A foreign sensation;
The taste of lace,
A touch of silk,
The free-fall of ebony kisses.
Painted desires on pale limbs
Your hands, my Michelangelo,
In every way, I am your canvas.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

A rewrite of an old poem, Pyro.

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A Work Of Art (pt. 3)

Have you ever seen a true beautiful woman?
I'm talking internal and external beauty. A woman as hot as Uganda but also as sweet as Fanta.. that's true beauty.
But until I give you an example of a woman with such attributes, my point won't be proven,
So let me tell you about a woman named Amanda.. with true beauty.

Beautiful enough to drive you crazy..
Beautiful enough to make your heart beat cease.
Search for a girl better than her? You couldn't find any..
Because what's better than perfect? Nothing, that's what my point is.

I look at her and all I can do is smile, as in admiring a unique work of art.
But man.. If you got to stand next to her, you'll be smiling like an idiot too.
I swear, she takes the road less traveled straight to my heart.
But that's cool, cause she's the only one I'm happy to let through.

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A Work of Art (Pt. 2)

Crazy, every time I look her in the eyes, she strikes me dumb..
And I'm left frozen by her beauty, giving her my best smile, even though I'm at my worst and falling apart.
With every word she speaks to me, I catch myself staring at her lips, still wondering where she came from,
Because there's no way in hell a typical human being could've given birth to such work of art.

Everything around you starts to move in slow motion in her presence,
And you can try to approach her but with your legs not moving fast enough, you can't do much but admire from afar.
And even if you developed some thougts and tried to speak, nothing will come out but silence,
Because she's the kind of woman that walks by and leaves your mouth ajar.

Unique, there can only be one of her.. even a mirror wouldn't display her reflection.
She turns heads, leaves you weak, and unable to speak.. every day she remains at her finest.
You can look and try to find her flaws but it is without question, this woman is pure perfection,
And even when things start to look a litte cloudy, she continues to shine bright like diamonds.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Twitter: @Wo_ozz

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Hotter and Hotter

I was made on a house
That moves up and down
And side to side with the water

I was handbuilt
Dried in the sun
Put in a kiln that got hotter and hotter

I was cooled down
Then given a colorful glaze
Put back in the kiln for my final phase

Taken back out
For the Artist to see
All of my charm and personality

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Pencil Off of My Paper

My sketchbook lies there on my bed,
Next to where I lay down and dream of nightmares.
I'm unable to sleep the night away without fear,
So I turned on the lights and sat up against the wall.

Why does everyone have to steal my pencils?
This one is the last pencil I'll have for a while...
Red isn't really my favorite color even though it's cool,
But it seems to give me a lot of luck in drawing.

So many pages have been ripped out,
Symbolizing me leaving pieces of my past behind to move on.
No longer will these pages will be left in grayish color
Because the precious pieces of me will be in every beautiful color.

Life, to me, is always like a drawing;
Mistakes will never be truly erased from the canvas,
But they can always be covered up by new drawings.
I always do my best to make little mistakes as possible.

This is what made me endure life.
If everything that exists is art,
Then I'd gladly offer to create more art for this world.
And it all begins with me lifting up my pencil off of my paper...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Drawing is what I love the most and do the best at. I think I love it more than writing, but words are just as beautiful as images of art created by art itself.

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What Cloth Am I Cut From

What Cloth Am I Cut From?

I have this ability,

Within my very being...

A Gift?..
A Skill, Yes...

Worthy of Honing.

This, my craft
I've come to love.

But it is so much more,
Much more,.

You may call my way
However you believe it to be...

But I hold it's secret.

See it for what it is,..
and it is Amazing,
It is Ancient, and Limitless...

To me, the one that wields it,
this blessing?.. I see, incredible things.
I alone, my inner eye,..

Then of nothing, shall I create something,..

Seen til this moment,...
By me, and me alone.

Now, made real by my magic,..

Physical, Real,..

Mysterious spells, and enchantments cast
upon, into, over and through it.

imagination, emotion, heart and soul,..

Do you see?... Gaze upon my artwork...

Inside of you, and you, and me...
Strings, and I manipulate, maneuver, Agitate,..
I Soothe, I sympathize, I celebrate,...

Surrendering myself, entirely,

I make each piece,..

These spells are made of every color.
Potions stirred into impossible textures.

Subject matters,..
Please Judge.
Please Critique,
Please, please, pretend
to know my reasons,..

I see the awe
See the hidden wonder...

what state of mind must mine be indeed.

See the cloth that made me,
Makes everything!

I am destined,
I have heard my calling...

Bottom, to Top,..
Roots, up,...

In love with my calling.

by: JRFehlmann.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Again, another rough draft, this one about who I am, what I love about myself, my uniqueness and my love of all arts. Reminding myself to be proud of what I love doing, and less afraid of other peoples criticisms.

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"Eye Loves"

My Work

He never thought tho skilled in the art,
how anyone could understand.
And so he kept his wayward heart,
hidden in the palm of his hand.
Going back to a lonely bed,
not comforted by the clock.
The tormented life that he had led,
a mind that raced nonstop.

I have seen this; in my mind,
the tossing and turning each night.
Waiting for some open heart's sign,
with promise to feel the light.
So he trudged thru weary days,
struggling to breathe.
Not knowing peace, but confusing ways,
deciding not to believe.

She always dreamed; tho not out loud,
of that special kiss.
Every time she sang for crowds,
something was amiss.
The social life that she had known,
was coming to an end.
And every night she slept alone,
needing more than a friend.

I have watched this, I have prayed,
trying to help her believe.
As she struggled to just stay brave,
wearing her heart on her sleeve.
So, she worked faithfully,
to keep the wolf from the door.
Not having much security,
but she knew there had to be more.

One day she met this stranger,
his merriment sprinkled with glee.
But in his pretty eyes she saw danger,
and whispered,"what's happening to me?"
From here on out she couldn't turn aside,
not that she even wanted to,
her feelings could not be denied,
she had to think this through.

Meanwhile, his heart was enraptured;
though he never said a word.
Her cute little smile, his lost soul captured,
others thought this absurd.
She brought him chips, a coke, and seemed
to just always be there.
They felt like they had met in a dream,
they had so much to share.

So by and by through much duress,
their secret could keep, no longer.
Late one night, they had to confess,
together they were stronger.
And now their days are blue skies;
for sweet love they have found,
and she is lost inside blue eyes,
and forever he, in brown.

"Happy Anniversary"
to 2 people who HAVE FOUND the magic..

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A gift for my daughter, and her awesome boyfriend, on their 5 month going together anniversary. A bit of whimsy...

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"Seraphim's Lament"

My Work

Judgment proclaims
that blood must be shed,
Wrath is a flame,
ruby dance of red.
Holiness can gaze,
only with Righteous eyes.
Worship and praise
continually rise.
In twain they are covered,
by feathers of Light.
Forever to hover
in the realm of His Sight,
Terrible Vision
that can strike you blind,
split-second decision
that will melt your mind.
Caught in the storm
created for Pleasure,
their wings will keep warm
their most adored Treasure.
Angelic beings
with Godlike desire.
Drawn from the dreams
of Elijah’s fire.
Whispers of nightmares,
birthed from stray stars.
Calculated diamond stare,
machines made for war.
Hiding each awful face,
from a Most Holy Throne,
from Adonai’s Secret Place
they guard His Presence, alone.
No human could conceive
their purpose or His plan;
standing ready, to receive,
His nod or sleight command.
Though human sight cannot behold
this terrifying art;
you cannot weigh in silver or gold,
the radiant love in His Heart.
The gift that He has given to me;
in this earthen disguise,
Seraphim frozen by what they see,
His Reflection, in my eyes..

Author's Notes/Comments: 

In the secret realm of the Most High....

The Gallery of the Soul

Statues that fear nearby mirrors,
wary of these obelisks in granite smears.
They say to themselves:
"Such creatures must surely be of old fiction!"

Canvasses left, still dripping,
beneath broad lamps of artificial light.
They never quite dry;
but they do become hardened, like molded bread.

Dauntless fools in paint and nude;
they dot each hall and carry on at no one.
When, and if approached,
they scurry all directions and shout out their idolatry.

There are great and hanging ornaments
with wide and gaping holes from thrown rocks.
Drowned in all their splendor,
they now hang and bleed black in mighty, roaring waves.

Among the halls the voices bicker,
with each concept so self-obsessed and sure:
a thousand senseless thoughts and words
that combine to form nothing, beyond unsettled bowels.

And then there are booths and displays
that one may then hide in with someone quite attractive.
You can't recall the piece's stage,
but you can remember the color of its floor.

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