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Zywa Apr 29
Come in, I kiss your eyes
I'll show you everything
Take your time, come as often as you like
and you will leave satisfied

Take a bath
in all my colours – soft
like powder brushes they caress
your look

I embrace your attention
with the gold of history
Here everything is
forever young

Unconditionally, I fold myself
to your needs
I give
images you'll never forget

Be surprised, enchanted, thrilled
Come inside and flow
through me
I'm there for you
Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam

Collection "The migration"
Zywa Apr 28
Prosperity in city and country, see
the light under the clouds in the showroom
of earthly paradise, see

a glimpse of ourselves
in the looks of those days
the beauty of their attention

their desires
in younger years of the world –
the same as ours

We process and preserve
we build and improve
we create the beauty

in which we want to live
Here it is collected, see
it is good
Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam

Collection "The migration"
Zywa Apr 26
The world a maze
under the nut tree
in this well-arranged garden

Follow a path
learn how it goes
what is important

Travel with strangers
experiencing the secret
with our senses

And reach further
re-create the world
beyond our lives

This is our world
how it was and can be
carefully we reach

For beauty and stories
we reach
for contact

With other lives
we connect
we connect
from heart to heart
Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam

Collection “The migration”
Jason Apr 20
I got this idea I would write you a poem,
One you could read sitting safely at home,
Or keep with you out and about while you roam.

A poem about all of the memories I held sacred,
Laughing, singing, kissing, and cuddling in bed,
One to remind you our time wasn't wasted.

So I laced up my heart and I shrugged on my soul,
I popped open my noggin and I went for a stroll,
Right down Memory Lane and left at the Rabbit Hole.

I kept on goin' 'til I hit a velvet rope with posts of brass,
But I musta gotten too close to the bulletproof glass,
Cause a big grumpy guard threw me out on my...

I realized, still rolling, it's all one massive museum,
Motionless memories mummified so I can keep 'em,
Lined up and locked away, as if someone would steal 'em.

Arduously ordered, organized for instant access,
A mental palace fit to make even Sherlock jealous,
That Dewey Decimal dude don't got nothin' on this.

The slide shows replay every minute on the minute,
Time-compressed and Tetrised-in so each moment fits,
Bio-digitally encoded on neurode and inked onto skin.

Tear-rusty gears grind waterlogged cogs in reverse,
This melancholy machine made to reflect you in verse,
Is a planetarium perpetually projecting my universe.

I made it home before I began, but forgot to start,
Which makes me a little sad, but paradoxically, it's the best part,
Because nothing I could say would rival the poem in my heart.

© 04/20/21 Jason R. Michie All Rights Reserved
To experience something through another's eyes.               
So different, yet the same,         
like McCartney and Lennon,               
like jam and jelly.                       
Different characters featured in paintings,                              
the cast in an artist's tv show.                                        
Some sitcoms, some dramas,
and others a genre of their own.                           
There’s Madonna’s and their babies,           
looking innocent as the bible.     
Why is it that baby Jesus         
in Renaissance paintings             
always gives me nightmares?                                          

The self portraits take their place
among the respected walls of color.
Their eyes draw you in,
burning holes in your skin.
They seem to appear wise.
Looking old as the moon,
but with significantly less bumps and crevices.

The modern pieces stick out,
like a lone spoon in the knife drawer.
They appear more youthful,
wrinkle-free and vibrantly alive.
“A child could have made this”,
I hear someone say.
What a beautiful thought to have.
Star BG Jan 29
I peered into the many corridors of my heart and found a museum of memories waiting to be examined. Some I craved, as they carried me into landscapes of smiles and sweet breezes. Others were framed in emotions with dark shades that made me inspect briefly before moving on.
Ticket to my museum was a simple breath and the time to drift in chamber walls. And as I did moving spiraling energies time dissolved into my naked self.
inspired by Ashley K
Naveen Malhotra Oct 2020
Rasputin's ***** is unique
Preserved in Russian
Museum of Erotica
Thirty centimetres long
One wonders
To a human it belonged
Mad Monk he was known
1869 he was born
At 42 he was in close
Proximity to the Queen
Historians believed
He seduced noble women
His influence had grown
Offence Aristocrats had shown
They planned his ******
Poision, cake and wine were offered
Frozen river his body thrown
Preserved his ****
For posterity to come
Not only for its size
Horrible consequence
Of its misuse to be precise
Warning writ large on the ****
Men never misuse your stick
Russians take pride over
Having the biggest one
Americans' presevation
Of Napoleon Bonaparte's
Just a 'pod'
Some living ones
Claiming as long as
Forty five centimetres
Turned out to be fake
Do they consider themselves 'Donkeys'?
One wonders
Blue whale is the real king
With **** as long as
Eight feet
Rasputin immortalized
For his misdeeds
With a **** of one foot
Leaving clear message
To the posterity
Never misuse theirs'
Or meet Rasputin's fate
To know about the Russian Museum of Erotica and see the photo, google.
maria Aug 2020
my day
a museum
of disappointments
and I'm
the biggest tragedy
in the shelves
lately struggling with insecurities in a wolrd full of disappointments

Yours, marie
written on August 29, 2020
© ,Maria
Aneesh H Aug 2020
Memories of a railroad era, bygone,
Nearly seven score years ago
Stories carried on the wheels,
With the coal and grain to go

A saga of the rail,
Now and again told
The charm of this tale,
Never growing old

Of modernity and mystery,
A kaleidoscopic visage:
An ensemble of hope and history,
A treasured, eclectic heritage

The railfan’s fervor: in full galore
In silent splendor, the glories of yore
In this humble house, come awake
A radiant reminiscence evokes!
Recently, a Railway Heritage Museum was opened at Hubballi, Karnataka: the HeadQuarters of South Western Railway. Hubballi or Hubli is a twincity of Dharwad, the erstwhile HeadQuarters Office of Southern Mahratta Railway, which was a private Railway Company founded in 1880s during British Colonial Rule.
I wrote a poem for the Museum, which is framed as a permanent exhibit on the Museum Wall!
Kalyx Jul 2020
In every art and artifacts,
I'll still find that is pleasing to my eyes,
Like seeing lychee that makes want to crave,
Craving for resentment in someone's eyes,
Turns out I was seeing myself in solitude,

This time, it was no ordinary day,
I think of every word I have to say,
But I had none to lay,
Instead of laying in those eyes,
Thinking myself what I bargained,
To be the highest bidder.

Meaning to say, I wasn't looking at any art,
I saw something that pleased my eyes,
In a quiet place that made it felt like home,
Glass panes are all I can see but a single sight to see.

A sight that I won't lose till its wings spread
A statue that I'm willing to mold by a thread
Humanity restored in my eyes.
By a single whip of your coiffed hair

Like the morning brew that struck me
By the color of your hair, that is full of bliss
Nevertheless, I'll still get lost in those eyes
Making every gaze in my mind
A dream that i made, to get lost by the so-called life
Moments that i'll spend, for me to keep it from being tainted
Savoring every beauty till i faint.
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