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Like marble
eloquently crafted.
These sturdy, and tough,
telling of a their labor.
Yet soft, and gentle touches
midst calloused skin,
Doest his hands display.
Please don't let go
What were my hands made for if they're not holding yours?
_

I am a mixed media artist
I gather and pull together
unrealted materials
and objects
that I have found
and exuberantly collected
over years of hunting
and searching

scouring junk stores
secondhand shops
fabric remnants
garage sales
scrap yards
anywhere

all the secret places
these little treasures
these wonderful trinkets
these magical finds
hide

the joy of mixed media art
is the tactile
hands-on thrill
of the creative assembly
of these marvelous found objects

the working through
with small tools
my fingertips
touch

to shape
and ultimately discover
which of these diverse
unrealted items
fit together
just right
physically
and visually

that truly fit

to create a piece
that speaks to me
that coveys an emotional experience
a bold statement

whose experiential whole
really is great

greater than the sum of its parts

a piece of art
that introduces a bit of beauty
into a world that needs it

when I have finally combined
the perfect elements
the concealed personality
of the emerging piece
reveals itself
like a butterfly
emerging from its cocoon

like when you've gathered
just the right mix of words
and a forming poem
announces itself
as perfectly complete

when nothing more
or nothing less
is right

it's exactly like that

that epiphanal moment
that quiet euphoria
that deep satisfaction
of personal accomplishment

mixed media art
is the poetry
of the hands

_


rob kistner © 2018
I have always found the same excitement from creating mixed media art, as I do from writing poetry - that same sense of pride in accomplishment.
I have endeavored here to share how those two ecperiences align for me.
While all art and writing share common creative aspects, I wanted this poem to be specific to my personal experiences and observations.
Piku 2d
i was nervous and my hands were turning cold
thunder and lightening striking bold
you were waiting for me outside
while i'm stuck with a hold
you were dripping wet
i wanted to bring you under my fold
that's when i saw the love of my life
outside my home, wet and cold.
16.8.2018
when you say my name
the sunset blinds me
your beaten hands have never felt my freckles
but the way your words sit in my chest
i know the warmth could last forever
i know this isn’t all in my head

red, blue, yellow cars
i wanna hold your hand in them all

i know it’s wrong for me to keep calling
but when i’m in the dark
laying on the hood of my car
and your music is playing
i can see the fucking stars swaying

who knew distance could make so much noise
but the miles between us scream at me in the night
to drive and drive
until all i see is white in my headlights

and you’re so purple and yellow
with your big t-shirt’s and goofy ass smile
and you’re so red
switching up like the weather
twilight in your eyes
the sun keeping your head up

so ride the train into town
i’ll drive an hour in my junker
just to pick you up
and show you sunsets forever

and that night maybe we can even take a trip
into the lucy skies
and you’ll know what it’s like
to have a bonnie to your clyde

let me plant roses in your skull
and make a bed for you under my skin
so you’ll never know what it’s like
to feel the cold again

i know it’s hell you can’t touch me
but maybe if you open your eyes
you can hear me

i want you to be free
and give you the feeling of dreaming
the feeling you get bombing a hill on a skateboard and it’s all laughter and yellow
or maybe when you’re at a party and it’s late as hell and you’re smoking a cigarette on the porch with a cute girl and you get close enough to smell her skin
the feeling when you wake up in your own bed and it’s been raining for weeks and the sun is shining in and you can feel the warmth on top of your blankets

whatever feeling you crave
wanna give you a piece of me in an unforgettable summer
that will inspire you forever
our song
aquis 4d
b
       r  o
                k e n
is
beautiful
if the hands that touch it
have a beautiful
soul
I was so touched and inspired by a beautiful story I read about a broken Chinese jug✨ Beauty is in the way we choose to see things, rather than the things themselves...
I'll hold your hand until you let go.
The tighter you hold on the longer I'll stay.
But to be honest if our hands lost grip
I'd still stay.
My hands are forever intertwined in yours.
Even if your small fingertips lose touch
I will stay.
I will be mindful of the color or your nails.
And the tremble of your hands from nervousness.
When you let go
just remember
I'll be waiting for you.
We desire a love

that makes us stop on our feet

the eyes follow on dreams we can't
reach

the hands cramp of holding what we can't grip

the heart begins to slow down as she walks by

thats the time you'll realize all things come and go

and the show must go on
Copper
japheth Sep 13
i hope
that when the time comes,
the pieces of
your heart
that were
taken away
from you:

some you gave away
willingly,

but mostly were stolen
and you realizing it was
gone too late,

come back to you in another form.

another face,
another smile,
another embrace,
another set of hands to
hold again,

i hope it does come back to you

— replace what’s been taken

as if it was never broken in the first place.
dana Sep 11
your hands
are the same size as mine
yet they
can hold so much more
than my feeble instruments
my arms however
can lift you heavy
higher than the twisting tendrils of vine
stretching themselves up and out into the sky
on a ten foot trellis
Your hands they grab my arms they lift
together they melt into a wild new assist
hands hold fingers touch brains know hearts must
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