"illustrator" poems
Why scrawl any
pattern or
family of bitemarks
or caresses
The illustrator has
children of his own
and loud red
wine to waste
Visiting your birthplace
in your example
suggests antique
weaponry
Through sublime sense
Puritan watershed
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 2:22 PM UTC
Silly, silly, silly me.
To think I'm free, and that I'll be somebody?
Silly, silly, silly me.
You can't be free, and that's just it,
All you are is 'somebody.'
Some-body.
"Some body."
But that's not true!
Look at Trostky and Lenin,
Michael Myers and Lennon,
The other Lennon.
It's hard to differentiate in name and legacy,
Because both Lennon's were revolutionaries,
Marching around like the freshman from heaven.
But neither believed they were the result of divine intervention in the affairs of man,
Because this convention would threaten their worldview and beckon away their sanity...
In the same way that the Pope or ****** let their divine vanity commit greater blasphemy and bring them future agony.
Now neither Lennon nor Lenin came anywhere close to being men from Galilee,
In fact they were more the men of the galaxy,
Or at least, John was, with his peach fuzz beard and his belief that love is greater than fear.
The other Lenin implemented the New Economic Policy, to starve the proletariat and start his revolution on an already hypocritical trend that would continue quite the same until the very end.
And it proves something, does it not?
Violence sends a message to no one but the instigator,
Changing them to justify, and claim is wasn't misbehavior;
But that's a lie, no idea of mine is worth the death of a human mind,
And to pretend otherwise makes one delude themselves that they aren't an instigator, but an illustrator,
Painting in the blood as if ****** makes an innovator.
And for ****** there is no vindicator,
Violence is an image breaker,
Indulged in by poor imitators who think they're right, and the world is wrong.
Unaware this makes them weak, not strong.
Now John Lennon was the true revolutionary;
Although he succumbed to violence, he veered away from it, even when it was necessary.
He fought the war, and yes, the war did win,
But at least he didn't cover his scars with artificial skin,
Or deny his implicit wrongs as a result of all original sin.
John Lennon used the word 'nigger' to the opposite effect.
He used the word to trigger something bigger and correct,
The wrong that seemed so propagated by the last colonial tide,
Of which the other Lenin defected and took colonialism's side.
John Lennon was Utopian and told us of a better world;
He interjected definition, and caused old thoughts to curl away in fright,
And bite the dust despite their might and past dominion of industrialism,
It was a schism, and it still plagues us to this day.
John Lennon understood we over-complicate way
To
Often.
Silly, silly, silly me.
To think I'm free, and that I'll be somebody?
Silly, silly, silly me.
You can't be free, and that's just it,
All you are is 'somebody.'
Some-body.
"Some body."
"Some body" is something,
And some body can change the world.
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 1:34 PM UTC
Lucid, abusive
Tongue in cheek divine
Stupid, elusive
Lost soul of mine
A snap of orchestral fingers to summon the suave illustrator
Mohawk punks and minions to smash the limp masturbator
Loveless, acquiesce
Arpeggio flutter ripples
Convalesce, Fancy dress
******* with perky *******
One or two drinks, make it three then five
Keeping the blood warm and love alive
Visceral, peripheral
Dark raven hair
Liberal, scriptural
I couldn’t even care.
I adored her all, her everything, her gleaming demeanor
The subtle wink of her eyes, the glow; even greener
Exotica, ex machina
Street amazon of desert glass sand
No drama, rural karma
Flesh sweating like the heat of Sudan
Dead singers like Cole and Morrison sing of paper moons and Crystal Ships
The mixed CD segues to U2, Pulp, and then a full disk of The Flaming Lips.
"Nightingale", minor scale
The saxophonist played under the street lamp outside
Folktale female
“Another drink?” she abides, two glasses and wine supplied
On her balcony we watched and listened, to the call of urban passion
The wordless music we adored, a testament to our mutual attraction.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
Aquiver mellifluous ineffable hiraeth nefarious somnambulist epoch sonorous serendipitous limerence bombinate luminescence ethereal illicit petrichor iridescent supine aurora solitude syzygy phosphenes oblivion ephemeral incandescence denouement vellichor eloquence defenestration Sondra effervescence cromulent cellar-door debridement
Illustrator icon verdant cerulean aeneous albicant amaranthine azuline argent chartreuse damask ferruginous haematic hyacinthine ibis ochre primrose russet sanguineous virescent mystborn transcendence
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
Don’t let the last name fool you of Greene
As you continue to read, you will understand what made him structured lean
Mr. Greene was a man who won International Federation of Bodybuilders of MR. WORLD title twice
There were times when Mr. Greene called Joe Weider and asked for advice
It was intensity with the weights
Then taking in food protein and drinking protein shakes
Mr. Greene is a personal friend of mine
He used to tell me stories of bodybuilding ways
Also stay away from drugs and go astray
Yet he was every bodybuilder’s friend
But on the Bodybuilding stage, it was about the win
Mr. Greene’s muscles were his voice on stage
In the audience, it was the posing that did amaze
It left the audience and Judge’s in a daze
It was his proportion being the fine line
Then it was the repetitions that contributed being combined
Under the spotlight, Mr. Greene was the terminator
But it was his posing being the illustrator
Franklyn Greene was focused down to the finish
This is what makes him distinguished
A Bodybuilding champion who was meant to be
The world witnessed and was able to see
Mr. Greene made Bodybuilding everything that it should be
He is now retired from competition, but continues to train
Bodybuilding in his heart still remains
His motto, “Train with focus and eye on detail”
Franklyn Greene who did achieve and many bodybuilding awards he did receive. Accomplishments with many wins, and with a past being a milestone, but the name of Franklyn Greene who is still known.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 12:21 PM UTC
Hello friends! This is my first bilingual book.HAMMER @ ANVIL BOOKS released my book of poems as e-book on AMAZON Kindle: http: //www.amazon.com/A-Feather-of-Fujiyama-ebook/dp/B 00E5XY5PO/ref=sr_1_1? s=digital-text&ie;=UTF8&qid;=1374938945&sr;=1-1
Special thanks to Vessislava Savova (translator) , Mercedes Webb-Pullman (Editor) , Adam Henry Carriere (Editor) , and my daughter Liliya Pangelova (illustrator)
All proceeds from the sale of this collection will go to the Bulgarian Integrated Education Foundation, working to improve the lives of children and youth with special health and educational needs (including mild Down syndrome, autism / autistic spectrum, cerebral palsy, language-speech disorders, and hyperactivity) and their families.}
Thanks for your support everyone! I wish you happiness and good reading.
Bozhidar Pangelov
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 4:04 AM UTC
I will be someone special
I might be the next Fortune CEO or Michael Angelo
Whatever it is I will be someone special
I might be the next Maya Angelou or Langston Hughes
You may laugh but in the future Ill look down on your *** *** and say I told you I will be special
I might be on the next Sports Illustrator with my face all in the papers
If I know anything it is I will be someone special
I might be the next bright intellectual mind who discovers something divine
Whatever it is I feel that I will be special
Theres a chance I can be a religious figure or a spiritual enlighten guru who you will come to for excellent advice
I just got a feeling I will be someone special
I might be the next Steve Jobs or Bill Gates who will create something that will cause a national debate
Im telling you I will be someone special
I might be a Political mastermind who creates laws to stop crime or a powerful Military figure who you see in the street and say he is my hero
If you don't got it figure out by now I will be someone special
My future is bright
I will cherish life because,
Deep down inside I know I will be someone special.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC
Between dim lights behind and
the streetlamps below, here,
shades of darkness where
my shadow mingles with
those of the chairs and the vase,
the lamp, and the cyclic rhythm
of the shadow of the fan
that slices moments to pieces,
to the music of the gushing waves;
As you are busy illustrating slices
of life down there, you Señora,
stand illustrated, in these loving
shades of grey and black;
Now the wind travels far
beyond where the sky in her tunic
adorned of stars takes a dip
in the sea; These clouds, like me,
travel miles to weep by this same sea
that washes their native shores.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 12:05 PM UTC
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Debbie
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC
Subdued and serene,
His eyes feast on the
Crowd gulping down
Their sprits with haste;
A sea of faces clinking
Glasses and ******* face—
Transparent beings who
Masquerade as Players,
Kings and Queens,
Sexpots and Swankers.
His kaleidoscopic
Mind captures their
Emptiness and
Art is born on canvas
Through his piercing
Gaze and careful
Paint strokes
Observing they
Who cannot observe
For themselves.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
Your face shows thee an illusion of the happiness long sought by tears
of retribution. A elusive traveller of contentment lost. That prominent
illustrator of false satisfaction and materialism. Proprietor of everything
yet possessor of nought.
Envied forever, pursued by the blindness of the ravenous follower. Yet
not for such trivialities as love or companionship. That one jewel that you
have always required, hunted for over a lifetime, yet never owned. Instead
they sprawl at your Midas touch.
You repulse now, exiled by your own commitment to fortune and
eminence. Words of greed and fortune once uttered became truth, your
own prayers answered and for this you now recoil. Ashamed at your own
self-indulgence and gluttony.
You have seen love, felt its breath. Wondered at its divine beauty, yet only
through imagination and dreams can you ever lay your hands upon it. Only
through delusion do you experience the exquisiteness of touch that lover
and love maker shall ever feel.
You have endeavored to grasp its finery, strived to gain such knowledge.
You have precious trophies, love laboured perfect sculptures of the
untouchable efforts you have made. Entire fortunes of love surround you,
mementos, untouchable memorials of your heart.
A lifetime as pursuer yet never as owner. You have everything yet nothing.
Your only certainty lurks around you, silently waiting for its payment, its
shadow almost upon you. It has followed you for millennia with hands only
now making grasp.
As you await your demise, wrapped in cloaks of golden flake and covered
in sheets of ingot, it appears to you. This long shadow calls to you, clad in
robes of blackened textile, awaiting its prize. So you breathe your last breath
as death exacts its toll.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
You're the only one I've ever known to stare
at the face of the clock on your wrist,
carefully following the
tick.
tick.
tickin.
just so you could brag about
what every two-eyed person missed--
catching the minute hand move, in its slight little twitch
or maybe it was the hour
I fail to remember which.
Saw it with your own two eyes you said to me while
smiling
and i shook my head in disbelief,
amused at that tricky timing.
I looked at you and thought some thoughts
of how your you-ness has always been
a what you get is not what you see,
your patience forever a complexity,
and your determination, the perplexor
needs its own personal illustrator
.
You've always known where you were headed
but you also made sure that you'd take
the longest, most
loopingly,
w
i
n
d
i
ng-est,
weirdest path
to get and eat life's cake.
I knew I couldn't follow you
but well I gave it a try
and when you finally put your wings on
I was just happy to see you fly
Aug 10, 2011
Aug 10, 2011 at 9:38 PM UTC
1.
The non peril writer,magnificent illustrator,
dexterous editor,all in one of the book of life,
each one, each page,each edition looks and reads
different, yet one in essence, though flavors vary.
We hear you speak every tongue,Latin, Arabic, Hebrew
and in sonorous Sanskrit,you make us chant"Earth is one nest"
2.
Such profuse creativity baffles one and all, ever
is your prime possession; manifestation as well!
The nebulous one, present in each cell,each neuron,
well, everything ever appeared,anywhere in cosmos,
we attempt to know you in myriad means, give you names
that pleases us, we try to possess you in ways even mean.
We hallucinate our cameras of mind, captures you right
with the eyes of science; you still prove to be like music.
3.
In our limited resources allotted by neuron collectives,
we make you sit on the throne, of the architect of cosmos,
that evolves and emerge,and itself erases when time is ripe.
The artistic painter of emotions, that has been baffling,
the mix of color happens without any guide book.
sans blue print of any kind or elaborate plan to execute.
4.
You have no designated place to live, in spite of our wishes
you are omnipresent , the string, player as well as music,
your thought work we all are, weaved in to one from
strands of of ancient DNA things preserved,through ages!
Oh! the one that's beyond the realms of winning /losing
the subtlest of all the sublime that in every heartbeats chant,
love to be a work of art that pleases you, in me present,
5.
Help me from within, in my dissolution as colors,varied
be the painter too and to become that work of art pleases you.
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 9:04 PM UTC
In the hands of authors,
we are characters.
In the hands of illustrators,
we are imperfections to be fixed.
We people
Controlled by rulers,
modeled by peers,
"perfect" behavior by elders
never ourselves
We people
We people
need creativity
need reality
need freedom
need to be ourselves
There is no author
no illustrator
We are real
and free!
We do our will
not theirs
You write your own story
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
In our imagination, we imagine various situation.
To some, it's a fairy tale.
To others, it's goal to accomplish, as being.
Similar to a love of a distant dream.
We imagine the face of that someone.
We imagine the eyes of that someone.
We become an illustrator laying down that image of a love of a distant dream.
What others hopes for?
We are determine to make real.
What others wish for?
We determine to make known.
And while many never come close to their truth.
Least, they know in their sleep they can imagine that lover of a distant dream.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 11:17 AM UTC
Do you get discouraged when you write?
Do you feel that when you write people are being too polite?
The bottom line if you can distinguish letters and turn them into words
You are thinking with an imaginary surge
If you can write a business letter then you know how to write
If you imagination takes you to a place then you know how to excite
The statement is writing with authority and taking your thoughts with what you know
Remember you are the illustrator being the show
The inventor with a surprise mind
Use whatever creative resources that is combined
Settle for but keep thinking as you explore
Negativity is something you should ignore
Turn the knock at the door and write like never before
The refreshing breeze while standing on the shore
A writing tablet offering you expelling ideas
Destiny with a journey
Business at hand with the pen
Never say you can’t
Start with efforts in try and it will determine you can
The knock out punch with your writing starting at once
When other people try to discourage you and say you can’t write
Tell them don’t be jealous and uptight
Negative thoughts means some people aren’t bright
Follow your dreams and go with your heart
Take your hand and just write until done
Join the many Poets and Writers and be among
Write about what you know or how you feel
You control the dialog in being a big deal
Your Coach says write until when and conclude at the end
“Your Writing lives and you survived your own muse”.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 6:57 PM UTC
writing to me opens many doors, windows and worlds.... I am the creator I am the illustrator I am the one I am the only I am a Poet.... words form sentences create .... thoughts and ideas are processed into many options... I do it because I love it I do it because I care I do it because it comes naturally... this is me and I am it... I am a poet of many forms.
take all of me for who I am.... I am a Poet!
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 8:40 PM UTC
Poised quill in hand,
Tip in the ink-well dipped,
Page by turned page,
Words paint a picture,
Stories unfold,
Imagination unleashed.
Cleaned brush in hand,
Bristles mixing colors,
Hues emerge upon the palette,
Strokes create a story,
An image takes shape,
Imagination into a masterpiece.
Sharpened pencil in hand,
Sketching upon the tablet,
Circles and lines create form,
Fingers smudge lines,
Subject unveiled,
Imagination into portrait.
Ink pen in hand,
Page filled with lines,
Time and key,
Notes create a melody,
Score of emotion,
Imagination of music.
The artists are unbound,
Author of fueled stories,
Painter of fueled images,
Illustrator of fueled portraits,
Composer of fueled music,
Artists with one commonality,
Fueled by the Power of Imagination.
Jan 21, 2025
Jan 21, 2025 at 4:27 PM UTC
I didn't become an illustrator by choice
the slip of words,
the heat of cheeks,
the clothing I adorn,
an illustrator, an imposter
a viel drifting in anticipation
for the yonder and all
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 12:59 AM UTC