Narrative Poems about Paintings

Impressionist Sunrise

 

The soft yellow glow over the green and blue ocean

An orange sphere, unmistakably the rising sun

A world of color lost at sea

Silhouettes of boats and fishermen

Leave the docks to bring in today's catch

Schools of fish are seen down below

Just out of sight of searching fishermen

All as the sun rises over the bay

Reflecting off of the ocean of color

And bringing light to a new day

 

 

Woman in the Garden

 

Walking, thinking, even speaking to herself

Listening to the whispers of the flowers

And the secrets of the trees

The white angel, beautifully clothed in snowy purity

Casts a shadow of sinfully scandalous darkness

And as she walks through the protective trees

She shares her own thoughts

Her own secrets with them

And the trees listen take in her secret

Adding another to their number

 

 

 

 

Monet the Painter... Secret Poet?

Oscar-Claude Monet is the name.

Impressionist painting is the game.

 

My father was a grocer and my mom was a star

My brother was Leon, he played the guitar.

 

At La Harvre School of Arts is where I learned

When I left France I always returned

 

Camille was my wife, two sons we had.

But then she died, and I was quite sad.

 

1840 was the year I was born.

I died at 86, my death was forlorn.

 

During my life, was World War I.

Stalin was born and Hitler’s life begun.

 

These difficulties I overcame.

For a better life, I will always aim.

 

Now back to my art, the main point of this piece.

I hope I don’t bore you, the rhyming won’t cease.

 

I used colorful paints all over my art.

The Impressionist movement I did start.

 

Unclear up close but perfect afar,

Some people might think my style is bizarre.

 

Impressionist Sunrise is how the name arose.

And on from there the movement grows.

 

Woman in the Garden is a favorite of mine.

Her dress that I painted is quite divine.

 

Many of my paintings were set in France,

On boats and at weddings, sometimes at a dance.

 

I hope you enjoyed this poem of mine.

I sure enjoyed writing it, more than France likes it’s wine.  
 

The Gas Station

It’s late at night and it’s almost my turn to drive. There is a gas station up the road Brady is going to pull into where we are going to switch drivers. I turn around and look in the back where the rest of our party is sleeping. Diana and Rachel are laying in the middle row and Luke and Sandy are in the back. The street lights illuminate the car at regular intervals as we speed down the untraveled road.

 

It’s been almost three months since I’ve slept in a bed and my neck is suffering the consequences of sleeping in cars. The six of us, three guys and three girls, are road tripping across the United States, venturing out of our small hometown of Owl’s Head, Maine. We spent a week and a half traveling down the Atlantic coast. We traveled from Boston and New York to Washington D.C. and the beaches of Virginia and finally to the back roads of Georgia and into Alabama. From Alabama, we went to Mississippi and New Orleans. That was my favorite. We spent a day and a half in New Orleans, sleeping in a parking that night; it was terribly hot, I recall. We drove north after New Orleans, up the Mississippi into St. Louis. We visited the Gateway Arch and then headed out towards the west. Kansas was the most boring drive of my life and every mile there felt like an inch. Finally we made it to the mountains of Colorado.

 

And all of that was only one month. The trip has sped by, each day bringing new surprises. We did make it to San Francisco, California, which was going to be our turning around point. Instead we head south to L.A. and San Diego. That was beautiful and turned out to be an excellent move. We headed over to the Grand Canyon and then through the deserts of New Mexico. I ate the most delicious taco of my life in Midland, Texas. From there we went over to Oklahoma City and back through Kansas to Omaha. Through Iowa, which turned out to be much better than I expected, and into Chicago. Two months had gone by once we reached Chicago and it was nearing the end of July.

 

I was quite surprised by the fact that I hadn’t really felt home sick once the whole trip. Yeah, I missed my parents and my two little sisters, but I enjoyed myself so much on this trip. We were so busy all the time and if I could, I would live on the road with Brady, Luke, Diana, Rachel, and Sandy. We were already great friends, all of us, but I’ve gotten to know them so much better on this trip. The best way to test a friendship is to live out of an eight-passenger van with them for t three months. I’d say our friendship passed.

 

Now, nearing the end of the memorable and eventful three months, we return up northern New York and into Vermont and New Hampshire. The trees are becoming familiar and even the same New England smell is returning. The great Atlantic Ocean is once again within a day’s drive and life is going to return to normal.

 

We pull over in a gas station in New Hampshire and I step out and stretch.

 

“Hey morons, we are stopping. Go potty if you have to,” Brady teases.

 

“Shut up, Brady,” Diana laughs, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. “Who’s driving?”

 

“Nathan,” Brady answers. The five of us leave Brady to fill up the car with gas and head inside to use the restroom.

 

After our break, we head back outside and get back in the car to continue our trek home.

 

I wave goodbye to the adventure of trying something new as the sun rises over dull Maine. Owl’s Head is just a few hours away.

Not For Class

I thought this gif that I made really sums up my life. That person there is my brother. Due to the fact that I could not figure out how to post a gif to the layout of my blog, it had to be a post. 

Open Ocean

 

The painting I chose slightly resembled an ocean, although it was quite confusing as to what it actually was. It also could have been a sunset if it was turned upside down.  The painting pictured left is not the exact painting but has a similar feel. Both paintings are kind of unclear as to what it actually is and just a random mix of color. The actual painting, however, was much more complex. There were browns, reds, blues, and greens plastered across the page in a chaotic yet peaceful manner. The bottom was predominately brown and blue. These browns faded into reds and finally back to blue. The blues on top were almost a greenish blue. The top was covered in cloud formed splotches that were almost the same shade of greenish blue. Despite the confusion, the painting was still very peaceful and obviously took a lot of time to paint.

Here's a little poem I whipped up.

Utter confusion

To the sunset or the beach

Browns and blues are one

Underwater volcano

What is it? No one will know.

Dat Pillow

Sleepy, Grey Morning

Never want to leave this bed

Folded among dreams

 

 

 

The pillow reminds me of really deep sleep. For some reason, when I sleep really well I move around the most. I'm already quite an athletic sleeper so when I'm really tired, my pillows end up looking like this one at the end of the night. It also reminds me of when I was younger. I used to have what my brothers and I called "lumpy pillows." They were basically just old pillows that all the fluffiness would be pushed to a certain area of the pillow. These were quite nice because you could adjust the fluff for however much you needed to feel comfortable. Eventually the lumpy pillows were traded out for new memory foam ones. We still probably have these lumpy ones somewhere in a closet in our house, lost but not forgotten.

 



MY FUTURE

QUESTION FROM MONDAY: Can I major in cats?


In one year, I see myself in college, although I'm not sure yet where I'd like to go. I hope to major in English, Writing, or Journalism.

In five years, I hope to be out of college and either in graduate school or in my career. I hope to be working at some kind of publishing company as an editor.

In ten years, I will probably be married and working at my job. If I have any kids in ten years they will be very young. Hopefully I'll be making enough money to take care of my family.

In twenty five years, I will likely have a few kids and still working. It seems that all anyone does after the time they graduate and before they die is work. It would be nice to possibly be a published author in twenty five years. I'm not saying the next J.K. Rowling or Suzanne Collins, but to have a book or two out.

Fifty years is almost too far away to think about. I can't even imagine what the world will be like in fifty years. I'll probably be a grandparent and (hopefully) retired by then. Unless they've come up with something for people to live longer so they can work longer by then. In fifty years, you never know!

In fifty five years I hope to have gotten over my cat allergies by then. Then I can be an old cat man!