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All that is necessary to paint well is to be sincere.

quote by Maurice Denis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paint Me Down

Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im walking into studio
Consider strange appeal
Paint me in the home
Im brushing up on sketchbook
Designs for love unreal
Paint me in the home
Oil and skin youll need to buy it
Consider what I mean
She sinks beneath thr moving pictures
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im soaking up the surface
Conceaiving new idea
Paint me in the home
Shes oiling up her subject
But all still life is here
Paint me in the home
All the boys with framed dimension
A cover up on lust
Hell take his pain and paint it over
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down

song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paint my eyes in flowers

paint my hands in dragons
paint my back in windings
paint my arms in lightening
paint my neck in anks
my forehead intricate lines
paint my shoulder butterflies
paint my heart in henna
in henna of red in henna of black
body paint my heart

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Paint body art beautiful

her majesty the hand
with nail graffiti polish
pain in henna red
paint in henna black
paint paint my heart

paint body art faithful
faithful to the strokes
paint in strokes divine
paint in strokes of red
paint in strokes of black
paint paint my heart

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: Whither Thy Art, Man?

Yes, men and women, paint their eyelashes,
And dye their hair in hues and paint their nails;
And wear head-bands, multi-colored sashes,
And paint the tortoises and shells of snails.

Some paint their bodies fully or one-half;
Some paint their country’s flag over their face;
Some look like leopards, lions, clowns that laugh;
Some tattoo pictures or paint words so base.

Some paint their naked bodies as if dressed
Or apply stickers of men, Gods or beast;
Their art on human skins looks to them best
And dance in ritual for a sumptuous feast.

The art of man has gone so crazy now,
For men paint Dogs, cats, cattle, also cow.

poem by John Celes
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Paint

Don't paint me red,
Red is for bold women that use cheap scent

Don't paint me blue
Blue is for sadness and regret

Don't paint me green
Green is for envy and not to be seen

Don't paint me black
black is for the night and I love the light

Don't paint me white
White is for virgins and me, I love a flirtin'

Don't paint me orange
Orange is vile and I have some style

Don't paint me brown or grey or cream
these colours are boring and really not me.

Paint me in silver, platinum or gold
so I remain precious as I grow old.

poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dream Images

if I painted pictures
I would paint dream images
I would paint visions of inner mind's eye
I would paint life in veils swirling kaleidoscopic moods
I would paint canvasses imprinting fabric expanding universes

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Are You Sincere?

The words you said to me,
you repeat to someone new.
You say the things I want to hear,
but are you sincere?

I sit alone and wonder,
if your words are meant for me,
that I am the only one that you hold dear.
However, my mind keeps nagging, are you sincere?

Friends tell me stories about you,
I do not want to believe.
You just say the words are all lies.
In my mind the questions still arise, are you sincere?

I find the back door open,
when I come home at night.
You say you left it open in a state of fear.
As I close and lock it I wonder, are you sincere?

(12 June 2007)

poem by David Harris
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Are You Sincere

(words & music by wayne walker)
Are you sincere when you say I love you
Are you sincere when you say you love me too
Oh and are you really mine every day, all the time
Ive gotta know which way to go
Will our love grow, are you sincere
Are you sincere when you say I love you
Honey, are you sincere when you say you love me too
And are you really mine every day, all the time
Ive gotta know which way to go
Will our love grow, are you sincere

song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paint Brush

We forget
We’re humans in disguise
We lust for angels
We lust for demons
We cannot exorcise the human inside.

We paint a layer of lies
No water can wash it off
Human doesn’t let paint spread
In the end humans peel paint off.

Some are left buried
With paint left unpeeled
The paint dries away
But human never dehydrates.

We may paint on thorns,
But flowers we remain inside.

poem by Mehreen Mujeeb
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I paint my own reality. The only thing I know is that I paint because I need to, and I paint whatever passes through my head without any other consideration.

quote by Frida Kahlo
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Paint My Love

From my youngest years
till this moment here
I've never seen
such a lovely queen

From the skies above
to the deepest love
I've never felt
crazy like this before

Paint my love
you should paint my love
it's the picture of a thousand sunsets
it's the freedom of a thousand doves
Baby you should paint my love

Been around the world
then I met you girl
It's like comming home
to a place I've known

Paint my love
you should paint my love
it's the picture of a thousand sunsets
it's the freedom of a thousand doves
Baby you should paint my love

Since you came into my life
the days before all fade to black and white
Since you came into my life
Everything has changed

song performed by by Michael Learns To Rock from Paint My Love
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Swallow Flame Words

swallow flame words into soul at own risk
I paint distances between seen unseen at world's edges
I paint portraits above beneath mask as multi veils
I paint shift faces figures skin deeds intended done deeds
I paint poetry life in shifting kaleidoscopic images souls

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song

I told my nymph, I told her true,
My fields were small, my flocks were few,
While faltering accents spoke my fear,
That Flavia might not prove sincere.

Of crops destroyed by vernal cold,
And vagrant sheep that left my fold;
Of these she heard, yet bore to hear;
And is not Flavia then sincere?

How, chang'd by fortune's fickle wind,
The friends I loved became unkind;
She heard, and shed a generous tear;
And is not Flavia then sincere?

How, if she deign'd my love to bless,
My Flavia must not hope for fress;
This, too, she heard, and smiled to hear;
And Flavia, sure, must be sincere.

Go shear your flocks, ye jovial swains;
Go reap the plenty of your plains;
Despoiled of all which you revere,
I know my Flavia's love sincere.

poem by William Shenstone
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Vermeer

An easel stands in candle light
Young maidens sit without gesture
Pure, like the repose of Eve in Eden
Eyes with the power of the stars

Guilt, shame, and sin has not happened
No acting, no projection, no splits
The fire of purity in stark reality
Blues like heaven itself, white light

Mystical perfection, virtue, innocence
Sexuality without sin, beauty so sincere
To paint the soul before the fall
Show life without pretense and masks

Clothing like creation itself
Put into space in eternal beauty
Ideals so lofty, so simple and sincere
Lips that give Eve's first kiss

Hands that touch with pure tenderness
Symmetry in mathematical wonder
Everyday life in profound infinity
Vermeer, did you see angels?

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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sincere with God
sincere with ourselves
life becomes easier

haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Signboard

I will paint you a sign, rumseller,
And hang it above your door;
A truer and better signboard
Than ever you had before.
I will paint with the skill of a master,
And many shall pause to see
This wonderful piece of painting,
So like the reality.

I will paint yourself, rumseller,
As you wait for that fair young boy,
Just in the morning of manhood,
A mother’s pride and joy.
He has no thought of stopping,
But you greet him with a smile
And you seem so blithe and friendly,
That he pauses a chat awhile.

I will paint you again, rumseller,
I will paint you as you stand,
With a foaming glass of liquor
Extended in your hand.
He wavers, but you urge him –
Drink, pledge me just this one!
And he takes the glass and drains it,
And the hellish work is done.

And next I will paint a drunkard –
Only a year has flown,
But into that loathesome creature
The fair young boy has grown.
The work was sure and rapid.
I will paint him as he lies
In a torpid, drunken slumber,
Under the wintry skies.

I will paint the form of the mother
As she kneels at her darling’s side,
Her beautiful boy that was dearer
Than all the world beside.
I will paint the shape of a coffin
Labelled with one word – ‘Lost’
I will paint all this, rumseller,
And will paint it free of cost.

The sin and the shame and the sorrow,
The crime and the want and the woe
That are born there in your workshop,
No hand can paint, you know
But I’ll paint you a sign, rumseller,
And many shall pause to view
This wonderful swinging signboard,
So terribly, fearfully true.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sign-Board

I will paint you a sign, rumseller,
And hang it above your door;
A truer and better signboard
Than ever you had before.
I will paint with the skill of a master,
And many shall pause to see
This wonderful piece of painting,
So like the reality.

I will paint yourself, rumseller,
As you wait for that fair young boy,
Just in the morning of manhood,
A mother's pride and joy.
He has no thought of stopping,
But you greet him with a smile,
And you seem so blithe and friendly,
That he pauses to chat awhile.

I will paint you again, rumseller,
I will paint you as you stand,
With a foaming glass of liquor
Extended in your hand.
He wavers, but you urge him-
Drink, pledge me just this one!
And he takes the glass and drains it,
And the hellish work is done.

And next I will paint a drunkard-
Only a year has flown,
But into that loathsome creature
The fair young boy has grown.
The work was sure and rapid.
I will paint him as he lies
In a torpid, drunken slumber,
Under the wintry skies.

I will paint the form of the mother
As she kneels at her darling's side,
Her beautiful boy that was dearer
Than all the world beside.
I will paint the shape of a coffin,
Labeled with one word-'lost,'
I will paint all this, rumseller,
And will paint it free of cost.

The sin and the shame and the sorrow,
The crime and the want and the woe
That are born there in your workshop,
No hand can paint, you know.
But I'll paint you a sign, rumseller,
And many shall pause to view
This wonderful swinging signboard,
So terribly, fearfully true.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Am I a master

I am the master, master of art
have painted true pictures,
of rising sun, mountain, sea
through jungles flowing rivers,
shining stars, birds, cloudy sky,
can paint anything and everything.
insects, lions, bear and deer.
just like the living things.

I am the master, master of art,
can make my own paint and brush
Alas! but cannot create raw material
of any of paint, brush or canvas.
Oh! can not paint these seven
which are made only in heaven:
smell, touch, look, hear and taste,
emotions, thought and breathe.

No, I am not the master, master of art
can paint uncountable things yet not.
Not possible to paint love and laugh
I have to go again and again to learn
to the supreme master, who painted
the universe, stars, moon and sun

(C) S. D. Tiwari

poem by S.D. Tiwari
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sunsets With A Crimson Colour

We paint our sunsets with crimson colours
a sign of a brighter day tomorrow.
We paint our earth with blues and green,
the oceans, lakes and land.
However, we paint ourselves invisible
with the use of slight of hand.

How long will we paint with colours
if we carry on the way we do.
The crimson will become a dusty brown
for the dust cloud we created.
The green will become black,
chard and empty of everything.

The waters that were blue
will run red with the dead,
polluted beyond repair,
unless we open our eyes now
and our world we start to take care.
Hopefully, then once again we can paint
our sunsets with a crimson colour.

3 September 2011

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paint The Sky With Stars

Suddenly before my eyes
Hues of indigo rise
With them how my spirit sighs
Paint the sky with stars

Only night will ever know
Why the heavens never show
All the dreams there are to know
Paint the sky with stars

Who has paced the mightnight sky
So a spirit has to fly
As the heavens seem so far
Now who will paint the midnight star?

Night has brought to those who sleep
Only dreams they cannot keep
I have legends in the deep
Paint the sky with stars

Who has paced the midnight sky
So a spirit has to fly
As the heaven seem so far
Now who will paint the midnight star?

Place a name upon the night
One to set your heart alight
And to make the darkness bright
Paint the sky with stars

song performed by by Enya
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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