Love,
Open your eyes and look up to the sky
Draw your finger across the night
Connect the dots one by one
Picture the images you see
Love,
Look at me
I don't need to paint the night
Cause all I need is in front of me
Your eyes sparkle as twilight
Gorgeous and bright
All I need is you Love
Because when I see you
Your the only star I see

Darling,
You own the galaxy ❤

meet me there.
over the horizon,
where the line between the sky and mountains
ceases to exist.
where my canvas remains bare
and blindingly white.
yearning
yearning
to be painted.

splatter me with hues of colours,
then leave me
leave me unfinished.

so i dissolve
my very essence
pooling at my feet.
now a murky shade of brown
i seep to the ground
and lay there.

but a tiny flower blooms in my wake.
nothing but a fragment of what once thrived.

Repaint my colours, I beg you.

I was like a rainbow of fresh paint.

Still wet from the brush.

Dancing on rainbow colours.

It's so much darker now.

The paint has dried.

Paint a tree and a
telephone.
Paint a rabbit
changing its burrow.
Paint rabbit's sweet little
family.
Paint their poo strung together like a necklace.
Make it stink.
Now,
Paint your mother
trying to hide
in the same burrow.
**** the rabbit!
paint a box
&
bury the dead rabbit inside...



- Samar Charulingah Godfrey

I trespassed into the woods
following the fragrance of a wildflower.
There was a spring of silence, birds,
and tall trees; silent indeed only
the winds sounded silent,
once I found her, she whispered...
Are you feeling dark and gloomy?
Black and empty as a dusty chalkboard?
Spooky like foggy lights falling along leaves?
Did you paint your walls with
Broken crayons?
Do you remember when we lay beside
each other, bodies warmed by darkness?

A lonely ache knocks. Asks how
far I will go to find you in me.
When everything cloaked in silence?

Wounds will heal as time flies
Call me melancholy

i smear oil paint across your lips.

your face, outlined in pale brown and
robin's egg blue and
yellow-green,
rests gently in negative space.

part of me hurts
when i look at this part of you,
this part i am
so familiar with,
in an unfamiliar way.

the lines of your eyes
(eyes i've gazed into a thousand times)
betray my secrets and my soul;

the whisper of your hair
is the same as the quiet brush of mine
on the tops of my bare shoulders;

i reach out to touch you,
and my fingers touch dried oils
in shades of raw umber and cadmium lemon;
my paintbrush still dangles, wet,
from my other hand.

the creased wax paper on the table
carries swatches of color,
the potential energy of
my pigment-smudged hands;
you are still unfinished.

i am still unfinished.

‘Twas mid-day when I sat
Ready with paint and brush and all that.
Upon the stool I sat brush in hand
But like a bowl of lentils plain, my mind ‘twas bland.
Minute after minute, hour after hour
Passed before not one idea did flow’r.

‘Twas mid-night when I stood
Brush and paint in hand I did not think I could
Create even a twig or blade o’ grass.
So I took my brush, my paint, and all th’ mass
And turned quite sudden to throw them all
In to th’ depths of nearest lake to fall.

But unbeknownst to me,
That hellish stool on which I sat to paint thee
Had fallen to that curséd ground
With th’intent to trip me I soon found.
And fall I did in to th’ nearest lake
With paint and brush and all that I did hate.

And ‘twas then that I thought
As I did sink, ‘twas then that I was caught
With thine image of pure light.
‘Twas then one hour past mid-night
When I beheld thy face of peace
Upon my canvas painted piece by piece.

Then I rose to th’ surface calm as could be.
I took my soaked paint and brush and all that I could see
And sat upon that hellish stool
To paint thee floating in that pool.
So ‘tis to thee that I do write this bit of Posey.
To thee, O my dear, my blesséd beauty.