Gazing At Sunflowers
Your first wife’s friend
came in with her
for a coffee and chat
and you were sitting
on the sofa
with the sleeping cat
and she looked
at the Van Gogh print
of sunflowers
over the mantelpiece
above the open fire
did you paint that?
the friend asked
staring at it
through John Lennon
type glasses
no you said
it’s a Van Gogh print
oh she said
peering closer
I do like flowers don’t you?
Yeah you replied
sunflowers have a way
when Van Gogh
pushes them through
and she stood in silence
taking in the print
and flowers
and colours
and you noticed
she had a run
in her stockings
from the back
of her knee
to where
her thigh disappeared
beneath her drab dress
and your first wife
came in and said
oh you’re not looking
at that painting are you?
He knows all about
those arty types
with their odd ways
and weird eyes
and her friend said
turning round
scratching her ass
I know nothing
of art and such
it’s way out
of my class.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Sunflowers After Sex.
After the sex she stood
In front of the Van Gogh
Painting and gazed. Never
Saw that last night, she said.
It was dark, Max replied.
She touched the painting
With her fingers. Why have
A painting of flowers when
You can go out and buy some?
She asked. They last longer this
Way, he replied. So did you
Paint this? She asked in a state
Of semi undress, her eyes sleepy,
Her hair in a mess. No, Van Gogh
Did, he replied. Is he a friend of
Yours? She asked rubbing her breasts.
He sighed and shook his head. No,
Van Gogh painted that many years
Ago, now he’s dead. It’s a bit yellow,
She said, looking at the painting
Closer, what are those yellow flowers
Supposed to be? Sunflowers, he said,
They’re big flowers; people grow them
For real. She raised her eyebrows and
Pulled a face. What about that drink?
She asked. Sure, Max replied pouring
Her gin in a tall glass. She took, sipped
And winked an eye. What about more
Sex? She sighed. Sure, Max, looking at
Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, boringly replied.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Lostness.
Mickey had locked himself
In the house and his mother
Was concerned he’d do something
To harm himself so you went
Around and knocked at the back
Door and called his name and
He said go away I don’t want to
Talk to anyone but you stayed
And persisted and he finally
Opened up and let you in and
You said why this? And he said
I’m so like my old man that I
Hate myself and he stared at
The Van Gogh print on the wall
Above the fireplace with a look
Of deep unhappiness and lostness
On his face. You are what you make
Yourself you said taking in Vincent’s
Sunflowers the way the vibrant
Picture hung there the smell of
Flowers in the late evening air.
poem by Terry Collett
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Hope For Something Unpopular
Van Gogh's expressionism
did not offer him anything
only one painting during
his lifetime was sold
no one liked it
because he was not a follower of anybody
it was only after so many years
after his death
that his sunflowers begin to be noticed
midway between insanity and spirituality
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What Max Wanted
What do you want from me?
Max's wife said
and he looked by her
at the waitress
at the cafe
who was walking
with some order
behind his wife's back
and he noticed
the cute ass as she moved
the way she swayed
and the hands
holding the tray
huh? What is it
you want from me?
his wife repeated
her eyes peering at him
taking in
that aspect of him
as he turned his head
look said Max
following the waitress
to the table across the way
his eyes slowly
undressing her
his mind making up scenes
like in some movie
you say come on Honey
let's go out for a meal
and talk
and what are you doing
looking elsewhere
and not talking
his wife said
spittle on her lower lip
Max looked back
at his wife and said
oh yes sure
I was thinking
of the Picasso print
we saw the other day
you know that one
we both liked
and you said you'd like it
for your birthday
well maybe
I ought to get it
what do you think?
And the waitress
looked over at Max
as she went by
and he saw
a whole new ball game
in her eyes
and caught the cheek
and ear
and was sure
he captured some aspect
of her perfume
and his wife said
Picasso?
That Picasso?
are you sure Max?
and she went into a daze
and smiled
and Max imagined himself
and the waitress
and sex games
and a party
going wild.
poem by Terry Collett
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Not Wanting To Forget
The Modigliani print was on the wall
By the front door. Who’s she? Bridshaw’s
Dame asked, pointing at the print.
It’s a painting by Modigliani, Bridshaw said.
Is he a friend of yours? The dame asked.
Bridshaw pulled a face and said, No, he’s
Dead now. Shame, she replied, stroking
The print, her finger tracing the woman’s
Outline, her tongue hanging out of the side
Of her mouth in concentration. She’s a bit
On the thin side, the dame said, and I don’t
Like the black coat she’s wearing, like some
Darn widow. Bridshaw wanted to get the dame
In bed for sex; the Modigliani print was no
Big deal, he’d bought it in some art shop on
The high street from the guy with the Boston
Tones. Shame he’s dead, the dame said, he
Could have painted me; I would have made
A good model, more meat on me than that
Woman in black, thin as a pole. Bridshaw
Nodded his head, Sure, sure, but you’re too
Late, the guy’s dead, now can we move on,
Get a drink, hit the bed, have sex, and then
A cigarette. Sure, the dame said, moving away
From the Modigliani print, taking the image
Of the woman with her, not wanting to forget.
poem by Terry Collett
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Upon Gazing At The Cut Sunflowers Of Vincent Van Gogh
upon seeing the cut sunflowers of vincent van gogh
i cannot but think about the tragic moment when
he cut his ear, when blood oozed
when at the end, finally he took his life away,
this thing happens when one knows much about
the life of another
this familiarity that breeds contempt,
and so gazing again at the painting of vincent,
i start with real sunflowers in my mind, the one that mother
planted in her garden when she was alive,
i think of the sun and the sunshine touching my face
i think about warmth and life and oozing verve
the vivacity of all things around my little world,
the field of sunflowers and the bees and the butterflies
and birds
i pretend i have not read about the life of vincent
i pretend i have not heard about the stories of mother
i just gaze again at the cut sunflowers. just that.
now there is joy in my heart. The suicide story does not exist
in the bold yellow petals, on those three huge sunflowers
look at them again, they are the symbols of our smiles.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Haiku In Colours
van gogh
in the field
etching haiku
onto canvas
each stroke
a colourful haiku
for posterity
sunflowers
eleven brothers vie
for attention
the fortunate ones
coloured bright yellow
the rest resign
themselves to fate
bow humbly
and live in the others' shadows
eleven lucky blooms
worth more than a hundred millions
they do not fit into my pot
but in my heart they blaze in glory, always
van gogh's genius pours
unrelentingly
from eye to eye,
heart to heart
igniting the artist's passion
in each of us
once in a while, i too feel like
etching haiku in colours
encapsulating that extraordinary moment
ideas in wondrous colours, shapes and dreams
so that they too would turn out to be loving works of insanity
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Ink Sketch
poetry solitary
mind hobby
silence
still point
spinning world
cascade
canvas words
van gogh
sunflowers
burst
blue sky
poem by Doug Bentley
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Thought Print, Life Print
from time print
comes thought print
and from there life print
and from there
every person's
chance to relive
a million times
easy as the sun rises
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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What makes people the world over stand in line for Van Gogh is not that they will see beautiful pictures but that in an indefinable way they will come away feeling better human beings. And that is exactly what Van Gogh hoped for.
quote by John Russell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Evening Date.
Hi come in I've just put on
the Mahler the 3rd Ok? she says
and before you can reply she
ushers you into the lounge where
you remove your coat and hear
the Mahlerian sounds from the hifi
and the smell of her scent and two
glasses of scotch on the small table
by the sofa take a seat she says taking
your coat off to the other room and
you look at the Picasso print on the
wall and think how long before she
tries to undress you and you sit and
she's back and sits beside you and says
drink up and take in the Mahler and
guess who I saw today and she had
the cheek to ask how I was when she
knew she'd been gossiping about me
to the darn neighbours and you sip
the scotch and look at her plump face
and her deep blue eyes and the red
dress she has on and the overbearing
perfume and how her breasts try and
push their way out of the dress and you
try and get a word in something about
the 3rd symphony or how you like the
Picasso print but she talks on and over
you like a tank her words hard biting with
their Gaelic tones and then she puts her
hand on your thigh and rubs it up and down
all the time her words unfaltering stretching
through the air and I told the old crab to
go smell her husband's crotch and that was
it how was your day? she asks looking into
your eyes her hand still rubbing and your
pecker rising and you say a real downer of
a day but whatever now let's just get into
the 3rd and sip our scotch and she smiles
and makes a grab for your hidden crotch.
poem by Terry Collett
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Of my own work I think that the picture of peasants eating potatoes I did in Nuenen is after all the best I've done.
Vincent van Gogh in letter to Wilhelmina van Gogh (1887)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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And then I went round the corner and there's a Van Gogh portrait, and you just think, well, this is another level. A higher level, actually. I love the Sargent, but it's not the level of Van Gogh.
quote by David Hockney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Friend LikeYou
A friend like you is like no other friend
A friend like you is a friend I don't regret meeting
A friend like you is like a friend I can't scream at or fight with
A friend like you is like having no worries in my life
A friend like you is a friend that I don't want to lose
A friend like you is like being in comfort all day
A friend like you is a friend I always wanted
A friend like you is awesomely awesome
A friend like you is random and funny
A friend like you is a friend that I love to death and I will never let go
A friend like you is a friend I can tell all my secrets to
A friend like you..
A friend like you is like the little sister I've always wanted
A friend that I can go to tell them what's wrong
A friend like you is like having no dark days because you brighten them up
A friend like you is a friend that opens up my eyes and helps me avoid bad things
A friend like you is a type of friend that laughs at dumb things I say or do
A friend like you is a friend I am proud to call my best friend...
poem by Shubham Kumar
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My Friend, My Friend
My friend, my friend hes got a knife
A statement from his former life
When he was easy but alone
Beside him was an empty throne
But what of silver silken blade
Affix his gaze, his features staid
Grasps the handle, clips the cable
One steps up, sits at his table
My friend, my friend, hes got a knife
My friend, my friend, hes got a wife
My friend, my friend, the clever ruse
Persuasion through his thoughts peruse
A hidden relic from his past
That wasnt there when he looked last
He feels it ticking like a bomb
Feeding fear, assaulting calm
Takes the object, starts the game
Moves closer to the flame
My friend, my friend, the clever ruse
My friend, my friend, he lights the fuse
My friend, my friend, hes got a knife
My friend, my friend, hes got a knife
My friend, my friend, hes got a knife
Myf
[maniacal giggles]
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Friend Like You
A friend like you is like no other friend
A friend like you is a friend i dont regret meeting
A friend like you is like a friend i cant scream at or fight with
A friend like you is like having no worries in my life
A friend like you is a friend that i dont want to lose
A friend like you is like being in comfort all day
A friend like you is a friend i always wanted
A friend like you is awesomly awesome
A friend like you is random and funny
A friend like you is a friend that i love to death and i will never let go
A friend like you is a friend i can tell all my secrets to
A friend like you..
A friend like you is like the little sister ive always wanted
A friend that i can go to to tell them whats wrong
A friend like you is like having no dark days because you brighten them up
A friend like you is a friend that opens up my eyes and helps me avoid bad things
A friend like you is a type of friend that laughs at dumb things i say or do
A friend like you is a friend i am proud to call my best friend...
poem by Jenni Cortes
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Who Is Your Best Friend?
Everybody needs friends, we all have friends
Some friends are closer to us than our families
If we happen to fall, there are friends to pick us up
What will our life be without friends?
There are many categories of friendship
There are casual friends, bad friends and good friends
The question here is – who is your best friend?
Friends who can turn your tears into laughter
Is your wife your best friend?
I mean the friend you go to
When you need honest advice
Is your husband your best friend?
I mean the friend who knows you
More than you know yourself
Is your brother or sister your best friend?
I mean the friend who always assists you
To solve difficult personal problems
Is your father or mother your best friend?
I mean the friend you feel safe to keep secrets
Are your in-laws your best friend?
I mean the friend you can tell anything
Is your boss or co-worker your best friend?
I mean the friend who can cover you up at work
Is your son or daughter your best friend?
I mean the friend you use as sounding board
For all your confidential and private thoughts
Is your former classmate your best friend?
I mean the friend who cheers you up on bad days
Whoever may be your best friend, remember that
A friend in need is always a friend indeed
poem by Julius Babarinsa
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Differences between a Good Friend and a Bad Friend
A good friend would wait for you;
So you could both walk to the bus;
A bad friend would just leave impatient;
“I’d rather go hang with Gus.”
A good friend would help with a chore;
Even if it’s taking out the trash;
A bad friend would just smirk;
“If only you gave me cash.”
A good friend would listen;
To whatever you have to say;
A bad friend would cover your mouth;
“Quit blabbering away! ”
A good friend would say “Come on over.”
Whenever you feel like you’re alone;
A bad friend would yell at your face;
“Just go on back home! ”
A good friend would phone;
To ask how you are;
A bad friend wouldn’t care;
“Wanna go to the bar? ”
A good friend will cheer you up;
Whenever you feel sad;
A bad friend would laugh;
“Well, that’s just too bad.”
A good friend would stand up for you;
When blamed for a crime;
A bad friend would walk away;
“Oh look at the time.”
A good friend would come to your funeral;
And leave flowers in your wake;
A bad friend would blow it off;
“It was his mistake! ”
poem by Jessica Lopez
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Judy and You and Chagall
What did you think
of the Chagall postcard print
I bought you?
Judy asked as you both sat
outside the Fox Inn
I pinned it on my wall
you replied
and stared at it every time
I entered the room
thinking of you
she sipped her drink
her eyes searching you
her hair tied behind
in a ponytail
so I gathered
by your letters
she said
putting her glass
on the small wooden table
I missed you
you said
I went to London
while you were away
and saw you
in every girl I saw
even at the ballet
at the opera house
she looked at her glass
I was only away for a week
she said
it seemed a year
you said
you inhaled the cigarette
you were holding
taking in her hair
and eyes and how
her lips moved
as she spoke
Florence was fantastic
she said
I picked out
that Chagall print for you
in one of the art galleries
who did you go with?
you asked
friends
she replied
male or female?
both
she said
you inhaled the cigarette again
and thought of the first time
you kissed her
how the moonlight
shone on her face
as you moved her around
you mustn't be so jealous
she said
I have to see others
who was the guy?
Henrik
she said
you imagined her
and this Henrik
making out
in some Florence hotel
his hands touching her
I thought of you
every moment
you said
that's sad
she said
why?
you said
because no one
should think of another
that often
she sipped her drink
and looked around
at the evening sky
how was Florence?
beautiful
she said
like you
you said
I am like Shakespeare's' lily
she said
as it withers
she added
I see
you said
and you studied
her hands as they lifted
the glass to her lips
the fingers
the skin
the way they held
the glass
did you read my letters
when you got home?
you asked
yes
she said
every single one
my mother said
I must have besotted
some poor soul
and you thought
of the Chagall print
and how you had sniffed it
for traces of her scent
and remembered
your mother's words
nothing is given forever
things in this world
are only lent.
poem by Terry Collett
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Helen Wiped Her Glasses
Helen wiped
her thick lens glasses
with the hem
of her school dress
and you watched
her finger and thumb
move around the glass
in circular motion
Can you see much
without your glasses?
you asked
she looked up at you
and said
Not much
you for instance
are like a small tree
without leaves
with thin branches
hanging down
you smiled and saw
as she lifted the hem
a glimpse of thigh
white as one kept
out of sun and light
But what do I look like
with your glasses on?
you asked
looking at her face
and eyes that squinted
quite naked
without the specs
A boy who's cheeky
but often shy
especially around girls
and their blue eyes
and dark curls
and she giggled
and dropped
the hem of
her dress
and put her glasses on
and her eyes enlarged
and gazed at you
taking in
your unkempt hair
and school boy grin
and at that moment
as she stood stifling
her giggle with one
small hand
you sensed a love
you neither had before
nor could
in the light of day
and innocence of youth
quite understand.
poem by Terry Collett
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