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I need cigarettes
and evenings filled with long sighs

                      and
                                 fragments
                                        mettled
                                          poems
                         and more cigarettes

                          waiting for my angst
                                     to form stanzas

                      tonight I’ll probably just
                                  cough a lot
                                          and go to bed early,

      
            but first I need cigarettes.
oh i’ve been digging.
i don’t smoke cigarettes anymore but its a vibe
this one is a breeze wafting in from a different era
Serendipity Mar 23
To loathe oneself
is an art,
I suppose we
are all artists
one in form or another.
Viji Vishwanath Dec 2019
What a beautiful thing it is !
A Canvas that speaks a lot
Wow ! an artist’s soul
That try to speak a lot
From the window of canvas
To the doors of sky
Till the depth of ocean
In the romancing moonlight
And spreading its vastness
As the fragrance
Of night blooms
Until the sunrise
Again from morning dews
To chirping birds
Snowy mountains
To windy breeze
A moving cloud
And even from rain to rainbow
All is possible
With the tip of a brush
Is a marvellous thing
That depicts an artist’s heart

An art is a creation
Of an artist
Which is made
In different colours
With different paints
And in different shades
But all in one canvas
Makes an effective painting
Which can never die
As an artist’s soul
That is lightning forever
As a magical lantern

Some paintings speaks a lot
Like stories to us
When it starts speaking
The whole image depicts
It’s originality
As an original photo
Of some place
And that really can lost us
Somewhere as in the canvas

Even eyes of a portrait
Speaks a lot
When we stare in that eyes
It seems as the person is gazing
As a living person is standing in front of us
Which feels like a real photo
And it really makes
An unbelievable painting
Which is like giving life
To the non living thing
Within the canvas
By an artist
Or like a flower bloomed
In the hands of an artist

Canvas that speaks a lot
Really shows true heart
Of an artist’s creation
A beautiful creation
By ones own hands
Mesmerise all of us
With no time
Like an original picture
Taken with a camera
Of high resolution
Is something to adore
With the hearts of love

Canvas that speaks a lot
Is a graceful creation
That makes us wonder
Which is a miracle
In hands of an artist
That remains its effect
For life time
And that make
An artist
Different from others

Canvas that speaks a lot
Is a creation of art
When an artist starts
To move his hand on canvas
It starts to speak a lot
From the sincerity of love
To the beauty of a nature
Sparkling eyes of a human
And the depth of a sea
All that beautiful creation
Of Godly things
Is once more painted
With the help of an artist’s brush
Is something that speaks
For a lifetime
With thousands of words
In one image
Is an exemplary
Creation of humane
In a canvas

Canvas that speaks a lot
With voice of heart
Beats in every hearts
And in all eras

An artist is like a lantern
That lightens other lights
And a canvas is a mirror
Of an artist’s soul
That reflects the lights  
For lifetime
Which was once lit
By an artist
With a great deal
Who was owned
By an eloquent soul.
Dedicated to my loving father who was an artist is no more with us. I personally  lived and experienced the life of a canvas with hands of my father is something to adore more than in words. Memories and the paintings on canvas can never die as an artist’s soul.
Julian Delia Sep 2019
Black Friday sales and Christmas deals;
Hot on the next bargain’s trail,
Itching to fill the void the heart feels.
Transactions and agreements,
Trappings, false achievements.
Welcome to the era of the shopping mall;
This is where your dreams hop off to die,
This is their final port of call.

Everything and everyone is a commodity;
Barcoded, plastic-wrapped merchandise,
Categorisation for you and your progeny.
If money doesn’t germinate from its seed,
If it does not clothe and feed,
Then it is not something we need.

We are a philistine’s *******.
We strive to achieve the American scheme;
Delusional and overworked, about to scream,
Believing all of us can be billionaires forever,
As the planet grows hungry and lean.

Or, believing some deserve yachts and limousines,
That some should starve,
Whilst others gorge themselves on fine cuisines.
Believing that society should be divided in layers,
Assuaging our guilt with thoughts and prayers,
When instead, we could have just refrained from leaving others behind.

When everything becomes a commodity,
Art for the sake of making it becomes an oddity.
Poets retire their pens,
And painters put down their brushes -
Apathy and despair fog the lands,
Like irradiated wind corrupting everything it touches.

Singers go quiet, actors go numb;
Musicians will riot, orators will be struck dumb.
When our own turn on us, tell us to get “a real job”,
When “job creators” are done calling us “lazy slobs”,
None of us will be around to point out the irony.

We will go extinct, a dying breed, finally gone;
Life will be succinct, the greedy will have won.
Slay your kings and queens, or remain a pawn.
Tell me I'm wrong.
Justin Aptaker Jul 2019
at last something broke you
and that something, it was you
you were closing your eyes
you were seeing it through

you blew up and sold
the world outside and within
and i fell on your black day
you showed me how to live

you showed me how to die
and no matter how hard i try
to stare at the sun
it is black to my blind eyes

and suddenly my eyes are open
somehow things begin to focus
high

we are all illuminated
light is shining on our faces
blind

until our rapture
falls to pieces

these are stolen
bits and pieces



new york is hot
how i loathe where i'm living
Bharata, you fought
now it's i who is giving
up
and now fly

now fly from your empty cage, girl
you are rust and the sky
always killing the bird
see, i am the night
jesus christ i suppose
see, i am the light

i don't mean to remind you
of anything you gave me in song
you blessed my muse with your light
what you did was so wrong

the light in us was darkness
how the night is so long
light a fire, wait for summer
we black stars wander on

smoldering embers
september's come and gone
here comes my december
half beast
and half gone



broken and cold
but all is still holy
Hallelujah, and through you
yes everything, holy

did we want it darker
so you turned out the light?

now i'm doing time
playing with meter and rhyme
longing to be in the house
of my own secret life

until the sea must free us
i'll wait for you there
you came just to see us
all we sailing where?

all of us sailors
rowers, keep rowing
now no light is showing
now the danger's approaching

row gently, never gently!
upstream to ignite
row never gently!
rage at that night!

oh captain, my lying captain
turn around and take me home
a long time ago
i thought you'd died alone

everybody knows this boat's leaking
all the white horses stopped sleeping
the ponies stopped running
i the band just keep playing
though the girls now are aging

lilac wine, sweet and heady
how my hand is unsteady
how aghast and unready
like my love that is ending
like the last night you danced me

when the music was over
you turned out the lights
you kissed me goodnight
with a thousand goodbyes

still in my dreams you walk dripping
from the sea where i'm slipping
from the sea that shall free me
to my hut that is ripping
through the masterpiece
tripping

how my soul is worn thin
i can't even begin
to speak
so i'll speak no more

and if it be your will
i'll sink beneath your wisdom
like a stone

like a stone
i'll wait for you there

alone
Kai Jun 2019
Did their updates cease
when their minds gave them no peace.

Did the positive become like shadows to the negative haters,
and those who hated became their annihilators.

Their relatability was more than you knew
as your thoughts strangled you theirs also grew

But while you had their expression
their expression left them in a depression

You wondered where they went
Tortured Artists is such a cliche, but it is also often the truth.
A revised version of a previous poem that was messed up and inconsistently done. Shoddy writing on my part then.
Holiday of Light
The holiday celebrating the miracle from a death

A spirit healing itself through his father.

Light had shone down to healing forgiveness

Even to his enemies who inflicted such harm

Upon an innocent and caring profit

Out of fear over what they didn't understand

or felt the jealousy of a brighter mind and heart becoming a source of truer loving leadership

A selfish need of attention

Their demands of forced beliefs of their own failed teachings

Clashed with Jesus’ truer teachings

Life and Growth

The hearts’ leadership that was stronger than Earth’s governors

Lead him to be crucified

Forgiveness even as he suffered to his death

He flew to the heavens

and still sought to bring

the evil ones

up with him to the promised afterlife lands.
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