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Mrs Timetable Feb 23
Drawn by the sadness of time
Minutes of repeated striations
Hours of wounded sketching
Days draining color
Outstare me...I dare you
Survey my damage
Morphing into
A dueling masterpiece
For the young artist
hazem al jaber Jun 2021
Drawing you ...

what could i write ...
what could i say more ...
how can i ...
draw you by letters ...
is this a face ...
or it's a sparkling  moon ...
sends it lights ...
or it's mix of stars ...
to make your beautiful face ...

tell me how could ...
i draw you sweetheart ...
even the most great artist  ...
never could do ...
so , i ...
how would i describe ...
with my poor pen ...
it never get brave to do ...
is it dare ...
even me ...
can't do ...
as what you are ...

how to draw ...
a face ..
a beautiful face ...
as this space ...
has the most beautiful stars ...
and those rays of sparkle ...
from your charming eyes ...
which they as a well mellow ...
it just exploded to stream  ...
with it sweet wet water ..
to irrigate a thirsty land ...

Oh sweetheart ..
how could my pen do...
nor me ...
how to draw you ...
to draw the most sweet face ...
that i adored ...
since i got ...
the first kiss ..

could i do ...
i will try ...

hazem al ...
Justin Lai May 2021
A boy, sketching

         His friends, fellow neighbours, skinny dipping

This is not the first time,
      but what is indeed new are the imprints
                                  of streams, droplets;
                                        yelps, giggles;
                      the force of a tumbling body,
                                   or limbs on limbs,
    shivers and waves in his very young heart.

       He finds his nib forming strange contours,
               fingers tracing the imprints as much as his
                  eyes could picture,

          only to tear the paper, later,
             ripping out a flat, grimacing tangle of lines,
                   his friend, grotesque on canvas.

     Night beckons;
              his sketch, made anew, alive as
                     he lay within burgeoning wants
                           that he never wished
Soundtrack: Alexandra Stréliski - Plus tôt
Brumous Apr 2021
I'll let go of this pencil
that continues to draw this
head filled with imagination

"behead me,"
and bring the endless ache of being
an insufficient being;
in this ideal world

'filled with feelings, pens & paint,'
it irks me that I make no sense

I hate that I'm not perfect like her.
Ahmad Attr Apr 2021
Stroke, stroke
Charcoal on the paper
I grip my pencil by her neck
Stroke, stroke
Darling on the paper

I gaze at the face for hours
Imprint every single pore of the skin
In my eyes

I cannot draw well,
But I do try, to mirror
darling on the paper
stroke, stroke

I bend my wrist,
To draw the scarlet of the lips
And I fill in, black for the cherry
the eyes, magnificent as ocean
Two celestial bodies
I fill in the miniscule details
The minute galaxy in the iris

And the smooth nose
Casting a shadow over the left side
I press my pencil to add the dark
Stroke, stroke
The tip broke,
How dare she!
Come between us
Becoming a barricade
Run her head on the blades!
Stroke, stroke

The hair next
countless wisps
and at the end
I rub my finger tip on the grainy paper
Blend, blend
I finish my masterpiece,

How foolish of me
Thinking I could replicate, imitate
My darling’s beauty
This is a sheer mockery of God’s creation
It’s full of my sins, and devoid of any feeling
I must rip it, get rid of it

And I must try again
Stroke, stroke
Charcoal on paper…
gen Mar 2021
the ones that constantly play on my mind,
now etched inside his head
he'd make you feel profound things
converting a blank page into a room full of thoughts and visualizations
waiting to be filled with intention
by the way his fingertips graze over canvas
strokes, hues, and lines
every exquisite detail
the lead scraping across the paper
shadows that protrude the overall portrait
contemplating to contrast the grays
forming vivid illustrations no one would ever envision
the paper comes to life before my eyes
it's like he never had to use his own hands
to touch each & every part of me
i only see him in monochrome
but he penetrates me with all kinds of hues

i hope he realizes that he himself, is art. my art.
4 ya
KHY Mar 2021
writing spiral
I'm writing the spiral
I'm on my paper
drawing my pencil
I am on my paper
and I'm drawing my pencil
as all these faces that I see
are just not adding up
into anything I want to be
or anywhere I want to go  
and no matter what you say
I will never endorse it
back to the life
that takes your soul
and make it go away
an abstract poem on my insecurities about writing poetry, lyrics, or just creating art in general.
Maria Mitea Apr 2021
Today I want to draw you
(Yes, I can draw you. It's all about starting.)

With the black pencil, I draw a cross on the white,
I cut the white, you're done, you're not white,
You would have been a bride dressed in white,
but you are not,
Then I wonder, what another colour,
I jump joyfully and choose the yellow pencil,

I draw your eyes with yellow, you start shouting at me,
The black cross is cutting the white of the paper
from one end to the other,
again, you are screaming out your lungs,
your screaming energizes the colour,
yellow comes out on the lips, on the nose,
it brightens the thickness of the eyes.

The room is full of golden light
fighting with monochromatic egotism.

Your yellow is absorbed in me,
I become a dandelion that draws you în autumn leaves,
jasmine, chrysanthemums, butterflies, bees,
all small insects invade the room, the paper,
my eyes enter your eyes.

You scream at me ”stop! it hurts”

Greedily I consume all the yellow from the sun,
You keep screaming at me  ”do not **** me in flowers”
I  get more excited
and I move with the joy of a child who discovered the pleasure of scribbling,

The yellow from the drawing grows your head big like an asteraceae,
I start seeing a smoky red, invasively yellow navigates towards red,
red is growing in an orange,

The orange rolls under the golden layer, it touches the cross.
The cross gives birth to multicoloured roads,
gardens and orange orchards are growing  from the desire to shape your face,

You stopped shouting. I sketch your profile.
With a husky voice, you ask me if I can draw an orange,
I draw an orange.
Tell me, who doesn't like oranges.
Jay Dec 2020
I love that music is an audio version of a book which is a mental version of a drawing which is a simplified version of a movie which is a combination of it all
all art is so important and it all is part of one thing
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