#paiting - Hello Poetry

Van Gogh wanted to mix a material rainbow of colors From primary red, yellow and blue in the sense of divine. In the Holy Light, the love time of the flower clock discolors. The empty glasses on the tables lack the Holy wine. The ideal round tables assume their infinite regress, While huddling down in a stupor the lonely men around. Their eyes do not see the sense of life and true noblesse. From a corner view, silent colors search for the sound. Tables for awakening, for life and for the fate's game. In life, a complete circled awareness needs time. In many forms, the epitome of tableness is the same. It keeps a purple silence for the painted mother of thyme. This irreconcilable demon -woman hung on the left wall Needs that freedom engraved on the emerald green door. The watch on her hand shows the time for a masked ball. Destined never to meet are the parallel lines on the floor. Love is for completing the time as pink is for the emerald green. In the mirror, this nuance of green reflects the sadness of life. Against the red, pink and white, in games, the cue tip can lean, Because all the main complementary colors are at strife. The white coat of the waiter is a symbol in the glow of the lamp. The perspective looks somewhat downward toward the floor. Extending to new dimensions, Eve sits or she just up to vamp. The flowers wither and the life disappears after an endless war.

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Nov 17, 2014

Nov 17, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC

marieta-maglas

Ekphrastic Poetry- Van Gogh -Night Cafe

Van Gogh wanted to mix a material rainbow of colors From primary red, yellow and blue in the sense of divine. In the Holy Light, the love time of the flower clock discolors. The empty glasses on the tables lack the Holy wine. The ideal round tables assume their infinite regress, While huddling down in a stupor the lonely men around. Their eyes do not see the sense of life and true noblesse. From a corner view, silent colors search for the sound. Tables for awakening, for life and for the fate's game. In life, a complete circled awareness needs time. In many forms, the epitome of tableness is the same. It keeps a purple silence for the painted mother of thyme. This irreconcilable demon -woman hung on the left wall Needs that freedom engraved on the emerald green door. The watch on her hand shows the time for a masked ball. Destined never to meet are the parallel lines on the floor. Love is for completing the time as pink is for the emerald green. In the mirror, this nuance of green reflects the sadness of life. Against the red, pink and white, in games, the cue tip can lean, Because all the main complementary colors are at strife. The white coat of the waiter is a symbol in the glow of the lamp. The perspective looks somewhat downward toward the floor. Extending to new dimensions, Eve sits or she just up to vamp. The flowers wither and the life disappears after an endless war.

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we cannot be rid of our Shadows, our Shadows will always lie behind us, our pasts are Shadows we can't escape even though the Shadows are not always in sight, they never leave us our Shadows, our pasts, are always a part of us, like in this, the Shadow of the bird's beak seems to be the beak itself the outline around this bird resembles a pedestal, raising this dead dove above the ground the darkness of the bird itself makes you see the Shadows as a part of it I can hear the waves just beyond the bird was so beautiful, and now it's dead I wonder what it looked like flying. . .

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Jan 28, 2015

Jan 28, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC

hayleybear12

even in death

we cannot be rid of our Shadows, our Shadows will always lie behind us, our pasts are Shadows we can't escape even though the Shadows are not always in sight, they never leave us our Shadows, our pasts, are always a part of us, like in this, the Shadow of the bird's beak seems to be the beak itself the outline around this bird resembles a pedestal, raising this dead dove above the ground the darkness of the bird itself makes you see the Shadows as a part of it I can hear the waves just beyond the bird was so beautiful, and now it's dead I wonder what it looked like flying. . .

13

You never had fear, Never knew this feeling, Too fierce and joyful, For it to linger and bug you, While it did thoroughly check, In your lil, flowery agenda, It never found the spot, Never found the base For it to land freely. I conceive reality is wider, I lived the endless nights, Observing the shimmering waves, Talking under the bright moon, But my truth is as it is, In a room deprived of sun You'd sing, And look for a match. You'd count your stories With a blissful shining smile, Let your wonderful laugh Fly high and lull the doves, You'd gracefully sculpt colours, Over charming paths we'd walk, Artfully drawing the sunlight, And paint a random gray monday Into the best day of the week. I'm so grateful for it all, Your precious ojitos Lighting mine, Cada dia que fue, Y gracias por eso, Little bird.

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Apr 18

Apr 18, 2026 at 9:08 AM UTC

TheClumsyGardener

Little Bird of Light

You never had fear, Never knew this feeling, Too fierce and joyful, For it to linger and bug you, While it did thoroughly check, In your lil, flowery agenda, It never found the spot, Never found the base For it to land freely. I conceive reality is wider, I lived the endless nights, Observing the shimmering waves, Talking under the bright moon, But my truth is as it is, In a room deprived of sun You'd sing, And look for a match. You'd count your stories With a blissful shining smile, Let your wonderful laugh Fly high and lull the doves, You'd gracefully sculpt colours, Over charming paths we'd walk, Artfully drawing the sunlight, And paint a random gray monday Into the best day of the week. I'm so grateful for it all, Your precious ojitos Lighting mine, Cada dia que fue, Y gracias por eso, Little bird.

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