I discovered this lovely lady speaking her poetry on SoundCloud some time ago. I find her poetry inspiring and also very relaxing to listen to. She has a huge selections of spoken word posts… these are some of her earlier posts. Her collection of poetry will certainly keep the listener entertained for a long time. Sit back and enjoy!
The beautiful colourful images she uses on her SoundCloud posts are all her own art. You can find her Mishmosh Poetry and art on Facebook too.
Mr Constable, da Vinci, Renoir
will you paint me in a tradition of oils
striking, bold, acrylic
or softly softly in colours of water?
Please don’t paint me with Mona Lisa smiles
serene and complacent
Don’t paint me frowning
in disapproval of the artist and his tricks
Don’t paint me with laughing eyes
when really they are sad
Don’t paint me in stained glass holiness
mother with child, Madonna blue
halos floating over
Don’t paint flirtations of your mind
paint me a real woman
the one who understands who she is
and knows what your brushes can do
Mr Picasso, Monet, Matisse
paint me as I am
or don’t paint me at all
I wrote this poem nearly three years ago, it’s altered a little since first writing it. Can’t believe it took me so long to get round to recording this. Of course, it’s meant as light hearted and a bit of a joke – so don’t take it too seriously! 😀
I’ve never been painted – yet, and can’t quite imagine what it would be like to have a portrait painted. Are any of you preserved on canvas?
He gave a picture exhibition,
Hiring a little empty shop.
Above its window: FREE ADMISSION
Cajoled the passers-by to stop;
Just to admire – no need to purchase,
Although his price might have been low:
But no proud artist ever urges
Potential buyers at his show.
Of course he badly needed money,
But more he needed moral aid.
Some people thought his pictures funny,
Too ultra-modern, I’m afraid.
His painting was experimental,
Which no poor artist can afford-
That is, if he would pay the rental
And guarantee his roof and board.
And so some came and saw and sniggered,
And some a puzzled brow would crease;
And some objected: “Well, I’m jiggered!”
What price Picasso and Matisse?
The artist sensitively quivered,
And stifled many a bitter sigh,
But day by day his hopes were shivered
For no one ever sought to buy.
And then he had a brilliant notion:
Half of his daubs he labelled: SOLD.
And lo! he viewed with queer emotion
A public keen and far from cold.
Then (strange it is beyond the telling),
He saw the people round him press:
His paintings went – they still are selling…
Well, nothing succeeds like success.