The Kaiserin

Elizabeth of Bavaria by Winterhalter

 

 

Bavarian beauty, she reigned as queen,
Sisi her name, had no love for the court,
with grace and beauty she captured a scene,
a free spirit her courtiers couldn't thwart,
as hearts were won, where ever she was seen,
the horse her choice of favoured riding sport,
Sisi became the German Kaiserin.

The youthful bride when history was made,
yet death still came and stole her beloved son,
In Mayerling, the place suicide played.
So dressed in black of mourning, still she shone
as fate lay wait with an assassin's blade,
to pierce her heart under September's sun
the socialite of beauty slipped to shade.

 

 

JF 28 April 2009

Paint --- Etheree

Brush
on board
beyond sight;
liquid landscapes
lambent images flow.
Drawn contemplations seen;
plucked fresh as daisies in June
mirrored artist's vision and dreams.
Narratives pastel curved line reviewed
painting conceived brainstormed rainbow presence.

© Jem Farmer 2009, all rights reserved.

Journey to Art

They say she was born with it,
as colours fit on the boards.
The practice of many years,
hiding tears, with no rewards.

So many leave empty quills,
to pay the bills - forget art.
And those brave few who remain
face disdain, ’til they depart.

Brushes and pens leave their tracks
chalk and wax, subtle effects.
All these skills need to be learned,
talent earned, still with defects.

Picture that hangs on the wall,
she gave her all to create.
Glory at last she can claim,
speak her name in art’s debate.

Behind each success hides years,
endless fears, no peace of mind.
Her legacy is her art,
from the heart, she left behind.
 

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Athena

Athena by =Painting-Poet on deviantART



© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Kestrel

Kestrel by =Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

What is an Image?

A moment of emotional instances of time
As complex or as simple as a brief thought.
Abstracts caught by poets making a rhyme
With a pen just as they were taught.
Surreal nature trapped by colour in paint
From artists who see with their inner eyes.
Photographs of the mind, intense or feint
They stay as a reminder as time flies.
Hold the moments that make those brief images
For when you take trips on past pilgrimages.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

The First Person

In my own way from where I stand
I see the light through glass
Above my desk, a brush in hand
I paint the view from class.

The trees all dressed in shades of fall
A leaf of red meets eye
As amber leaves in drifts now sprawl
My mind the first to sigh.

The winter's wind begins to blow
To bring the chilling hoar
So Mother Earth can rest in snow
The circle moves in lore.

As seasons bring the life of Earth
In nature's love is bound
A path to clarity from birth
The circle turns around.

My eye that sees from one lone leaf
Now paints a magic land
The mind that sees beyond the reef
Now guides the brush in hand.

My art my point of view reveals
Image from eye of I
The doorway of soul that conceals
The realms of mortal tie.


© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Head for a Jack

Take my hand as the bar closes I'm drunk
First whiskey now me shared by all that play
Take me to the alley, fumble then bunk.
No concern for risk, you want it this way
After my body feels rejected and sunk
Which one of you took my head away?

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Artwork: Surreal-18277191

The Archer

The Archer by *Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Sunkissed Princess

Sunkissed Princess by *Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Horse in Inks

Horse by *Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Curriculum Vitae

A student of classics that is me
Never intended to write the words
That inspire me to draw and paint
A poet, no not me.

There once was a writer called Jem
The best of her erotica made one ‘ahem’
Much to her shame
She has quit that game
OK she still writes some of them.

A student of classics that is me
Never intended to write the words
That inspire me to draw and paint
A poet, no not me.

Nonsense verse that makes sense.
A love of Lear comes forth.
Dribbles and drabbles so intense
Like winds that bite from the north
Botherswipes that get in the way,
Grumblewits that say grow up now,
An inner child is at her play,
To keep her alive is my vow.

A student of classics that is me
Never intended to write the words
That inspire me to draw and paint
A poet, no not me.

The rule of play now is a beat,
To give poems rhythm and flow,
The meter gives a verse some feet,
And words now glow.

A student of classics that is me
Never intended to write the words
That inspire me to draw and paint
A poet, no not me.

The sonnet, long has been my muse in art
My dearest Shelley now lies in my heart
As paint and I unite with words of love
Like minds in time, a creative team above.

He died before his time in foreign sea,
He comes alive in paint and board with me.
'Though he was born two hundred years ago
In all his work I see my world on show

I paint and try to think as Shelley thought
The rebel of a Lord in Scouser's art
I use my talent and the skills I'm taught
But mostly I just paint a poet's heart

I want to try to paint away my rage
He used a pen to put his on the page.

A student of classics that is me
Never intended to write the words
That inspire me to draw and paint
A poet, no not me.

Words can be art, an image paint,
A poem can set feelings free,
Emotions with colour acquaint
A poet of sorts I will be.

Creation of art on paper,
Arts form a union inside me,
It really is quite a caper
A poet of sorts I will be

I am learning meter and rhyme
As part of classic poetry,
Flowing like paint, I hope, in time
A poet of sorts I will be.

A student of classics that is me
Never intended to write the words
That inspire me to draw and paint
A poet, no not me.

P oetry and art combine
A midst my blood, they entwine.
I magination and creativity
N eeds that make me who I am
T alented, probably not,
I am not conceited that way.
N ow and then inspired
G uess that is nearer the truth.

P eripatetic, with no line limit,
O verview of my poetic
E xperience you want,
T his is it … thus far.

A student of classics that is me
Never intended to write the words
That inspire me to draw and paint
A poet, no not me.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Study for Ink - Utensils

Utensils by =Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

From the Garden

From the Garden by =Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Pride

Pride by *Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Playing the Blues

As moonlit midnight skies drift in wonder
To the dawn of the new sapphire sunrise,
My dreams turn to the muse that lies yonder,
My brush seeks out her cerulean eyes.

The artist lost to her cold heart of steel,
As paint so creates the cloudless figures.
My indigo tears flow, each stroke I feel
Of portrayals, she greets with snide sniggers.

The muse tears my soul with cobalt nails
Every one of my senses wears a bruise.
Artist with windless ultramarine sails
So now I am just sat, playing the blues

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Desire by *Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Pirate's Cove

Pirate's Cove by ~Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Chocolate Box

Chocolate Box by ~Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Remorse

For all those years you sat in pose,
your love endured to meet my art.
My muse you were, I saw no rose,
Just shapes in heart.

Your curves that drive my mind to paint,
To capture all the eye can see..
To hang on walls without a taint,
In joyful glee.

The names I use are not your own,
As homage is not paid to you.
The seeds of pain that I have sown,
Unjust and true.

My brush betrayed my muse and heart,
The longing lost in ev'ry stroke
The cold inside, controls my art,
I should revoke?.

My muse is sullied with my ink,
The hurt has gone beyond her care.
I wish I had the time to think,
My soul lay bare.

Just once I want to say three words

I am sorry.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.