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.

Layers of life laid out
Words like scratchy stroked paint
Scorched Harsh brush over

Life brushes new thoughts
Stillness can prevail the mind
Where once was cluttered

Splatter moments stay
In the stillness of my heart
Canvas of my life

Why don’t you paint me
Like I am?
Paint me staring out a window, wishing to be free
Where light shines through as happy things

Paint me thinking about life
Thinking about death
Paint me with all the things I suppress

Paint me in a place to keep me warm
Paint me in a beautiful storm

Paint me somewhere safe
Somewhere where I’m not a disgrace
With no more masks on my face

Paint me without my fears
Without any more tears
Paint me without my insecurity’s
Paint me so my scars won’t show.

Paint me with ink on my hands
And fire in my eyes
And tell me, what would you see?

Paint me with passion
Paint me with ease
But most of all paint me as ME.

they paint a picture of me:
black and white and grey.
i pose for them,
so still I have forgotten how to breathe,
my lungs aching
and my head spinning.  
they paint only
the portrait they want to see
obscuring my flaws
and covering all the bits of me.
black and white and grey,
black and white and grey.
i drag my fingers
through a bright color
and smudge it across the canvas.
they want be to be
black and white and grey,
but maybe
pink was my color all along.

Painting shades of blue
the tinted clouds
over the rainbow
jumped away.

Now it's a diving black swan
somewhere down the all
clear lapis lazuli blue sky.

Only one is left behind
wish I was with my butterfly!