Model Behaviour - Joan Etoile

I’m at ease with nudity
I was an artist’s model in’53!
I’d disrobe without a care
And disport myself upon a chair

In creativity’s name I would undress
I felt no shame at my naked flesh
When I was rendered into paint
It often made the young boys faint

Now I’m old and a bit wrinkly
I’ve been posing for the College of FE
Just like the old days they sketched in awe
Warts and all, just what they saw

So it came as a bit of a surprise
When the thought police arrived
Invoked some archaic obscenity laws
And hid me down a corridor

Joan Etoile


Image : Guernsey Press

Graffiti - Stephen A. Roberts

The tags remain
On the overpass
Under bridges, girders
On countless spans

Illegal artistry that
Makes you look
Past the pages
Of your book

He was no Banksy
But he was gifted
Brightening up
The concrete brickwork

Dodging goods trains
And the cops
He honed his craft
Between the stops

Now he’s gone
Yes it’s a pity
He didn’t hear
The rescheduled Intercity

Stephen A. Roberts

Image : Pixabay - user_id:652234

Mound - Donald Keyman

They built that mound in London Town
For the traffic to drive around
Resembling a power station made of peat
It’s at the end of Oxford Street
This carbuncle covered in wizened crops
Is supposed to lure you back to the shops
It looks such a sickly threadbare hill
It’s as if the gardeners lost the will
To make it look like the rolling dales
They settled for a slag heap from south Wales
It’s supposed to be a piece of statement art
To warm the Nation’s jaded heart
Instead we look and ask each other this:
“Is it Banksy taking the piss?”

Donald Keyman

Image : splashnews/Daily Mail

If I Were An Artist - Ian Duquemin

If I were an artist 
And you were my muse
I'd not find your vibrant colours to use
The rainbow in you, I could never compare 
Your aura… The sunshine that flows through your hair
No artist could paint such a beautiful view
Your universe eyes are the highlight of you 
So I'll try as a poet. And write what I see
To capture the beauty inspiring me

Ian Duquemin

Image: Jacek Malczewski (1854-1929)

Denver’s Marvellous Outdoor Art - Kathy Figueroa

Image: Kathy Figueroa

Denver’s marvellous outdoor art
Presents an astonishing sight
Such as “The Dancers,” which tower
Over sixty feet in height

Of an almost similar scale
Stretches a colossal “Blue Bear”
Peering through the convention centre window
As though to see what’s there

At the Denver Performing Arts Complex
(A sort of “culture mall”)
Rotund “Man” and “Woman”
Both stand thirteen feet tall

The Old Prospector, on 15th Street 
Is more than 125 years old
One hand holds a pick
The other, a nugget of gold

At the airport, startling folks
Who have recently arrived by plane
Rears “Blucifer,” the Blue Mustang
With windswept tail and mane

Continuing this theme of statuary
In deep, rich shades of blue
Is the 16th Street Mall cow
Decorated with pictures and info, too

For those who prefer art objects
In simpler shapes, instead
There’s a reed-like “Red Forest”
Comprised of rods, in vibrant red

This poem about downtown Denver
Wouldn’t seem complete
Without mentioning blue trees
Which enliven many a street

The city is like a huge gallery
Where magnificent art abounds
Far too much to be mentioned here
And of a calibre that astounds

Kudos to Denver’s municipal council
For funding grand artwork in public spaces
And making Colorado’s Mile High City
One of America’s most interesting places!

Kathy Figueroa

"Denver's Marvellous Outdoor Art" was published on April 5, 2018, in The Bancroft Times newspaper.

A Study, Oil on Canvas (1970) - Julian Clarke

Bohemian, in her semi-nude pose,
Dunhill cigarette impatiently burns
Belying loves truth of white petal rose.

Art of capriciousness in amber eyes
Captures spirit like dancing fireflies,

Lying abandoned, Pucci’s Capri pants,
A chiffon scarf her modesty covered in scant.

Of course her playfulness be cast in part
Cold Excalibur, drawn, pricks crimson heart.

Poets scribe her in gilded lily prose.
Enigmatically the painter flourished
Blood red, on lips, thorn of Baccara rose.

Julian Clarke

Just a Has-Been - Tony Gardner

It's years since I took to stage now
Or held and picked a guitar
Uncut are my fingernails now, and my voice
Is cruelly changed by the jar

For a singer's life is uncertain
He has to fight so hard to win
Recognition and fame and position
Until real money rolls in

Then after the work and the sweating
The practice, auditions that wear
Ambitions down to dejection
'Til all you have left is a prayer

I'll sing songs to myself if I want to
Or if you like I'll sing them to you
But I'll not sing again for money
For the words could never ring true.

Tony Gardner

Painting Words - Julian Clarke

Take your angry words
toss them to the sky
hear them jingle and jangle
breathe a hefty sigh;

on an artist's palette
land with a clatter
watching them mix in rainbows
hues all a splatter,

dip a fine sable
lilac is my cue
colours leap out from my heart
painting, I love you.

Julian Clarke

Tribute to an Artist - Trudie Shannon

In the great tidal surges of colour,
I am immersed, enfolded in the heart of your creation.
Eye witness to moments,
Held in thrall by your palette knife,
My head spinning in cultural giddiness.
The core of the earth, the sea, the pull of the moon,
The whisper of a breeze,
The wild screech of winter gales
Accost and absorb my being.
Yet simultaneously
Tranquility, hope and trust all stand guardian
Within the textures that have emerged from your fingertips
No photographer can transcribe elemental energy like this.
In your canvasses, the stillness of a lost echo, a spent wave
Somehow touches the heart and inscribes itself upon the soul.

Trudie Shannon

The Power of the Arts ( a worldwide romance) - Lester Queripel and Fred Williamson

Every culture has its own musical band
To build bridges between people throughout the land
We speak different languages but we all understand
We dance in rhythm, all holding hands

I’ve just heard a song that resonates with my soul
Jazz, jive, reggae, rock n roll
It was the perfect song, rich in melody
It was all about the world living in harmony

I’ve just read a poem that touched my very spirit
I could relate, and resound, with everything in it
I felt uplifted; the words jumped off the page
The drama; the theatre; the whole world is a stage

I’ve just read a book recommended by a friend
It was so good I never wanted it to end
It will be a best seller if we give it a chance
Uniting the world in a worldwide romance

A producer and a director, will put it on the screen
To produce a film called ‘Follow that dream’
It’ll be all about ‘connecting’ and setting people free
Won’t that be a wonderful journey!

The power of the arts goes beyond pleasure
The power of the arts is beyond measure
The power of the arts has a language of its own
Everyone is invited; ‘Come on in friends……you’re home’

Lester Queripel and Fred Williamson

If Your Thoughts Drift - Kathy Figueroa

If your thoughts drift
To dragons and
Wizards and things
Like enchanted forests
And magic rings
Or a flying horse
With feathered wings
That can run like the wind
And then soar...

If you sit on a rock
Sometimes and stare
At the top of a hill
That looks awfully bare
And you think it
Would look better
With a castle there
Otherwise the view
Is just a bore...

If you're weary of
Watching leaves move
In the breeze
And you find that
You're having fantasies
About seeing
A tyrannosaur
Emerge from the trees
And then roar...

Well, it can be said
With certainty
That you have
Imagination
And creativity
Maybe even
Artistic ability
So why not
Express yourself?
Because that's what
Art is for...

Kathy Figueroa

About Art - Kathy Figueroa

Art is a language with which we communicate
Comprised of lines both straight and broken
Of colours, hues and shades
A language where not a word is spoken

So much can be conveyed
By a scene, or enigmatic look
A painting can be like an essay
A gallery, like a book

Artists speak this language
Where words need not be said
A work of art is a story
Just waiting to be read

Kathy Figueroa