#fineart
The wind's fingers reached into his collar,
pinching him with the cold
With another stroke of the paintbrush
The blue mixed with the gold
The walkers who ventured o’re the shore
Stared at the mumbling man
Whose teeth were stained with yellow
And drank to calm shaking hands
The burning lights blurred in the water
Pooling refractions and ripples
He captured the heavenly bodies
As the canvas he covered in stipples
Azure he blended with the indigo,
canary and honey and flax
The cool and the warm melded in one
candle and moon, wane and wax
Soft falls the light in the harbor
The stillness of night overcast
In the river he cleans off his brushes
And turns round for home at the last.
Mar 9, 2021
Mar 9, 2021 at 11:15 PM UTC
Kissing is a Fine Art.
That will.........recite U,
your Tale of Love.
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 7:07 AM UTC
Feeling like Diogenes,
exhausted from extensively searching for an honest man,
a Cynic Philosopher,
with an astonishment for that which is the common man,
which has him hiding way all disgruntled and,
trying to find a way to rewrite regrets and make amends,
by writing amends,
because I’m not fooled by the Commoners sins,
see the opulence on display doesn’t fool me a bit,
opulence is actually a not so thinly disguised belligerence,
actually opulence is belligerence,
most modern day luxuries are all worthless,
most people are too thick to admit this,
but we all know there may not be a higher purpose,
luckily the lethargics are too lazy for skullduggery,
that’s why to this literature I’m in service,
only two I’m loyal to are Legits an literature,
because honestly I don’t feel anyone else deserves bliss,
especially when all these luxuries are actually worthless,
while poems are praised and paintings are appraised priceless,
and when I receive acclaim and praise for these verses,
I often get awkwardly shy & don't reply because I don’t think I’m worth it,
makes me want to flee and retreat to the words,
or go live in a barrel like Diogenes,
because we all die that can’t be denied,
but we don’t all really live life let God be my witness,
we all die,
but we all don’t live again,
though from what I write,
I live forever through this pen,
and until then I will ponder,
as I wander in wonder on the streets I am in,
searching likely fruitlessly,
for that mythical creature, The Honest Man.
∆ LaLux ∆
New Book FREE Here: https://www.scribd.com/document/367036005/The-Sydney-Sessions-12-Steps
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 4:33 PM UTC
How can someone
as simple minded
as you, possibly
understand the
fine art of cutting?
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 9:39 PM UTC