes from head to toe for eternity
No time for modernity I blast into the future
Sloppy sutures have wrinkled time
I ride this rhyme around the cosmos
Maybe god knows but I don’t so I close my eyes and glow
In a sidecar on this shooting star, I have so far to go
For more poetry and essays, follow my blog on Medium at
Thanks for reading!
Ashley 1d
those that see beauty in everything feel the most discontent.
there are extreme emotions that one who is creative must process--
an unforced authenticity and tenacity to stay focused on a subject,
and to devote the same amount of attention to each entity, that you lose a sense of self and a sense of the world around you.

we use stress as a way of pushing us forward,
and only in moments of extreme stress does an amazing happening occur.
and for this, we are deemed odd, as a normal person thrives where they are most comfortable.

the originality that visionaries possess is exhausting, yet we admire it.
we allow for many things to flow in our minds without halt,
all notions and ideas taking up precedence, and this may be our greatest fault.

day break to sunset, my mind is racing non-stop, constantly,
to the point that sleep does nothing to quell the overthinking brain,
as my lucid dreams act as a force to keep me awake at night.
my mind is in a perpetual state of fantasy, sometimes during everyday life in bouts of daydreams,
imaging new situations and being unable to describe it all.

when I try to silence the thoughts that persistently flux through my mind,
my talents feel wasted during this time of artistic deprivation,
and only do I feel truly sound when I create new artworks for a few to discern.

sometimes I feel as though my mind feeds off on my depressive states,
as it takes the deepest of emotions to generate proufound art.
while I wish to be happy, I have a need to be in a bit of a sustained disarray.
something I wrote in December
(after my finals)
Xylos 2d
I am,

            WRITING  .   in  .  HIDDEN,


            WRITING  .  to  .  HIDE.

As society
Becomes more and more restrictive
And institutionalized,
Anything goes
In the art world.
You can practically
Kill someone directly,
And call it "Art".
When People destroy the lives of others
To make art
Art critics will still give the Piece
A glowing review!
If we would allow ourselves to be free,
We wouldn't need
So much
Until we liberate our minds,
Liberate our spirits,
And liberate our bodies,
We will only find our freedom
In the Art World.

this I offer you

a brief glimpse into my dreams

captured in this art

a reflection of my soul

and a small piece of my heart


rob kistner © 2018
Tanka - A contemplation on selling my art.

our tent clean and white

our soft sculptures on display

patrons at the gate

handmade beauty thrills the eye

selling at art festivals


rob kistner © 2018
Tanka - contemplating our joy as artists, exhibiting and selling our creations.
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