"galleries" poems
I imagine myself with you, M.
I can see myself, happy with you.
I can picture us on our first date,
laughing so hard we hold onto each other for support.
I can picture us walking together,
admiring all the local shops and galleries our town has to offer.
I can picture us holding hands,
and you holding me as we gaze out at sea.
I can picture us snorkeling together,
and how you'll laugh when I inevitably breathe in the ocean.
I can picture us kissing for the first time,
how our eyes will meet,
and how our hearts will explode with excitement.
I can picture us kissing,
and how our bodies will melt into one.
I can picture myself falling asleep next to you,
and how peaceful I will feel when I wake up beside you.
Most importantly,
I can picture myself falling in love with you.
How wonderful life will be with you to share it with.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 1:07 AM UTC
big sweaters, ghibli, acrylic paint, cafes, knit blankets and unplanned afternoon naps on the couch, gardens, bananas, vanilla almond milk, soft yarn to crochet into ****** scarves, candles after midnight, the big trees with bulky roots, patio furniture, pianos in random buildings, the internet, manatees, the boundless colours of nail polish, peanut butter & honey, rubber boots, pens that write well, fresh new notebooks, skylights, american netflix, mothers that understand, tête à têtes, one glass of sweet white wine, awkward eye contact that turns into comfortable kissing, airplanes, fresh air, baseball caps, the female collective, the really good dark chocolate, flowers, pumpkin spice lattes and ***** chai lattes, candid laughter, yoga, oceans, high waisted shorts, striped t-shirts, docile cats, playful pups, french presses, integrity, sunscreen, meerkats, penguins, chameleons, autumn leaves, fall fashion, ruby woo mac lipstick, osho, dynamic meditation, compassion, siblings, scrambled eggs, smart phones, garageband, metronomes, hot glue guns, quinoa, ferry boats, soft hands, bicycles, real people, fat snowflakes in ample, graceful ********** backpacks that don't hurt your shoulders, hair conditioner, multi-vitamins, soft sand under bare feet, people that own up to lies, clarity, samsara, satori, samasati, visions, echinacea, lavender oil and frankincense, ambrosia apples and ripe avocados, authenticity, Morgan Freeman's voice, good kissers, ******* iced tea on a hot day, curtains, the smell of beeswax, art galleries, hand massages and foot massages, reiki, plums, mild thunderstorms, soccer ***** good surprises, when birds don't **** on your head.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
Isn’t physically quick or agile.
Disappears in libraries.
Has been known to dissolve into the physical pages of books.
Is good at tucking herself into the stacks and retreating to reading nooks.
Blends in at coffee shops where her voice can be drowned out by the grinding and the steaming.
Can become indistinguishable in the dark of theatres, in the quiet shuffle of art galleries, the finger-snapping of poetry readings, the hum and jostle of the Tube.
Is indistinct. Adept at hiding in plain sight.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
He didn't need to die to be a ghost
for years he walked these hallways, going unnoticed
he was like a blur to those who passed him
teachers couldn't remember him
No parents to speak of, one day they just never came back.
Average student, never pushing himself
never showing up on anybody's radar
going unnoticed, going unseen
no friends to speak of, no one knew he existed
He was surrounded by hundreds of people
but lived his life not seen
no one saw his tears
no one saw his art
he went unnoticed until the day he died.
Police found him
he couldn't take it anymore
ended it all
he spent his life unnoticed
but he was a brilliant artist
his art was seen
hanging up in some amazing galleries
everyone now knows his name.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
We could scale
snow capped mountains
or tiled rooftops
We could stroll
the halls of grand art galleries
or the city's graffiti stained alleys
We could sip
wine from elegant glass goblets
or instant coffee from chipped cups
We could watch
gala operas and musicals at the amphitheater
or puffy clouds as they float by in the sky
We could look
up to the vast galaxy and its starlight
or down to the metro's sleepless city lights
We could listen
to loud pulsing rhythms at a concert
or to the steady beats of each others hearts
We could go
and roam the world all day
or just stay in each others arms all night.
I can't care less
on what we could do.
Every moment would be
Fun,
Adventurous,
Exciting,
Marvelous
Grand, and
Breathtaking
As long as you are with me
and I am with you.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
Dear Hot Straight Actresses,
Stop playing perfect lesbian characters on TV that cause me to become wet on lonely Thursday nights.
It’s the equivalent of waving double chocolate fudge cake in front of a menstruating woman who has just been diagnosed with type 2 diabetes.
To name a few,
Jennifer Beals as Bette Porter on The L Word.
Stop it!
Naya Rivera as the sassy Santana Lopez on Glee.
Stop it!
Angie Harmon as butch goddess Detective Jane Rizzoli on Rizzoli & Isles.
You may be in the closet but you are gay and stop!
And Sara Ramirez and Jessica Capshaw as the married ****** Dr. Cali Torrez and Dr. Arizona Robbins of Grey’s Anatomy.
You…you keep going. You two give me hope.
Hope that someday my insanely high expectations will be met when my hot art collecting, sassy mouthed Doctor with handcuffs in her back pocket jumps from the screen and onto my sweatpants covered lap.
In this crazy assumption that I’ll end up falling out of an apple tree letting gravity push me into the arms of a woman who fixes my broken sense of reality with a amazing great hair and a wedding proposal.
Missing out on the
Hot barista who gives me an extra large when I ask for a small
or the
Budding **** artist who invites me to her galleries only to realize her muse has oddly the same hips as me.
or the
Best friend who is still stuck in the shadows of my closet.
Nope…didn’t see any of those.
I’m too busy watching the **** tube to see what low cut tops they can get away with before they leave the set and back to their husband and 2.5 kids.
All I’m asking is…
…when is it coming out on DVD?
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 7:17 AM UTC
Please Goddess of the Golden Spark
I'm lost and have no idea where to start
Please Goddess of the Golden Spark
This is why I pray to you
The coffee is ice cold
My father is getting old
The walls are growing mold
And my beer is warm and going flat
I'm suffering from a headache
I feel so out of place
Self-conscious of my pace
But I feel I should ignore all that
Yes Goddess of the Golden Spark
My light for when it's dark
Yes Goddess of the Golden Spark
My maxim that always gets me through
Light up your torch and lead the way
Forget tomorrow and live for today
Disregard what the peanut galleries say
For they're incapable of understanding what you're doing
Do anything and everything, be inspired
Work until you perspire
And reach your deep desires
A task you won't retire even if you've reach your goal
No Goddess of the Golden Spark
The Coyote howls it doesn't bark
I won't neglect, I'll do my part
Opportunities endless, mistakes I know there will be a few
So yes, I know the world is infinite
The sun will shine and the moon will rise
That yesterday is gone and tomorrow has yet to exist
Then we are to discover the unknown
Oh Goddess of the Golden Spark
May today be marked
Oh Goddess of the Golden Spark
Though these times may seem stark
I now embark of my travels
A crusade to find land and sea of new
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
i imagine myself with you, b.
i can see myself, happy with you.
i can picture us on our first date,
laughing so hard we hold onto each other for support.
i can picture us walking together,
admiring all the local shops and galleries the town has to offer.
i can picture us holding hands,
and you holding me as we gaze out at sea.
i can picture us snorkeling together,
and how you'll laugh when i inevitably breathe in the ocean.
i can picture us kissing for the first time,
how our eyes will meet,
and how our hearts will explode with excitement.
i can picture us kissing,
and how our bodies will melt into one.
i can picture myself falling asleep next to you,
and how peaceful i will feel when i wake up beside you.
but,
most importantly,
i can picture myself falling in love with you.
truely.
so let’s break the distance.
oh, how wonderful life will be with you.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 4:59 AM UTC
161
A feather from the Whippoorwill
That everlasting—sings!
Whose galleries—are Sunrise—
Whose Opera—the Springs—
Whose Emerald Nest the Ages spin
Of mellow—murmuring thread—
Whose Beryl Egg, what Schoolboys hunt
In “Recess”—Overhead!
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Look here. I've been admiring the spectacle
of Ng’s bare **** Yes,
this is simply because I have to say
Ng’s bare **** is magnificent.
It’s not a bouncing Botticelli but it’s
a slim, firm bottom, subtly rounded,
real split peach and cream stuff.
And Ng at the other end
is a real nice girl, too!
She's my friend, see?
But back to Ng’s bare **** Let's stay focused.
I contemplate this vision,
along with the meaning of life,
quite often in broad daylight
with a slash of sunlight across her little buns.
This is more profound than the Tait, the Louvre,
the Met, the Frick, the Neue, the Helly, the Hermitage or even
the Natty Portrait Gallery all bunged in together.
Ng's bare **** is also better, by far,
than anything you'll see at the Bolshoi or La Scala.
I’m amazed at how much I’m amazed by
this work of art. It’s awesome.
And I betcha the most famous galleries would
fall over themselves to display this finest little **** that is,
if the world wasn't so hung up with hypocrisy and hysteria,
yeah, it'd be heaps more famous than the Mona Lisa.
Mike T Minehan
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
do not let yourself fall in love with someone who is similar to me. for someone like myself will kiss you at all of the most beautiful places in the world, just like art galleries, beaches, and sanctuaries, because then you will never be able to visit such places again without having the taste of blood lingering in your lips.
do not let yourself fall in love with someone who is similar to me. if it takes remembering your name among the lonesome souls, i would forget my own if it means remembering yours. i will make you believe that storms are peaceful and that suffering is a pleasure. you will be swept away by the yearning in craving over something that is consistently reaching but never ready to hold you.
do not let yourself fall in love with someone who is similar to me. with someone who are reminiscent like me, i will wreck your home and hurl apologies at you, which will break apart on the floor and hurt you when you walk on them. i will come to fret about having loved you so passionately. i will always be regretful that i gave it my all without stopping to consider that i was becoming increasingly hurting so bad and exhausted. i will always be sorry that i let myself be fooled by the illusion of your love.
do not let yourself fall in love with someone that obviously acts like me—loves like me for the reason that they are all ghosts from the pieces you broke in me. keeping your safe distance from someone like me is not something you should consider doing. people like me are time bombs; when my mission is complete, i will spatter sorrow all over your walls in violent hues that would let you regret your door had never known my name. i'll never master the art of being gentle. despite the weight of our shared history, i would not be flushed away by the chapter of our repressed memories. you will never be free of the shadows you left behind. and the ghosts will forever haunt you.
humans will always find a way to end things and leave.
we always do.
and when i am gone, you will fully understand
the reason why storms are named after humans.
Jun 30, 2022
Jun 30, 2022 at 1:28 PM UTC
Edinburgh, oh lovely Edinburgh
I visited you during a Scottish storm
But, it did not deter my fascination with your beautiful rich land,
which I had set out to soak up during my short welcoming stay
I saw castles and monuments
galleries and eateries
even little pubs and alleyways
that tickled my fascination
I took midnight strolls into the backstreets
and met lovely people who equally shared gratitude towards your wondrous land
And so, I leave temporarily at least
with a little something to say
"Thanks for the memories, I'll be back indefinitely,
with more love and awe to share than ever before!"
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 1:31 PM UTC
I'm not an artist but I've opened up galleries with your name painted all over the walls
they're a souvenir encoded in brush strokes of downward spirals and rose tinted tunnel vision
the lights are blaring and my sight is blurred by tears and the street lamp flickers, almost sympathetically
a street lamp can understand, so why can't you?
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
tinyurl-dot-com/d-m-latest-poems
That's a shortcut to my poemhunter poems.
The search my poems option helps ME find my poems.
Visit the standard webpage or the print-friendly text version.
The end of October 2013 has meant quite a few poems were added.
Some were about the Stephen Gayford wildlife prints.
They are being sold on UK TV's Shopping channels.
I visit their websites and view the images and watch the TV demos.
Since joining hellopoetry, I visited several members' blogs and websites.
I've also visited the youtube-dot-com website to see members' videos.
My Stephen Gayford blog is here: denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
I've checked Google for any websites that have used my poetry.
The images search also found lots of fantastic websites, too.
The deviantart-dot-com website features lots of fantasy art images.
They can lead poets to brand new poetry description ideas.
Just use the search site option for a desired poetry topic.
My Fantasy Art click-a-pic slideshow has some Superhero artwork,
view the wonderful galleries here: jennifersjpgs-dot-shows-dot-it
and some of my Superhero poems have been published based on these.
The Google image 'my name' search found lots of images like never before.
Regards, Denis Martindale.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC
The US will drive like the rest of the world,
And declare peace on the Middle East for all times ahead;
Good films and books will be successful;
And punk’s not dead.
Justin Bieber will bottom all the charts; Pink Floyd'll be back together;
Bond will like his martinis stirred, not shaken;
Race, gender, class and orientation will be nonsense words;
And there’ll be no sequels to Taken.
Teenagers will fawn reading Tolstoy and not Meyer;
Old, black men will order the "extra whip, non-fat, caramel latte, venti;"
Art galleries will be closed to people over 21;
And poets will feature in the Top 20.
There will be equal jobs and opportunities for everyone;
Humans will give up on colonising mars and the moon;
We will bring down the imperialistic, capitalist, racist, misogynistic hetero-patriarchy;
And you will love me, tonight at noon.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 8:36 AM UTC
I'm paying tribute to one of the finest Poets I know, Tony Hoagland. He recently passed away from Pancreatic Cancer at 64 years young. This is one my absolute favorites and I believe you'll love it also.
Romantic Moment
After the nature documentary we walk down,
into the plaza of art galleries and high end clothing stores
where the mock orange is fragrant in the summer night
and the smooth adobe walls glow fleshlike in the dark.
It is just our second date, and we sit down on a rock,
holding hands, not looking at each other,
and if I were a bull penguin right now I would lean over
and ***** softly into the mouth of my beloved
and if I were a peacock I’d flex my gluteal muscles to
***** and spread the quills of my cinemax tail.
If she were a female walkingstick bug she might
insert her hypodermic proboscis delicately into my neck
and inject me with a rich hormonal sedative
before attaching her egg sac to my thoracic undercarriage,
and if I were a young chimpanzee I would break off a nearby treelimb
and smash all the windows in the plaza jewelry stores.
And if she was a Brazilian leopardfrog she would wrap her impressive
tongue three times around my right thigh and
pummel me lightly against the surface of our pond
and I would know her feelings were sincere.
Instead we sit awhile in silence, until
she remarks that in the relative context of tortoises and iguanas,
human males seem to be actually rather expressive.
And I say that female crocodiles really don’t receive
enough credit for their gentleness.
Then she suggests that it is time for us to go
to get some ice cream cones and eat them.
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC
They say it's not safe to walk around here
You'll see women standing on street corners
Few drunk mortals and usual dealers
Still, it has a unique flair that's sincere.
Interesting folks spotted at cafes
Nights and on weekends, the scene is alive
Best galleries in town, boutiques survive
A form of art, nothing close to cliches.
The kind of place that gives someone a fright
A misconception for some who can't stand
The riveting darker side of their mind;
It's here geniuses like Baudelaire saw light.
There is something alluring about them
Those society scorn, the marginalized.
Judgmental souls persist; not so surprised
When below the surface waits a poem.
The people here have no care in the world.
Whether it's where they work or their hangout
Here, free spirits do not need to stand out
They think lightly and none shall be bothered.
They say it's not safe to walk around here
It's the truth, one must be a bit careful
But this area, genuinely soulful;
Rather here, red light district I revere.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 4:53 PM UTC
As culled from an arts magazine, 13 March 2019
Socialist Realism - The official doctrine in Soviet art and literature after 1932 that evolved from the traditional commitment to social and civic concerns into an all-pervasive general ideological mandate.
-Yevgeny Yevtushenko, 20th Century Russian Poetry
collective exhibition space vibe community
interactive narrative brown neighborhood
defined commodified Indigenous
identity tone-deaf decolonial
narratives populist intertwined
exhibition curatorial vision
culture local artists arts district small galleries
DIY spaces speaking out against
gentrification displacing shelter
studio space elsewhere late stage capitalism
collective mantra underdog art savior
corporate entity partnering insensitive
ignorant collective brown people art
contemporary work that may not fit
into establishment art galleries
media advisory venture collaborate
creative community authentic
local statement of expression excitement
creative energy arts district project
many levels collaborate local
creative important creative
community what that collaboration
looks like ongoing local artists going
to be engaged in planning commissioned
project community buy-in consulted members of the creative community Indigenous artists curators museum
directors professors burgeoning landscape
cultural framework critique talk individuals
entities inclusivity open
dialogue opportunities project
conversations collaboration discuss
your projects share our work with you
common ground work together healthy sustainable
accountable decolonization
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 5:41 PM UTC
i wander in
art galleries
colourful theme parks
busy streets
dark alleys
looking for someone
i knew once before
and it was you
i have always looked
staring into the abyss
looking for you
maybe i am a soul
destined to be forever
separated from you
you may think
that i might be looking
for someone else
someone i met before
but no
that's not the case.
i stare into the arts
to find me.
i see their smiles
to remind me
of what i was before.
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 10:17 PM UTC
302
Like Some Old fashioned Miracle
When Summertime is done—
Seems Summer’s Recollection
And the Affairs of June
As infinite Tradition
As Cinderella’s Bays—
Or Little John—of Lincoln Green—
Or Blue Beard’s Galleries—
Her Bees have a fictitious Hum—
Her Blossoms, like a Dream—
Elate us—till we almost weep—
So plausible—they seem—
Her Memories like Strains—Review—
When Orchestra is dumb—
The Violin in Baize replaced—
And Ear—and Heaven—numb—
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Remember those city nights we spent
inhaling the marijuana and halal truck tinted air that fills the space
between the skyscrapers?
Glowing storefronts illuminated
both the skies with their stars glistening quietly under coats of dust
and the streets, dense under ***** and ***** spilled by boys
who yell obscenities to girls
who hang their heads low,
ashamed to be happy to have their push up bras appreciated.
It was the summer we read Catcher in the Rye religiously.
We were overflowing with privilege and hating privilege.
Oh god, how we thought we hated privilege back then.
In June we graduated from middle school,
and you found out your father was cheating on the woman
he cheated on your mother with.
In July you kissed a boy for the first time,
even let him feel you up a little.
I couldn't help getting uneasy,
even though you said it was nothing.
Most nights we couldn’t contain ourselves, shouting ideas
fast as the taxi cabs who'd nearly run our still-growing bodies to the ground,
always in a hurry to get home to their own sleeping children.
We raged rebellion against the red lights.
There was no time to wait around for things as unimportant
as people who weren't us.
In August, I took a klonopin pill from my mom’s drawer
because I couldn’t stop the dread beneath my skull.
It made me sleepy.
We were so filled with poems and wine copped at art galleries
where we’d feigned intellectuality,
that we'd see a *** on a subway train
and call him a vagabond.
Back then we thought we knew how life worked
like the palms of each others hands.
By September, albeit, our fingers were calloused
from the time we climbed a playground's wire fence,
twisted the caps off beer bottles,
and swung from the Monkey Bars.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
coffee tastes better in Spain
a simple hello is groundbreaking
comfort can be a warm bed or a “like” of a picture
the cold is different in the UK (you can feel it in your bones)
they will always give you a knife and fork to eat a hamburger
sometimes you need to eat at a Hard Rock in Lisbon to be reminded of home
if you eat the bread, they will charge you 1€
crying alone in a hotel room or at a Chinese restaurant in Italy is perfectly normal
never doubt the power of distance
now you can never say you didn’t try
just because you don’t speak the same language, doesn’t mean **** off” isn’t universal
sometimes sleeping next to someone who peeled your outermost layer off is the most intimate you need to be
“I’ll never see these people ever again”
have pride
ask me now what it is that I want
I have come to loathe all brown bags and black suitcases
vulnerability does not necessarily equal intimacy
remember that you pulled yourself out of the sea
your feet tread castles and cathedrals where thousands walked
art galleries are best enjoyed alone
now you understand when mom and dad don’t answer how agonizing it is
write it down if you want to forget it
acknowledge buried truths
eat paella and shnitzel and pizza and fish and chips and don’t think
go to movies at the tallest cinema
slip a little on the cobblestones
lay for hours on the beach
then
go home
be humble
remember
reminisce
teach
embrace
Glasgow – 1/8/15
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 12:36 AM UTC
i couldn't stand the heat,
spent most of the time in the shade,
everyone made fun
of the guy standing by the pool
reading a book, pretending to
be a sundial;
i was called the whiskey-man;
one night i slept outside
and by the time i woke up my glass
of brandy disappeared;
mingled with the "auctioneers"
of a good time; boy one of those
kenyan girls was hot... oomph,
she looked like oiled coal, slimy bits
and raw ***
i know i was a tourist...
played a stupid drinking game with
two english girls, snogged one
at the end of the game, wasn't invited
back to the room for a *********
spent hours at night looking at the tide
splashing the shore, cried at the painting
so alive all the museums and galleries
became graveyards of appreciation;
it was a holiday resort, i admit,
although one bartender asked me to do
a local tour of the place, go clubbing,
supposedly a colonial ******* i was
upon first reading;
but the heat though! god almighty, couldn't
stand the temperature,
i was literally an ice-cream cone most
of the time, took to the shades,
wrote a short story for my grandfather
about an elephant dunking his trunk into
a bottle of brandy...
one day got chatting to a scottish pair
and a russian couple,
told the scottish guy about travis' 12 memories
album,
i was originally asking for a cigarette,
so we drank and chatted about mickey mouse
politics of america...
the scottish guy eventually ran off and jumped
into the kids' shallow pool veering
on blind-drunk-happy...
another time i too jumped into a pool
with my clothes on...
******* this heat...
ha, hmm, those kenyan macaques were funny
esp. on prompt of being fed on the balcony...
but boy that baboon was a menace,
a real anarchist, charged in like a donkey
with meningitis and stole food...
although one baboon had massive haemorrhoids...
and given his fat pinky *** it was even funnier to watch.
oh yeah, and this guy muhammad wanted
to take me to a crocodile sanctuary of his...
i sort of refused the invitation,
and no, i didn't go on the zoological escapade
of a safari to see the Masai tribesmen...
just gave c. g. jung's modern man in search of soul
to one of the caretakers of the resort.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 7:43 AM UTC
When I was born,
From all the seas of strength Fate filled a chalice,
Saying, This be thy portion, child; this chalice,
Less than a lily's, thou shalt daily draw
From my great arteries; nor less, nor more.
All substances the cunning chemist Time
Melts down into that liquor of my life,
Friends, foes, joys, fortunes, beauty, and disgust,
And whether I am angry or content,
Indebted or insulted, loved or hurt,
All he distils into sidereal wine,
And brims my little cup; heedless, alas!
Of all he sheds how little it will hold,
How much runs over on the desert sands.
If a new muse draw me with splendid ray,
And I uplift myself into her heaven,
The needs of the first sight absorb my blood,
And all the following hours of the day
Drag a ridiculous age.
To-day, when friends approach, and every hour
Brings book or starbright scroll of genius,
The tiny cup will hold not a bead more,
And all the costly liquor runs to waste,
Nor gives the jealous time one diamond drop
So to be husbanded for poorer days.
Why need I volumes, if one word suffice?
Why need I galleries, when a pupil's draught
After the master's sketch, fills and o'erfills
My apprehension? Why should I roam,
Who cannot circumnavigate the sea
Of thoughts and things at home, but still adjourn
The nearest matters to another moon?
Why see new men
Who have not understood the old?
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