"painterly" poems - Hello Poetry

She was a lovely looking thing, A beautiful young blonde girl/woman She hadn't been with us long... at work She was smart and sassy, even a little scary Held strong opinions on some things, She lived close to where I lived, only a few miles away So I was sitting amongst them one day, the girls/the ladies They were a little bored that day and for some sport Were trying to draw me out, to get me to open up a little To reveal some more about my ways and my life So I thought I'd have some fun with them I told them I did some painting as a hobby And that my speciality was 'the female Nude' But alas! I had a problem, I had no one to sit for me "If only I had some beautiful nymph, some haughty Queen, some dazzling princess", I lamented And then I'd gaze over at Her, give her a longing look, Then of course, someone upped and said the obvious " Jen....don't you live close to where he lives, would you not go sit for him " My face it lit up and I smiled "No! I would not!!! she said emphatically, disgusted Now I knew from the Christmas party she liked to drink Gin So I said enticingly "I'll throw in a few bottles of Gin" "I'd never pose **** for anyone", she replied again emphatically, "it'd be embarrassing, it'd be degrading! Sitting naked before some man!", " But ", I replied, " you wouldn't be embarrassed sitting for me 'Cos when I paint a **** I insist on being in the **** myself as well So as to make my Sitter feel more at home, more at ease Yeah, Me! I'm very... Avant Garde" (said with a devilish twinkle in my eye) Still she resisted my painterly charms So as to further entice her I said "I'll even cook you breakfast, no one can resist my lovely sizzling sausages". I felt as though I'd dangled my carrot right in her face But still she wouldn't take the bait. I suppose I was lucky she hadn't for if she had of (agreed) I would have had to have learnt how to paint Nudes real fast And how to cook sausages and other breakfast repast.

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Apr 18, 2020

Apr 18, 2020 at 9:38 AM UTC

bardo

**** with Violins

She was a lovely looking thing, A beautiful young blonde girl/woman She hadn't been with us long... at work She was smart and sassy, even a little scary Held strong opinions on some things, She lived close to where I lived, only a few miles away So I was sitting amongst them one day, the girls/the ladies They were a little bored that day and for some sport Were trying to draw me out, to get me to open up a little To reveal some more about my ways and my life So I thought I'd have some fun with them I told them I did some painting as a hobby And that my speciality was 'the female Nude' But alas! I had a problem, I had no one to sit for me "If only I had some beautiful nymph, some haughty Queen, some dazzling princess", I lamented And then I'd gaze over at Her, give her a longing look, Then of course, someone upped and said the obvious " Jen....don't you live close to where he lives, would you not go sit for him " My face it lit up and I smiled "No! I would not!!! she said emphatically, disgusted Now I knew from the Christmas party she liked to drink Gin So I said enticingly "I'll throw in a few bottles of Gin" "I'd never pose **** for anyone", she replied again emphatically, "it'd be embarrassing, it'd be degrading! Sitting naked before some man!", " But ", I replied, " you wouldn't be embarrassed sitting for me 'Cos when I paint a **** I insist on being in the **** myself as well So as to make my Sitter feel more at home, more at ease Yeah, Me! I'm very... Avant Garde" (said with a devilish twinkle in my eye) Still she resisted my painterly charms So as to further entice her I said "I'll even cook you breakfast, no one can resist my lovely sizzling sausages". I felt as though I'd dangled my carrot right in her face But still she wouldn't take the bait. I suppose I was lucky she hadn't for if she had of (agreed) I would have had to have learnt how to paint Nudes real fast And how to cook sausages and other breakfast repast.

59

Pompous: "Oh God, no, not another shallow rhymer, fitting each word to its neat little place. Oh God, no, not another painterly composition with planal directions going round and around or leading that way and this. They did that in the past; get to the new. Make sure the reader or viewer knows that the masterful knows more than than the masterful lets t/h/r/o/u/g/h/ out. Disdain extenuating weakenings caused by straining for clarity or unnecessary exertions in expressions of cohesion. Words, though plain, arouse astonished wonder by nonchalant impenetrable shufflings. Be clued-in, be bold, be tough and show it when you sculpt the clay. When shaped, use your trowel to scratch the surface, evoking even more obscurity. Toss it off in broad strokes of masterful negligence. Be above the miniscule. By these means show in shadowy hints the profundity that winks beyond merely ordinary restrictions. Break the barriers, fly the constructive. Those old shackles lie about the world. Show you ain't no conforming sissy. Display in impatient referenceless strokes Your forceful awareness of the world as known." Facetia: "Oh? A world which evidences no form and structure in living creatures; no eons of effortful evolution; Forests have no ecology, and laws of nature aren't for binding. Mind never happened, spirit's a farce, unions only expedient plottings. Lessons of history describe the disruptive; it's what you grab and who you club; others are only take or be taken. Show 'em who's boss, stash it away, it's dog eat dog until there's nothing. Shake it all up and break it all up. It's only entropy."

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Mar 21, 2010

Mar 21, 2010 at 7:17 AM UTC

roberta-schulberggoro

The Modern Development of Ersatz in the Arts - A conversation between Pompous and Facetia

Pompous: "Oh God, no, not another shallow rhymer, fitting each word to its neat little place. Oh God, no, not another painterly composition with planal directions going round and around or leading that way and this. They did that in the past; get to the new. Make sure the reader or viewer knows that the masterful knows more than than the masterful lets t/h/r/o/u/g/h/ out. Disdain extenuating weakenings caused by straining for clarity or unnecessary exertions in expressions of cohesion. Words, though plain, arouse astonished wonder by nonchalant impenetrable shufflings. Be clued-in, be bold, be tough and show it when you sculpt the clay. When shaped, use your trowel to scratch the surface, evoking even more obscurity. Toss it off in broad strokes of masterful negligence. Be above the miniscule. By these means show in shadowy hints the profundity that winks beyond merely ordinary restrictions. Break the barriers, fly the constructive. Those old shackles lie about the world. Show you ain't no conforming sissy. Display in impatient referenceless strokes Your forceful awareness of the world as known." Facetia: "Oh? A world which evidences no form and structure in living creatures; no eons of effortful evolution; Forests have no ecology, and laws of nature aren't for binding. Mind never happened, spirit's a farce, unions only expedient plottings. Lessons of history describe the disruptive; it's what you grab and who you club; others are only take or be taken. Show 'em who's boss, stash it away, it's dog eat dog until there's nothing. Shake it all up and break it all up. It's only entropy."

35

It's acold misty morning The large grey cobblestones creating valleys by themselves The old black lampposts casting the imaginings of light The buildings shuffle between dark grey and black as if they were a depressed Chameleon A man walks along this pathway His dark black Brioni suit covered by the enveloping arms of his coat The buttons undone as the coat ***** dramatically in the wind that isn't there The outfit is completed with a black fedora which he wears upon his head He walks down the pathway and passes a small man With ragged clothes and a baggy hat He barely notices the painter as he Iis consumed with his Own demons The painter holds a brush in his right hand An old thing with paint and chips on the wooden handle The bristles are long Not imacculate But well used In his left hand he holds his pallette It has every colour imaginable But only a small splotch of it The painter walks behind the man with the fedora And he painted He painted galaxies on the cobblestones and valleys separating them He painted patterns into the sidewalk and stories into the bricks His style a rough painterly style Jagged geometric lines creating organic spirals and waves A Van Gogh style Painfully wild strokes That seem to contain the souls of suffering and pain His flat yellows contrast to his vivid reds Powerful imagery created by nothing but contrast Emotions toyed with by jagged currants and swirls The painter painted Trying to catch up to the man with the fedora Painting eruptions of beauty from the lampposts And birds and flowers floating upon the air As the fedora man's heels lifted paint was laid down in insane yellow Driven insane by trying to catch up to this man Driven insane by trying to show the man beauty The painter ran out of paint A masterpiece a mile long Seen and admired by all who walked behind But the artist had failed His face Contorted as his emotional suffering manifested physically His heart broke again as he realized that this man with the fedora wouldn't stop He would live his whole life Without seeing beauty The painter was put in a nice jacket and a white padded room to live the rest of hus days Forced to live in his misey.... His emotion.... His failure...

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Jul 2, 2015

Jul 2, 2015 at 1:09 AM UTC

Tdaaries

my failure

It's acold misty morning The large grey cobblestones creating valleys by themselves The old black lampposts casting the imaginings of light The buildings shuffle between dark grey and black as if they were a depressed Chameleon A man walks along this pathway His dark black Brioni suit covered by the enveloping arms of his coat The buttons undone as the coat ***** dramatically in the wind that isn't there The outfit is completed with a black fedora which he wears upon his head He walks down the pathway and passes a small man With ragged clothes and a baggy hat He barely notices the painter as he Iis consumed with his Own demons The painter holds a brush in his right hand An old thing with paint and chips on the wooden handle The bristles are long Not imacculate But well used In his left hand he holds his pallette It has every colour imaginable But only a small splotch of it The painter walks behind the man with the fedora And he painted He painted galaxies on the cobblestones and valleys separating them He painted patterns into the sidewalk and stories into the bricks His style a rough painterly style Jagged geometric lines creating organic spirals and waves A Van Gogh style Painfully wild strokes That seem to contain the souls of suffering and pain His flat yellows contrast to his vivid reds Powerful imagery created by nothing but contrast Emotions toyed with by jagged currants and swirls The painter painted Trying to catch up to the man with the fedora Painting eruptions of beauty from the lampposts And birds and flowers floating upon the air As the fedora man's heels lifted paint was laid down in insane yellow Driven insane by trying to catch up to this man Driven insane by trying to show the man beauty The painter ran out of paint A masterpiece a mile long Seen and admired by all who walked behind But the artist had failed His face Contorted as his emotional suffering manifested physically His heart broke again as he realized that this man with the fedora wouldn't stop He would live his whole life Without seeing beauty The painter was put in a nice jacket and a white padded room to live the rest of hus days Forced to live in his misey.... His emotion.... His failure...

50

Vanguard snows blanket Cougar Mountain sublimity In the ashen distance between contrasts of white on white , just above the disappearing Majestic alpine timberline Painterly allusions cast a weary and elusive amity, distinctive premonitions adrift driven before the wind The wayfaring wolf looks back, wind broken , beset a cold and lonely peace ***Swarthy paw prints sink deeply into the will to be*** fiercely stirring purpose feral awareness keen existence steadfast perseverance unwavering Driven by the power of love wild is the wind giving thanks

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Nov 24, 2016

Nov 24, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC

wildisthewind

The wayfaring wolf

Vanguard snows blanket Cougar Mountain sublimity In the ashen distance between contrasts of white on white , just above the disappearing Majestic alpine timberline Painterly allusions cast a weary and elusive amity, distinctive premonitions adrift driven before the wind The wayfaring wolf looks back, wind broken , beset a cold and lonely peace ***Swarthy paw prints sink deeply into the will to be*** fiercely stirring purpose feral awareness keen existence steadfast perseverance unwavering Driven by the power of love wild is the wind giving thanks

23

I wanted to be Irreplaceable Not just Smart and Beautiful like a Van Gogh painting Starry night a Range of motion you can’t Hold tight Trace my every painterly stroke hold too Tight ill only Choke but as I walk out into those fields I cast Away that armor and shield and run straight to that Unclear Figure who Pulls my hand off of that Trigger Still, Life has become to me I can’t say you will ever Clearly see anything I put on My Canvas until Long after I’m Buried with this Beauty, in Painted layers, Deep My final portrait is for You to Keep

0

Apr 9, 2012

Apr 9, 2012 at 10:27 PM UTC

bam

mona lisa smile

I wanted to be Irreplaceable Not just Smart and Beautiful like a Van Gogh painting Starry night a Range of motion you can’t Hold tight Trace my every painterly stroke hold too Tight ill only Choke but as I walk out into those fields I cast Away that armor and shield and run straight to that Unclear Figure who Pulls my hand off of that Trigger Still, Life has become to me I can’t say you will ever Clearly see anything I put on My Canvas until Long after I’m Buried with this Beauty, in Painted layers, Deep My final portrait is for You to Keep

16

Chasing Night. I chased this evening evening's painterly tints blatantly seizing sky-time before sun-down display. Dark's parade festooned in anodyne darts of bright lunar-spears seared twilight and flamed the lake. Silver-foil ribbons began to invade pallid glow as granite-grey filigree skirted today's farewell. Patterns of sparkle captured the change to best forgotten wet afternoon when heavens melted, Night's foot now dry left silvery scuff on watery top of eel-thread shapes moving with breeze. Moon-glinted landscape seduced as with ghostly aliveness, by chasing night, night chased me.

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Sep 20, 2016

Sep 20, 2016 at 11:59 AM UTC

fay-slimm

Chasing Night.

Chasing Night. I chased this evening evening's painterly tints blatantly seizing sky-time before sun-down display. Dark's parade festooned in anodyne darts of bright lunar-spears seared twilight and flamed the lake. Silver-foil ribbons began to invade pallid glow as granite-grey filigree skirted today's farewell. Patterns of sparkle captured the change to best forgotten wet afternoon when heavens melted, Night's foot now dry left silvery scuff on watery top of eel-thread shapes moving with breeze. Moon-glinted landscape seduced as with ghostly aliveness, by chasing night, night chased me.

19

Braying marsh hounds of the trembling earth Thickened pools of black reserve - retained by copper red blushing , post painterly- abstracted horizons The boisterous quagmire dims with- the passing of Heavens Lamp Agitated waterbirds swarm to available- lucidity Waning apprehension ensues ...

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Apr 5, 2016

Apr 5, 2016 at 11:25 PM UTC

randolph-l-wilson

Swamp Evenings ..

Braying marsh hounds of the trembling earth Thickened pools of black reserve - retained by copper red blushing , post painterly- abstracted horizons The boisterous quagmire dims with- the passing of Heavens Lamp Agitated waterbirds swarm to available- lucidity Waning apprehension ensues ...

9

Of artists blocks and charcoal pencils lines drawn blackened white with hearts the stencil gouache pastels in dusted hues smudged whetted thumbs by moistened lips colours gently bruised with fingertips stroked by brushes firm tipped certain outside the frame of loves drawn curtain softly washed in watercolour fade the painter plays loves serenade emboldened strokes in oils dramatic his canvas laden replete climactic © J.C.

0

Sep 14, 2020

Sep 14, 2020 at 12:24 PM UTC

scarab280

painterly

Of artists blocks and charcoal pencils lines drawn blackened white with hearts the stencil gouache pastels in dusted hues smudged whetted thumbs by moistened lips colours gently bruised with fingertips stroked by brushes firm tipped certain outside the frame of loves drawn curtain softly washed in watercolour fade the painter plays loves serenade emboldened strokes in oils dramatic his canvas laden replete climactic © J.C.

26

Of artists blocks and charcoal pencils lines drawn blackened white with hearts the stencil gouache pastels in dusted hues smudged by whetted thumbs from moistened lips colours gently bruised with fingertips stroked by brushes firm tipped certain outside the frame of loves drawn curtain softly washed in watercolour fade the painter plays loves serenade emboldened strokes in oils dramatic his canvas laden replete climactic J.C. honey- tiger 09/08/2019.

0

Aug 8, 2019

Aug 8, 2019 at 6:44 PM UTC

scarab280

painterly love

Of artists blocks and charcoal pencils lines drawn blackened white with hearts the stencil gouache pastels in dusted hues smudged by whetted thumbs from moistened lips colours gently bruised with fingertips stroked by brushes firm tipped certain outside the frame of loves drawn curtain softly washed in watercolour fade the painter plays loves serenade emboldened strokes in oils dramatic his canvas laden replete climactic J.C. honey- tiger 09/08/2019.

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