Inspiration
let the brush begin
let the strokes be gentle
but let all these be
definite with a sense of
a mission
a purpose
paint me oranges
like suns
green patches of
grass
like peace
paint me the blueness
of the seven seas
let these be not as dark
as the night
let there be openings
like doors and
windows
so i can breathe
let me live
like i was once so alive
let me go through all these gently
like the fluttering wings
of a sky blue butterfly
you are my flower
scented with morning lemon
let me
on such a short moment
bloom
and then
even for a day
just a day
wilt with you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
What is the color of love?
What is the color of love?
I'll paint it with RED.
Do you ask me why? Because.....
Red roses are the symbol of love,
Red sunrises are the symbol of life.
What is the color of love?
I think I'll paint it with ORANGE.
I'll give it to you by the segments.
It looks so naive but....
You have to believe.
What is the color of love?
And now I'll paint it with YELLOW.
It's the sunshine of the bright day.
It's the color of flowers in spring.
What is the color of love?
I'll better paint it with GREEN.
'Green grass of home...',
Green leaves, green piece...
What is the color of love?
I think I'll paint it with BLUE.
It's the color of the sky,
It's the color of freedom,
It's the color of seas and oceans
It's the color of the devotions.
What is the color of love?
It is sometimes dark blue
When the ocean is angry
When someone's love is not true.
What is the color of love?
May be it is VIOLETTE?
Don't try to guess
As I'd like here to confess:
It's a RAINBOW!
Larisa R(Odessa, Ukraine)
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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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
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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
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
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The Shortest Moment That The Butterfly Tries To Speak
how many flutters of its wings is its lifetime?
not a hundred, this butterfly with blue shaking lines on its wings
some dots of black on the lower tip
some flaps of dust as you hold it.
we love to see it freely hovering from one flower to another
blending with its colors, it is not trying to hide anything
beautiful, it is showing itself, beautiful butterfly,
how gentle, soft to our hearts as we watch it
there is no sound of its wings and its graceful feeding on the nectars
then it rests on a leaf. we leave it there.
the wind last night was strong.
we see the leaf where it stayed on the pebbled ground.
there are no wings. there is no trace where the blue butterfly is.
how many flutters did that butterfly make?
such a brief moment, yet so beautiful
that is the message of the life of its lost wings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Choose Your Color
I will paint the walls blue
Blue is calm, blue is power
Blue is the color of tranquility
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the ceiling green
Green is healthy, green is peace
Green makes time move faster
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the floor red
Red is fire, red is danger
Red is the symbol of passion
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the sky purple
Purple is sad, purple is gloomy
Purple is the color of romance
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the tree black
Black is fear, black is death
Black is the symbol of grief
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the street yellow
Yellow is happy, yellow is fresh
Yellow is the color of sunshine
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the fence orange
orange is wisdom, orange is wealth
Orange is the color of success
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint everything white
White is good, white is pure
White is the color of faith
Have you seen my colors yet?
(August 16th,2006)
poem by Christopher G. Turner
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With the smell of turpentine
With the smell of turpentine
and paint in front of the fireplace
you paint magical lines
with blue, green and gold
and I look at you
while brush strokes
like magic make abstract images appear.
The Creator must have looked like this
while He looked at the world
while building it
and I see your golden eyes
looking carefully at the painting
and at times you frown
while you try to draw perfect lines
and light and colour
create magical feelings
and flow into each other
and you build shade and depth.
Gasping for breath lovely are you
while your fingers play with the brush
and there are more than curves and lines
from which your beauty comes.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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
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Dedication
In youth I longed to paint
The loveliness I saw;
And yet by dire constraint
I had to study Law.
But now all that is past,
And I have no regret,
For I am free at last
Law to forget.
To beauty newly born
With brush and tube I play;
And though my daubs you scorn,
I'll learn to paint some day.
When I am eighty old,
Maybe I'll better them,
And you may yet behold
A gem.
Old Renoir used to paint,
Brush strapped to palsied hand;
His fervour of a saint
How I can understand.
My joy is my reward,
And though you gently smile,
Grant me to fumble, Lord,
A little while!
poem by Robert William Service
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Splashed of Creation
Upon waking up this morning
First sound to hear
Was the whirling wind
In the valley where I live
I am who I am...
Just being alive...
I feel this enormous amount of love
Love for life and creation
My soul, have wings
The sound of chirping birds
Looking up at the pink sky at dawn
Like a gigantic painting
Splashes of pinks, greys and blue
Almighty's paint brush
Creating beautiful images in my mind
I just Love being Alive!
poem by Persian Khushi
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The Prayer
Wilt Thou not visit me?
The plant beside me feels Thy gentle dew;
And every blade of grass I see,
From Thy deep earth its quickening moisture drew.
Wilt Thou not visit me?
Thy morning calls on me with cheering tone;
And every hill and tree
Lends but one voice, the voice of Thee alone.
Come, for I need Thy love,
More than the flower the dew, or grass the rain;
Come, gently as Thy holy dove;
And let me in thy sight rejoice to live again.
I will not hide from them,
When Thy storms come, though fierce may be their wrath;
But bow with leafy stem,
And strengthened follow on Thy chosen path.
Yes, Thou wilt visit me,
Nor plant nor tree Thing eye delights so well,
As when from sin set free
My spirit loves with Thine in peace to dwell.
poem by Jones Very
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Grand-Pa's Whim
While for me gapes the greedy grave
It don't make sense
That I should have a crazy crave
To paint our fence.
Yet that is what I aim to do,
Though dim my sight:
Jest paint them aged pickets blue,
Or green or white.
Jest squat serenely in the sun
Wi' brush an' paint,
An' gay them pickets one by one,
--A chore! It ain't.
The job is joy. Although I'm slow
I save expense:
So folks, let me before I go,
Smart that ol' fence.
Them pickets with my hands I made,
When young and spry;
I coloured them a gleeful shade
To glad the eye.
So now as chirpy as a boy,
'Ere I go hence,
Once more let me jest bright to joy
Our picket fence.
poem by Robert William Service
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Night workers..
Night is frozen and full of dust,
Nocturnal creatures are out on lust,
Trainee painters colored the earth,
Using the shades of grey at the brush,
A few take the paint in the bucket,
Splatter the darker grey on the forest,
They think to color the rivers of blue,
Adding the grey to the blue, make it dark,
How hard they paint the civilization black,
The lights of men make it bright,
Bored of painting on the roads,
back alleys are pained with what they have,
Forgotten the painting of the sea,
They throw their balance paint and brush into it,
Before they finish the job and get paid,
The cleaner of the earth arrives from the Vacuum,
Sucked in all the dust from the horizon,
The perfectly visible earth emerges,
After the thawing of its all nightly desires.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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I saw a Butterfly Today
I saw a butterfly today
Small and green with no wings
Crawlsing into shadows\hiding from a world who ignores it's subtle beauty
Afraid to never be noticed...appreciated
I saw a butterfly today
Camoflauged and shielded in self-made walls
Neglecting the world of it's gentle touch
Afraid to be met with a forceful hand
I saw a butterfly today
Wings new and fresh
Excited with exhileration
Facing a world with new courage
Knowing it can not be harmed
I saw a butterfly today
Blue and gold streaked the sky
embracing the sunlight's rays
Fluttering around my head
Carring my heart on her flight
I saw a butterfly today
poem by Venos Tricon
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I paint on a sky
The dawn is breaking its early morn
Here, I m standing on a promise
of a brand new day
for new morning comes.
for the early morning smile,
So then, I paint on a sky.
Your eyes that shine like a golden sun.
I sense the morning glory.
Those cherry blossoms
That I paint on my mind.
As I heard the morning breeze,
That plays inside of me.
The notes and melodies
Were I paint on a sky
Over there beneath the silence
I watched the sea that dance on a wave,
And then I draw a line on sand
A line that connects my soul on wind
There I can dance to the music of my own
There I can paint on a sky.
Every step that I have been through.
I belong to the wind.
To fly higher than the mountain
Fly as free as the bird.
Then, I paint on a sky.
These dreams inside my mind,
These hope that I have been holding on
These love that last for more than time.
I walked on a bridge of the rainbow
I’ll be the sun in the sky.
I’ll be the light in all time
I’ll put back the blue in the sky
And learn to see the beauty that is waiting for
So then, I paint on a sky
All the happiness that brings back in my heart.
poem by Cheryl Aldea
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You Only Paint The Picture Once
(Teddy Gentry/Randy Owen/Ronnie Rogers/Greg Fowler)
Look at those evening shadows
Casting a peaceful light
The sun is disappearing
It's a beautiful sight
Moments caught forever
By the master's touch
A lasting reminder
To us
You only paint the picture once
(And) you only get one chance
Take the time to do your best
While the brush is in your hand
Make sure it's just right
Before the colors dry
You can't change it once it's done
You only paint the picture once
Love is the canvas
That's where it all starts
A lifetime together
Becomes a work of art
Just look what's been created
Between your heart and mine
Oh I believe that we're one of a kind
You only paint the picture once
(And) you only get one chance
Take the time to do your best
While the brush is in your hand
Make sure it's just right
Before the colors dry
You can't change it once it's done
You only paint the picture once
It's a portrait of life
You can't live it twice
You only paint the picture once
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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Sunlight on white paint. For the New Year.
The house across the way is newly painted white.
Right now, that’s all my being seems to need:
this winter morning, sharp, cold, bright and clear,
the morning sunlight pours across white paint;
contains a thousand messages, in me
interpreted.. or simply left to be..
this moment, that’s as much as being craves:
this morning’s glory; and I, born for praise..
even as I write, I watch the sun’s
white paint brush move across the house’s front
and tell the eye of reason that this world
is turning, basking, in this morning sun;
already sparkling on the Bondi waves
as if the world had just been washed anew;
cast early dawn’s pearl light on Taj Mahal
as if the sun itself could never tire of beauty;
Italian villa forecourts just hosed down,
the air all fresh to meet the warming day;
the gardens of Carmel, eight hours from now,
will paint their flowers fresh with mist and dew;
as every carefree holiday yourself
recall, as proof eternal of pure soul..
and here - the witness of my silent mind
needs nothing, need go nowhere else to find
its very self, this moment without taint:
immortal sunlight shining on white paint.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Phyllis's Age
How old may Phyllis be, you ask,
Whose beauty thus all hearts engages?
To answer is no easy task;
For she has really two ages.
Stiff in brocard, and pinch'd in stays,
Her patches, paint, and jewels on;
All day let envy view her face;
And Phyllis is but twenty-one.
Paint, patches, jewels laid aside,
At night astronomers agree,
The evening has the day belied;
And Phyllis is some forty-three.
poem by Matthew Prior
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We Tried To Paint A Fire In The Snow
Red and orange, yellow
Maybe a touch of blue
Paint the sky with fire
And the snow with a barren hue
Can we catch these shadows with our hands
Or will the dusk refuse to play our game
I think the streetlamps want to breathe awhile
Before we fit them with a starry frame
The people pass and nod their vacant eyes
We paint them with a dash of loneliness
The keys for home sit anchored in their pockets
And all the words are written on their breath
The snow is whiter than the stone I found
That summer day in august at the shore
We said it looked just like a tiny moon
You held it till the daylight closed its door
But now the snow is growing cold as dawn
And all its left is pictures we could paint
That show two lovers with a broken brush
You paint a sky that I describe as faint
Red and orange, yellow
Maybe a touch of blue
I’ve painted love with fire
And the snow with a barren hue
poem by Ben Paynter
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