match sticks
artist's brush
brick wall
scorpion
Persian carpet
voile



Members of the message board were challenged to use the words from the list above in a poem. Below are their entries.














The Artist's Brush

By Sharon (ByGolly25@aol.com)


She posed for the artist with his brush
She felt for him a romance crush
In her dress of voile she was pretty
He teased her with his jokes so witty


He asked her to sit upon a brick wall
She was afraid that she might fall
So instead he sat her on a Persian rug
She screamed when she noticed a bug


A scorpion crawled so very near
The artist noticed her great fear
He stomped it with his leather shoe
Her love for him suddenly grew


She was about to let him know
When from his hand appeared a glow
With a match stick he had lit
A miserable smelly cigarette


She no longer felt any ardor
That cigarette cooled it for her
He never knew what he would miss
A smoker she would never kiss











The Artist's Brush

By Cottage Lady (Patience@bresnan.net)


The artistís brush had captured a different kind of picture,
A rather odd mixture of inside and outside landscapesÖ


She settled in to study the painting in further detailÖ.


Outside a green lawn surrounded by a brick wall
About eight feet high,
A verandah bordered by lush bougainvillea vines
And on one of the vines a large black scorpion crawled,


The view into the room through an open window
Showed airy voile curtains moving gently in the breeze,
And wide board flooring with an exquisite
Persian rug with many but softly muted colors


A large Siamese cat stretched out on the carpetÖ


In one corner of the room an old mission table
Was set for dinner for two with flowered Bavarian China,
Crystal glassware, and a sterling silver candelabrum
With match sticks at the ready for lighting the scene.











Dreams May Ride

By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)


Dreams may attire floats of voile
On a Persian carpet ride,
Touched by a masterís artistís brush,
Hold on, donít wake, sleep sweetly,


Dreams may too call dozing doubts
To smack into a brick wall,
Where a scorpion poises,
Upon that carpet preening.


May that dream with matchsticks burn,
No nasty qualms to linger,
Float in voile, melodious pastels
Traverse with seraphs singing.










The Artist's Brush

By susi (Texaswishr@aol.com)


I've always wanted to take a ride
on a Persian Carpet, looking down, wide-eyed
with a sketchbook and my artist's brush
trying to paint the heaven's hush


a hot air balloon, also a thrill
lit by a matchstick, the space would fill
and carry me high above the earth's soil
and the lady watching, dressed in voile


but dreams of such always come to an end
like hitting a brick wall, reality doesn't bend
the sting of life, like a scorpion strike
is made easier when we dream of things we like










The Artist's Brush

By Phyllis Ann (Starbird55@comcast.net)


The islands weave their magic and paint a scene as no artist's brush can capture.
They consume, enthrall and rapture.


They wrap the soul like a lovely piece of voile with its transparent beauty.
No other place takes you to a feeling devoid of responsibility and duty.


She is intense like a Scorpion born under the Scorpio sun.
Either she loves you or hates you and spews you out after she's won.


The warm air and sea breeze will enchant and delight you as a Persian Carpet ride,
But beware when she is wrathful during a high tide.


Her waves can break you and your board like little match sticks in a stream.
Her and Mother Nature reign supreme.


The islands have waves both gentle and extreme.
They can hit you like a brick wall and turn you into nothing more than a dream.










The Artist's Brush

By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)


There we were, a white bearded old man
and a bright little three-year-old great-grand-daughter,
sitting on the floor making a special doll,
match sticks for limbs.


An old artistís brush for the body,
how thin she was,
camelís hair, her hair,
laughing, having a ball.


Stubborn as a brick wall
she was like her grandpa.
Painted button for a face,
yes she had green hair


A scorpion eraser, her dog,
zip tie for a leash.
Grains of rice for hands and feet,
this green haired lady was real neat.


Swatch from a blue voile dress,
lifted it from the sewing box.
Fashioning pants and jacket,
they were the worst part.


Got all finished, she was ecstatic,
showing it to all around,
oh how proud.
Sat it down and broke a match leg.


Started the repair, match was not struck
before it could be struck, it ignited.
paint brush girl went poof in flames.
It caused excitement, started again.










 











The Tall White Pitcher (several writers)

To a Piano (several writers)

Six Words in a Poem (several writers)

Identity




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