Poems on "Fine Arts"

The World of Art – III

a poem by

Ramesh T A

Gone are the days for the expressions of divinity in all forms of art;
What counts much today is humanism in the best forms of art;
Now what captures the mind is the lowest level of animal passion in art;
And what appeals most today is the provocation of passion towards sex!

Pitiably so low the world of art has gone down nowadays that music,
Dance and drama are simply superseded by TV, Cinema and pop music;
Men passionately howl and demonically dance in the hysteric carnivals;
And pass the time in the night revelries of art nakedly in dim lights.

People look below in the animal level but not above in the divine level
And so, they are easily carried away by the fast flowing flood of art.
Once the flood stops, they are hopelessly stranded in some alien field
And so, the best thing they should have attempted could be human grandeur.

High or low for all human beings the best things free in this world are
Love, sympathy, sweetness, goodness, kindness, truth, joy and peace;
Communication of these things enrich human value in the vital act of art
And for the betterment of the world human grandeur is enough to highlight.

All the artists are the very important persons in the world of art so to say
But the real artists live like the great creator invisible in their creations.
Confluence of love and truth is the culmination of their creations in art;
Such masters are very, very rare indeed in the present day world of art!

Noble artists know how to escape to the world of art at their will;
They should not be satisfied with their own art for art’s sake policy;
They should also show us how to reach their world whenever needed
So that the sufferings of the society can be softened now and then.

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The World of Art – II

a poem by

Ramesh T A

Wars had destroyed the best of arts, cultures and literatures long ago.
The past foreigners had changed all the classical and traditional arts.
Politics and professions have permeated corruption in all walks of life.
So, the recovery of the lost splendour by reviving arts is much needed.

The bizarre modern arts are the expressions approved by the designs of time.
Modern culture of the people today reveals a sort of desolation unfathomable.
Tension, excitement and frustration lead men to seek asylum in drug culture.
So the pervasive acts of sex maniacs produce ugly things in the world today.

Religion, art and science are the best creations of the earthly man,
But Nature and the Universe are the finest creations of God.
Like the toys in the hands of the children man’s imaginative creations are;
But whenever they fail him, there comes God’s creations to inspire.

The best things of Nature are impossible for man to imitate in his art;
But Nature always inspires man to attempt anything in some forms of art.
Music, painting, poetry are the suitable forms Nature can be followed;
But perfection of Nature can never be achieved in any form of art.

Philosophy is the one field that gives pleasure only to the seeker of truth;
Like the eternity of Nature the land of philosophy too is endless in nature;
To make infinity finite science may be of use but not completely reliable,
But painting, sculpture, poetry are the forms of art useful to express truth.

The sacred ideas of religion are usually written in the poetic forms of art;
Faith, love and God are spiritualised in poetry, painting and sculpture;
These immortal expressions make divine spirit live in the hearts of men;
So, how can man willingly leave behind such a power of art in oblivion?

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The World of Art – I

a poem by

Ramesh T A

In the cool sky among the thin clouds the moon shines bright.
The shadows of the objects the bright moon draws everywhere
From above the East fully, clearly and beautifully at its will
Take us to the world of art in the modern times too sometimes.

In the world today science and technology have conquered all the fields
And so, the work of art has lost its power and glory now a days.
Undoubtedly between art and science, science is flying higher and higher
And material power over the world has put human values in humiliation.

Even Nature, the mother of art, philosophy and science is not left with in peace.
Science, the conqueror of all has entered into art and philosophy too,
Making the modern world say goodbye to the things of old order;
Consequently, art, culture and civilisation are left to take asylum in the museum.

The world of art synthesises different elements into a wonderful whole.
The work of science explores the Universe by splitting into innumerable atoms.
The power of art elevates heart, mind and soul to the level of divinity;
But the power of science diminishes the glow of human spirit to eternal darkness.

Science is of much help to understand matter minutely to understand truth;
But it’s of no use to know anything about faith, feeling, spirit and God.
It is a great weapon in the hand of man both for peace and deterrence
And by its vast material power it has changed the world into a chaotic place.

Science and technology have increased human activities, comforts and problems too.
Business and industry function according to schedules in short of time now.
Man’s mind as in the chess game contemplates only in terms of defense and offence.
War and peace without stability go on in the minds of men endlessly in the world.

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A Moon in Sunshine

a poem by

Rafel Michael

The sun shines very hot
The moon shines very cold
What if sun and moon shine together in the horizon?
The effects of the day will remain hot
As moonlight is non existent
In the sunlight
The sun will swallow the moon as ice cream
Like what if we add a plus with minus
The minus will come out with a bang

There is a sun shinning in an art gallery
Very cold like moon shine
What a beautiful sight at a glance
It looks like natural
The mesmerism of the rising sun
We feel in the oleograph
Looks natural but artificial
It does not energize the universe
No living being feels it
It never shines like the real sun
At early dawn hours
It shines in a water colored paper
It looks like sunshine
No lights generates from it
Like the real shining sun
And it never rises at dawn from the east
The picture emulates as a real blazing sun
What if it lacks ingenuity?
But who will look at the blazing sun with their naked eyes?
In the painting
The amalgam of colors synthesize
And bring out a rising sun, a feast to our eyes
It leads us to a make believe world
That’s the imaginative sun
Never shines like a real sun
Let it shine in the art gallery
A spirit of imagination
The art gallery is lighted
To see a shining artificial sun
When the real sun shines very hot
We don’t see the moon light
Here we see the amazing moon light in the sunshine
To give us a gorgeous painting
A laudable artist’s imagination

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The Blessed Leaves of the King Tree

a poem by

Ramesh T A

O The blessed leaves of the king tree!
Dancing by the lamps of the factory,
Making artful pictures over the wall please me,
While the bed welcomes me for the night sleep to fall on.

Din and bustle of the day
Building tension to my delicate brain,
Breaking each and every fibre of my spirit,
Fade away, at last, by the cool breeze of the night.

Easeful tune of the music,
Solacing the wounds of every bit of my heart,
Playing endlessly in short of time amuses me,
While developing day gathers fresh hope at the dawn.

O The blessed leaves of the king tree!
Dancing by the lamp of the factory,
Making artful pictures over the wall please me,
While the bed welcomes me now for the night sleep to fall on.

Artful trickery of devils,
Creating indelible blemishes over my reputation,
Swing to and fro over the works of my sincere efforts,
Vanishes away, when my eyes go through the pages of classics.

Meaningful lines of the verses,
Clearing the doubts of my web of confusions,
Fetching the best of knowledge to quench the thirst of my mind,
Edifice me up well in time to check the besieging polemics.

O The blessed leaves of the king tree!
Dancing by the lamp of the factory,
Making artful pictures over the wall please me now,
While the bed welcomes me for the night sleep to fall on.

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Poetry – A Gift of God

a poem by

Devi Nangrani

Poetry is a gift from God.
Specially for me to be with me
Never to be alone
Never to be lonely
It is my friend for all times.
In joy or sorrow
Today and tomorrow
In joy, it flies with me
Across the rainbow colors
Sailing on the ocean of light
In sorrow, it sinks with me
In the depths of darkness.
And it is here, only here
I find light in darkness
I am never alone now
For, poetry is with me
It is my all time companion.

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Jiggy Buggie

a poem by

Elaine E. Howie

Jiggy Buggie is the dance I do
I like to do it with two
But one can do this dance
It is just a few steps some dips and a stance

I am going to jiggy it in my hips
I am going to shake it in my lips
I am going to dip it with my hands
I am going to buggie with my man

Jiggy buggie is old school
It was once very popular and kew
I am shaking my head
Yes this is the dance I said

Swinging my partner to and fro
Turning and catching him just so
This is the jiggy buggie dance my friend
Whew I am at the songs end

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Critiqued

a poem by

Jayati

Hi Anuj

Read
both your poems
on love and longing.
In them I
found sweet lamenting.
Though in blues
you write of death still it is not
the sound of darkness but
rightly categorised ‘memory’
sweet memory
of love and yearning.
Keep writing
your feelings as
they come in words
to share with us
in sorrow and
happiness.

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The writer’s beloved

a poem by

Mary Mathew

Oh sweetest one,
Thy fair countenance
Beguiles me
By its pristine grace.
I hear not thy voice,
Yet an unheard song
Lingers…
Echoes in resonance
With my thoughts.

Oh vivacious beauty,
Thy words charge in a brigade
From a dying ember-like nostalgia…
Wanting, awaiting a new form
To unleash my fury
Onto thy bosom.
Oh be still, my love,
As I plunge deep into the depths
Of the origin of our fairy-tale together.

Oh how tortuous
The task is,
Which lies before me
Teasing me all the way as I acquaint
Myself with the angels and the devils,
The priests and the prophets,
The kings and the queens,
The ministry and the mass,
All with the same undying fervour
Of a burning desire
Which is consuming us
In this never-ending saga
Of love and fidelity.

Oh the enigma
Remains in thy hermit-like meanderings
When you wander to the ether
Beyond my mortal sight,
My corporeal insight.
At some crossroads, our consciences meet
And my words metamorphose into a
Poetical expression,
Embellishing thy existence.

Oh the brutality
Of thy wavering veiled figure
Hurts my conscience deeply
As I caress thee
Every night and day.
But thy blank detached expression
Intimidates me.
So many feelings creep in,
Distracting my sage-like devotion to you.
But I wish only to experience thy love,
Let me show the world – my bride
And thy value, one day
Will be judged by one and all.

Oh proud one,
Why is there still the air of arrogance
On thy countenance?
This piercing expression of thy mistrust
Is threatening the sensibilities of my heart.
What is thy fear and the cause of thy wariness?
I brood over and over.
Pardon me, my sweetheart, for these bitter words
Lest my foul and filthy language
Have hurt thy heart and mind or thy innocent eyes.

Oh beloved one,
Thy knight beckons thee
Be no more, the damsel in distress
And reveal thy dusky contours
In bold ink, cascading like a fresh kiss
Of the evening dew.

Oh heavens, behold her… my true love!
Sinking am I, in her presence, sinking…
S…ink…………………………….!

Oh no, my cherished one,
What has befallen thee?
Thy pristine fair countenance
Is paling into a bluish death-like shade
As this mortifying liquid,
Gushes torrentially, mercilessly,
Slithering its way through the end…
The end of this maiden…
… page of my ‘beloved’ manuscript!

Oh well, so what has to happen,
Has happened, I mused
Like an unperturbed practitioner of practicalities,
As I wash my hands, purging myself
Of this unsolicited act.

Oh God,
My editor’s deadline hangs before me
Like the sword of Damocles.
Oh I am not the person who will moan the loss
Of the previous one.
As I pulled out
Yet another blank 8 ½” x 11″ sheet,
I am amazed at the intimidation
That this one is also showing,
No worries, this time!
My beloved, now you are in the hands
Of the master of the ‘art’.
I will coerce thee, and I will woo thee
And you will fall for those words,
Once again!

Oh am I not great,
I found myself saying, with a sheepish grin.
Thus the story goes on and on…
As one by one, shall take her place.
So before I leave, my gentle reader,
Let me say these words as the thought for the day-
“All’s well that ends well!”

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Everlasting Beauty

a poem by

Omar Bhatkar

One day, I saw someone
She was a Beauty,
I asked why are you so sad,
She said, God has not made me everlasting,
What I am today, I will not be tomorrow,
Today people are crazy about me,
They want to look at me,
They want to talk to me,
They want to feel me,
Every one wants to possess me,
I know tomorrow will not be the same,
I said this should not worry you,
Every thing in this world is mortal,
Only how you live here is important,
If you love someone and someone loves you,
And if you are faithful to each other,
That is an everlasting Beauty; forever.

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Have any answer

a poem by

Omar Bhatkar

When will we have peace?
When will we have our head held high?
When will we not be deeply disappointed?
When will we not feel extremely discouraged?
When will we not feel paralyzed?
When will our mind be without fear?
When will weather be in our favor?
When will our soul be free of sin?
Why we find our mind bare?
Why we feel our heart broken into fragments?
Why we feel lost in the desert’s sand?
When we go into the depth of the happening,
We feel the time is hiding the real truth,
We feel pity for their narrow minds,
We feel pity for not being frank,
The more we think the more we get depressed,
Some time we find ourselves standing on the scaffold,
Waiting for the platform to be moved,
For getting the execution completed.
Will that be the end of our thinking?
Will that be the end of our suffering?

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Dance of the senses

a poem by

Vidhya Jayarama Raja

Kala has begun his beat
Doom doom doom
The mind rises
Thought puppets pulled by ego
Float by,
Senses stirred spring into
A deadly deafening shadow dance
Consciousness peering through the scenes
Beams down upon ignorance
Shadows sneak slowly away
Light engulfing all.

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Nature Samadhi

a poem by

Anand Bose

Dawn started moving,
with lovers communing;
colours nuzzling fawns,
surging tourbillion
glowing passion.
Eternity flies as
sadhus in white
unveiling time on
mystic flight.
Brook of beauty
running through
gurgling moksha
all the way through.
Swaying pebbles
glistening karmic ode
samsara meanders
pilgrimage Dawn started moving,
with lovers communing;
colours nuzzling fawns,
surging tourbillion
glowing passion.
Eternity flies as
sadhus in white
unveiling time on
mystic flight.
Brook of beauty
running through
gurgling moksha
all the way through.
Swaying pebbles
glistening karmic ode
samsara meanders
pilgrimage blues.
Beyond mundane life
of aching pain and deadly strife
Heraclitus is moving from flux
and feeling blues.
Beyond mundane life
of aching pain and deadly strife
Heraclitus is moving from flux
and feeling.

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Living Sculpture

a poem by

Sheela K . Sharath

Seeking inspiration from
the living marble,
the carressing hands
of the master sculptor
gives it life
and breathes beauty
into its starkness,
while he carves
and etches it to
perfection!

Toiling day and night
disregarding all else
his art takes shape.

With bated breath
the arty audience
awaits its unveiling
… a gasp rings out,
cheers rent the air
and spontaneous applause
reverberates
loud and clear!

His masterpiece form,
an art of divinity,
is here to stay
for posterity!

His soul is feted.
He craves nothing more!

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For Art’s Sake

a poem by

Sheela K . Sharath

The media hype,
the hysteria
for a splash of paint
of wheezy colours!
Big bucks paid
more for the
signature,
than the art object itself?

Once,
art was synonymous
with elegance,
refinement and
renowned for
its exceptional line,
visual clarity,
and sensitive portrayal
of reality!

Now,
purity of form and class
is clearly a thing of
the past!
The raw,
the bohemian
the more modish the painting,
the more saleable!

The exoticism of classical art
is missing,
aesthetic is shelved,
mediocrity is preferred,
and grotesque is revered!

We now
rave about
the aura created
around the
artist,
his avante garde look,
his decadent lifestyle,
his urbane speak!

`His art is not art’
the bold critic,
the sole purist asserts,
`it is an apology,
… a hideous abstraction.’

So, let’s bring back that era
of classical art,
let’s clean our palettes
and make a fresh start!

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