Is Magic an Art Form? (Haiku) | Manuelito Pio Roda
Magic is an art,
if we will let them see what’s
behind the curtain.
More at https://allpoetry.com/poem/14621110-Is-magic-an-art-form–by-Raven-Van-Blizz.
poem about art
Mixer | Mary Bone
While painting,
the colors met, mixed and blended.
The party had just started when
a splash of brilliance emerged.
Mixing It Up | Mary Bone
Watercolors met pastels
what a wonderful blend.
They have been mixing it up
ever since.
The Man | Mintul Hazarika
A man came into a ramshackle cottage.
He was like a darkness
A hushed night was ascribed on his face
There was red bag hanging from his shoulder
The man offered me my identity card
Which he pulled out from the bag
He said weeping
Hiding his face in the dense forest,—
“The weeping is also an art”
An art behind the art.
Original Assamese poem Translated by Pabitra Das.
Poetry | Chris Byrne
It’s just words written
in the right order,
random thoughts
plucked from the mind.
Unscrambled words,
mixed emotions,
put onto paper,
slowly typed.
Patience, perseverance
trying, getting words out,
ideas, ideas inspiring
words, uplifting spirits.
Brain freezes, mental blocks,
self-doubt plaguing
indecisive minds,
typing, editing.
They’re just words, they say,
words of wisdom, a lifelong
passion to inspire, to
dream, to write.
Lack of sleep, bleary screens,
long hours, tiredness,
we do it, for we
are poets.
Deafening Silence | Judy Moskowitz
In the darkest of blue
Looking out on my patio
Through old vertical blinds
The umbrella is in disrepair,
Along with six weather beaten chairs.
Things are different now
Under a quarter moon’s
Fraction,
To drown the sound
Of quiet’s intrusion
I go to my computer
And type,
All I hear is the tapping
Of my fingers as they hit
Each key,
Wishing you were sitting
Next to me.
Through my cloth
To my skin,
The evidence is clear
You’ve left your imprint
Of love shared
In this space,
Like wearable art
To be seen,
To be felt,
Inside folded pages
Of love letters, hidden
Collective thoughts,
You make me swing,
Rise to the creme.
Not a Word Spoken | Michael Kagan
A string quartet fills the kitchen
The cello’s bow played through
An heirloom sugar bowl’s sweetness
The harmonic strain so perfect
Makes the pain go away
Not a single word need be said
The sound of the rousing marching band
Flows through the veins of
My narrow halls
Trombones sliding pock marks into plastered walls
Crisp apple cider of this
Trusted music causing my
Knees to kick up the speed
Keeps the pain away,
Words are never spoken
And that funky jazz combo
In my living room
Made themselves a cozy cat’s Home
Cat-nip lines playing tic tac toe forward rhythm flying high
Notes silver shimmer in space until they fade
And beauty does die,
This music ties the earth to my feet
Reaches in, making love
To my heart,
Reflects the invention’s own brand of pain
Pushing other deep aching
Aside
And it speaks without using words
If ever spoken
Would
Rip me open
Exposed to the
Terrifying light.