Poetry
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9262 creative works found
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Lovers
by Erin KrollThe stillness of our warmth / two / together / our love is rooted deep
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Portrait / Architectural / people/culture / Macro / Landscape / Still live / Animal / Nude/FineArt / SunsetCollection / Flowers / Model Maria Anne / Model Saskia Ying / Model Blondie / Model Tammy / Kids / The Book Of Love All The Materials Contained May Not Be Reproduced, Copied, Edited, Published, Transmitted Or Uploaded In Any Way Without My Permission. My Images Do Not Belong To The Public Domain. / © Antoine Dagobert: using this image for any purpose and in any way, without prior permission, may lead to legal action. —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-- After We Make Love / / I’ve been waiting such a long time / For a love that’s real to come my way / Gonna take some getting used to / Now that love is here to stay After we make love / It’s good to be lost in the afterglow / All I’m dreaming of / I just can’t let the feeling go After we make love / I feel I’ve been touched by / All that heaven and earth will allow / All that matters here and now Now the world is full of wonder / You’ve turned my life around in just one day / I love the spell you’ve put me under / Just one kiss can take my breath away All the lonely days and nights / Were well wroth going through / I’m so glad I didn’t give my heart away / So I could give it all to you Whitney Houston / Words and music by: Michael Masser, Gerry Goffin
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Portrait / Architectural / people/culture / Macro / Landscape / Still live / Animal / Nude/FineArt / SunsetCollection / Flowers / Model Maria Anne / Model Saskia Ying / Model Blondie / Model Tammy / Kids / The Book Of Love All The Materials Contained May Not Be Reproduced, Copied, Edited, Published, Transmitted Or Uploaded In Any Way Without My Permission. My Images Do Not Belong To The Public Domain. / © Antoine Dagobert: using this image for any purpose and in any way, without prior permission, may lead to legal action. —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-- / Dreams Your hair flows across the pillow like a mountain stream / Moonlight resting on your face still deep in sleep / Eyelids flutter like a bird as dreams unfold / The restful mind still in creative mood The smile that plays upon your lips foretells / The pleasures in the thoughts of night / Unspoken words begin to fill a book / Of wishes, passion, needs and deep desires Your body shifts with sinuous ease / As each new picture now unfolds / Your nakedness a beauty to behold / As rhythmic movement sensuously begins The visions that will now invade your soul / Feeling oh so real in dead of night / The pleasures that the stories tell / Will leave their mark so soft as morning comes A faint but shining film of nightly dew / Has formed upon your silken skin / Reflecting all the dreams that did unfold / Within your heart whilst darkness lay And as your eyes once more perceive the day / With shining light that now instils your brain / A moment will send shivers down your spine / As dreamt of deep desires are left behind / / Phil Sanders / 19/5/05
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Girls and Women
by transmuteA girl is stories, A woman is truth
For women – you know who you are.
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This shot was taken in The Water Run on the Coastal Walk in Royal NP just south of Sydney Australia. It was a wild and stormy evening and the sun just started to emerge from the clouds behind me as it was setting. The blue tint to the water comes for a very short period around sunset – you can just see it in any moving water at this time in the right light but the camera really picks it up. Canon 30D / Tv: 1/6sec / Av: f/13 / ISO: 100 / FL: 28mm
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Black-chinned hummingbird nectar feeding. /
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[Taken in Natural light] [As is] Inspired by the plight of extreme poor and sick children in rural and remote villages in Africa, I have dedicated my Life to helping as many as I can. “Together we can and are making a real difference”. Taken in Tunga/Zuga Village, deep in Kebbe state, Nigeria. Carla Is HIV positive. Since this Photo was taken in December 2007, Carla has improved, with our help. Sadly her mother died in February 2008. Now her Aunt cares for her.Many Children face hardship and in some cases are isolated from care and love within their community. ALL MONEY RAISED FROM SALE OF MY ART, AND DONATIONS MADE VIA OUR CHARITY WEBSITE, GOES TO HELP THESE PRECIOUS CHILDREN. WE TAKE NOTHING OUT OF WHAT YOU GIVE TOWARDS CHARITY OVERHEADS. WE ARE NOT SALARIED AND COVER OUR OWN TRAVEL EXPENSES. SO ALL THAT YOU GIVE GOES TO THESE CHILDREN To make a donation, or find out more, Please visit our Charity Mission website: http://www.philadelphia33.org/ WHEN YOU HAVE TIME PLEASE VISWIT MY NEW PRO WEBSITE:http://www.missionary.smugmug.com/ / . Camera: Canon EOS 400D. Lens: Sigma 50-500 Telephoto.. ISO 200. WB: Auto.
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Buy it here ThomasDodd.com/Store “No Muse-poet grows conscious of the Muse except by experience of a woman in whom the Goddess is to some degree resident…. but the real, perpetually obsessed Muse-poet distinguishes between the Goddess as manifest in the supreme power, glory, wisdom and love of woman, and the individual woman whom the Goddess may make her instrument…” / (Robert Graves)
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Because You're Not A Poet
by Jboo09Don’t forget dear, / that I am a poet / I could slaughter you with words like razor blades
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Dat’s right baby, get hip to the jive…
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A Parents Prayer for their sick child. / (2 Samuel 12:22) David answered: While he was still alive, I went without food and cried because there was still hope. I said to myself, “Who knows? Maybe the LORD will have pity on me and let the child live.” I am an Irish born Missionary living in London I spend much time living with the Kambari tribe, I get to know first hand the challenges they face each day just to survive. I also have the privilege of capturing not only hunger, sickness and often death, but the more happy occasions. This is Grace, and when I first met Grace in April 2007, she was suffering from Chronic Malnutrition, adn intestinal worm infection. This was taken in December 2007, and the difference in 2009 is wonderful. Thank you to all who prayed and donated towards saving Grace. Please do Pray for these precious suffering people in extreme poverty and for us as we press on in our mission to help them. I believe in the power of Prayer and a mighty God. ALL PROCEEDS FROM SALE OF MY ART, PLUS DONATIONS MADE TO PHILADELPHIA MISSION CHARITY, GOES TO HELP EXTREME POOR AND SICK IN REMOTE AND RURAL VILLAGES IN AFRICA. WE NEVER TAKE ANYTHING OUT OF YOUR GIVING. ALL CHARITY OVERHEADS ARE COVERED BY OUR MEMBERS AND VOLUNTEERS. Please visit my Charity website: / http://www.philadelphia33.org/ See all my art and video at: / http://www.missionary.smugmug.com/* Camera: Canon EOS400D. Lens: 50-500 Telephoto. WB: Daylight. ISO 100.
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This is from the series Mars Attack “The Passover” The visitors are passing directly over us as we look in wonder. / All eyes are glued to the sky as we stand and tremble. / The dog is barking at the sky I wonder if he knows? / That soon our whole worlds gonna change forced on us by strangers! / My minds confused as I stand and look what the hell is going on? / Just last week we were in the church praying to Baby Jesus. / But this has put a different player in to my religion. / I wonder who he’s praying to or even if he cares! / My wife’s still looking at the sky as I struggle with my mind. / And all my neighbors are in a trance as this thing go’s by. / And little Trudi’s standing there she’s peed in her new blue jeans. / And her friend Kim from down the street has done the same thing too. / And Mike the guy who’s always ready to come and play some cards. / Is on his knees in his front yard praying up to God. / My mind is still a little foggy as I look to all my neighbors and then Judi comes up to me and says she’s really frightened. / It looks to me that everyones scared as we look at it pass by. / And then I hear someone start to scream so loud it waked me from my thoughts. / Its Janis who’s from the next block over she’s the local artist. / I guess this night will get her busy painting brand new things no more fruit on little tables for this pretty lady. / She’s pointing in the other direction and oh Lord what’s that I see? / As far as my eyes will go are these giant flying sauces. / We all stand and look up at the sky I think someone has fainted! / Yep its Fred my kinky neighbor this is even too much for him as he’s passed out on the front yard in his pink rubber suit. / As far as my eyes will take me its full of flying saucer I guess these things aren’t joking now it looks like they mean business! / And running down the streets towards us is my online friend named Karen. / She’s telling everybody that these things are gonna kill us all. / I tell her to sit on the grass and take a little break if they had wanted us dead it would of been all over. / So here we stand all looking up and all that I can see is the sky so full of visitors to bring a change to our blue Planet! End of Part 4
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OWL & THE PUSSYCAT SERIES Pen and Ink- The original has some gold fleck. / Inspired by my favourite verse The Owl and the Pussycat by Edward Lear, which I revisit often. ORIGINAL SOLD APRIL 2009 THIS WORK WON THE INSPIRATIONS 2 CHALLENGE VOTED BY YOU FANTASTIC BUBBLERS- THANK YOU SO MUCH xxx 2008 FEATURED IN FINE ARTS INFLUENCED BY LITERATURE MAY 2009 (With Thanks xx) / FEATURED IN ARTS & STORIES MADE FOR CHILDREN (TOP TEN WINNER) July 2009 Laminate with black surround…........ / High Gloss Mount Board with black background…..... / Small Framed Print with Off White Matt…...... / This Design is available on a fabulous Beach Bag, Ked Shoes and T Shirt, / to view visit my Zazzle site xx /
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featured in The Healing Journey 09-11-2009 / featured in The Art of 3D 08-23-2009 / featured in Exceptional-Ekphrasis 04-04-2009 / featured in Fractal Perception 03-21-2009 / featured in Globes, Sphere’s and Curves 02-28-2009 / featured in NR1 Artists of RedBubble 02-19-2009 Now theyre planning the crime of the century / Well what will it be? / Read all about their schemes and adventuring / Its well worth a fee / So roll up and see / And they rape the universe / How theyve gone from bad to worse / Who are these men of lust, greed, and glory? / Rip off the masks and let see. / But thats no right – oh no, whats the story? / Theres you and theres me / That cant be right Fractals created with Apophysis
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When Brownie was alive we’d ride our bikes through the dry heat and down the red dirt tracks, tires popping as pebbles flew from our paths, always a hot wind harsh and unfriendly. How I hated that wind. Somehow as children though, we overcome things like this, death and heat, sometimes as adults it’s harder. / At the river we’d gather the stones that had been shaped by the water that ran forever through the valley. Its a trickle now, with the years of drought that followed. But I see it as it was, a brown green snake slithering and winding, seemingly never ending. / Once the stones had been rocks and boulders, hills or cliffs by the ocean. Something for man and animal to stand on up high, or perch, bearers to things seemingly unreachable, but now they were small and worn, carried and tumbled and rounded into submissive pebbles. All semblance of might long gone. / When we had a pile we’d skim them. Counting the bounces, seeing who could throw furthest, bounce highest. Now the stones from our hands were glorious things, slicing through the air and slicking off the water, shooting and arcing. / Alive once again. Michael Douglass, 2009.
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Something About...
by JenniferBSomething about the faces of men / who’ve passed through your life to touch you and then / drifted away to begin new lives / forgetting the …
I just lay here on my bed with an old notebook thinking ‘I want to write something about…’ But I still haven’t done it. I guess there’s still something inside of me waiting for the right time. xox
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Title from a poem “Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-me-Not” by Eugene Field (1850–1895). An 18 layer composite produced in Photoshop and Painter.
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Thanks to the amazing Jacqleen for the model PLEASE CLICK HERE TO GO TO THE FULL VERSION
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a collab with the brilliant Jacqleen Lost in the median I feel lost in the middle / Hidden within the median / Overlooked by everyone / Drowning with what I’m bleeding in / I’ve never been a follower / But what’s the point of leading in / I am but words that are worthless / And time wasted of you reading it People have their own problems / No one truly cares of the ones that have me knotted / I feel like I’m drowning bloodless / Crossing a line they said was dotted / Profuse in agony, not just minor loss that’s spotted But what happens when writing which was once my air stops being cathartic? / And only furthers my misery because everything that drains from me is carotid They say find love son and your wounds will be clotted / I’ve thought of it often, but this isn’t the path I plotted / The leaves turn black from that path I’ve trodden / And the freedoms I’ve embraced were the same arms I got lost in And now my severed ties are reminders of how no one does what they say they will / I am the blood of thousand cut arteries that are all brachial / Lost in the middle because time has the power to break your will / And my words are just reminders to all that the pain went radial / Self inflicted thoughts of an undignified death and burial / Because the passion no longer pumped within me but just sat atrial The problem stems not from me be being vein, but thinking to temporal / Because everything I’ve given in the past is what I stand on – femoral / And yes, I am a bit territorial because I believe there is more to share than foral / And about how you love giving oral or throwing clichés together making them plural / I believe poetry is more than three fucking words on a line about blue green coral I can feel this being misread like sural, yet I stand upon everything I said / Invested deep within my legs like crural, the life left within me begs… Don’t yourself be lost in the median like all the other shit I’ve read / Moved me like a million pounds of lead / Proved to me you’ve suffered / Show me every fucking drop you’ve bled / Because death is superficial and I don’t let it get to my head / I just don’t want to be lost because I’ve spilt every drop I’ve tread / So my confession is this – This is all I have to shed / My last plea to you; don’t let me regret what I’ve pled Because I don’t regret that I’ve bled poems that are forever lost in the median and have left me anemic / I just want you to digest this and believe it not throw it up bulimic / Circulate within you and inspire you to bleed thoughts not sequester them spleenic / And if one person is inspired enough to change, I know I will have not died ischemic This was the first edit I did
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/ This work was inspired by the wonderful poem UMBRELLA of the very talented artist ANAISNAIS / Thank you Anna-Marie for let to share this beautiful poem here. ’’ UMBRELLA / / by Anaisnais There she stands / Centre stage for all to see / Tall and slender / Precariously she balances. I reach out for her / Draw her to me / My hand skims her body / Slowly reaches her skirt. Playful fingers find hidden areas / Delighted her legs spring forth / Displaying the very beauty / Of her delicately placed, adorned skirt. Gaily she dances around / Dizzily twisting and turning / In the brightness of day shading / She gently tends to my needs. Personal ballerina takes to toes leaping / Merrily bobbing up and down / As emotional to her performance / Clouds cry a thousand tears for her. Reaching our destination / Slightly shaken, she leans / Watches me, / Quietly drips, against the wall. Reminiscent of the day’s fulfillment / We acknowledge one another, silently / Restful knowing we shall be / One, once more. ’’ I truly appreciate all your kind comments and support. / All Origional art work can be purchased through the artist. —-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-——- Copyright notice: / All rights reserved. All images contained on these pages are © copyright protected by Mariska and any use of these images in any form without written permission will be considered an infringement of these copyrights.
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PLEASE READ THIS DESCRIPTION. [AS IS} / I am a missionary, born in Northern Ireland and living in London. my passion in life is to help the poor in rural and isolated villages in Africa and India. Abhijeet in Hindu language means “one who is victorious, a star”. She certainly lives up to her name. 3 years old and already has faced abuse, and hunger. She was close to death and in much pain. Abijeet is one child we rescued through The INDIAN NEW LIFE MISSION, based in India. Her smile melted my heart and as I was told her story I could not help give God thanks for the few Indian Christians that reached out to her. With little money, they took her into the Orphanage, where now she is cared for. I now have sponsored Abijeet and for only £10 per month, she is fed, clothed and will attend a full education when she is old enough. I do not get financial funding from any Church, My own income is little. But I made my mind up a long time ago to share what God has blessed me with with the poor. I have not gone hungry, nor my family. I rent my home, and drive a car. My children are all educated and blessed by God. I have lacked nothing,because blesses the sower. Gods burning Love and Passion for the outcast and poor burns deep within my heart, and hopefully can be seen throgh my life and camera lens. Abijeet is a shining star and a true testimony of what Love and sharing can do. Please Pray for me, that I can bless many more suffering children like Abijeet. Strengthen my arm in Gods mission to reach the hurting of this world with his love and care. Pray and do what the Lord lays on your heart. You will become richer for it. ALL PROCEEDS FROM SALE OF MY ART, PLUS DONATIONS MADE TO PHILADELPHIA MISSION CHARITY, GOES TO HELP EXTREME POOR AND SICK IN REMOTE AND RURAL VILLAGES IN AFRICA. WE NEVER TAKE ANYTHING OUT OF YOUR GIVING. ALL CHARITY OVERHEADS ARE COVERED BY OUR MEMBERS AND VOLUNTEERS. Please visit my Charity website: / http://www.philadelphia33.org/ See all my art and video at: / http://www.missionary.smugmug.com/ Camera: Canon EOS 400D. Lens: Canon EF30-300 IS USM. WB Cloudy. ISO:400.
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Analogue, taken with a Lomo Frogeye plastic camera.
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The Waste of Drought and Chord I defy you, / Chord— / Immerse me in dread of key strokes / And rolling song / that tread upon music’s marrow, / That unrelenting swallows of sodden harmony escape neither my heart, / Nor well-hidden fawns’ veil. / Let nothing flee the scouring of an emptying heart / That refuses to lend mercy. / Exposed are the bare spells of time; / Haunted, my reckless rhythms, / Now spurned by worse than I dared think I was. / Chord, / Swallow up the crumbling bits of bank and hollow / And haul away to other places, / That which my ears can no longer abide. Hide no more from me (for some sake I cannot name) / The darkest corners of remembrance and insight. / They are as meaningless as two notes more / In the deluge that will not weaken.
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