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/'kriːˈeɪtɪv·mɛs/
noun

1. it's that flash
of inspiration
adding colour
to your blank thoughts.

2. it's that exhilarating feeling
of creating something -
of actually creating something -
with your endless procrastination.

3. it's your canvas
being filled with splatters
of paint and glitter.

4. it's art.

- v.m
an updated version of my 2016 "art" poem ✨.
Allen James Aug 2018
Her gospel beauty rises early,
Yet always late to gratify,
With eyes that gleam with intuition,
They burn the shelter where thoughts hide,
Her creativity runs circles,
Around these worthless, old commandments,
And so new love approaches me,
The way a painter does a canvas.
Jabin Aug 2018
Painted a masterpiece
In my dreams:
A Chilean villa.
Cactus streams.
A flower composed,
Wilted with time
With muted colors,
Tequila with lime.
Fields of desert
With tuxtla soaring.
Winding paths of
Wood and brick flooring.
A cool wind blows
Through the heat
Over sweaty brows
And sandaled feet.
A moment trapped
That’s never been.
A life of others
Never seen.
Put away my brushes,
Stood back to admire
The deep ocean sky,
The burnt orange fire.
It lay on the table,
Alive on the canvas
When waking did cause
My hard work to vanish.
In memory only
And never shown
Forever discarded
Once beautifully known.
My studio of mind
So often produces
A wonderful concept
With no practical uses.
I’d like to live there
And run those streets,
Take shade under awnings
Sampling savory meats.
But I’ll never go there,
Never see that place.
Never plant in soil
That’s been erased.
That marvelous day
Conceived at night
Keeps the dreaming
Forever alight.
Sehar Bajwa Aug 2018
art
As your tapestries collapse and crumble inside

Watch the bloodied paint flake off your heart

Don’t brush away the ink pooling in your eyes

Stand aside as they applaud your art
a million thoughts inside my head
I feel things I'll never show
a thousand things I never said
a thousand things you'll never know.
Demons Aug 2018
There’s this person that watches me at night.
Spray painting the walls in the moonlight.
I don’t know his name, but he just sits.
And he watches.
I hide my face with a respirator and hood.
Hoping I don’t get caught.
I love the smell of the paint, I wonder if that’s why he watches me.
He enjoys what I enjoy.
Hopefully, one day.
We’ll cross paths again,
Fully intact.
And enjoy these nights.
Where we felt so Abstract.
Just a little story I decided to write.
chukwudi udoka Jul 2018
It's so unconventional how you strike a hollow part in my heart
No it's not a love a poem, I think that would be a cliché.
It's just a guy who meets a girl who writes about a girl who sparks stranger attractions.
I met a good girl doing bad things.  
She's a ***** in the night, yet an artist in the morning.
Probably painting away all the ****** feelings from last night.
She's like a wolf, she turns into a monster at midnight
Except his sexiness is the full moon
The trigger that transforms the good girl to bad.
May I talk to you madam?
Her eyes dazed at me for a second
She looks right away, turns to another guy .
He's abs and cute face are his weapon
They exchange a smile that couldn't be manufactured in heaven.
He approaches her and they hit it off instantly.
And in minutes they leave the bar together .
She wakes up in the morning smiling, “what a night!”
Her face changes, he left without saying a word
She's into tears again, this time more painful.
She pours her heart into the canvas,
Her heart filled with dark feelings.
Those feelings guide her hands holding the brushes.
She paints a **** man, except she makes him heartless, and gives him horns on the canvas.

Stanza 2

He's the devil that stole my heart
He's Angelic voice couldn't be resistible
His cute face and dimples we're just too loveable.
I think I know who he is
Do you? He is Lucifer.
He turned me into a monster in the night
And left me with my canvas and brushes.
I stay far admiring every edge and turns she makes while painting.
Her attention to details is splendid.
I wish I could be there to clean her tears while she was painting.
At 6pm she wipes her tears, she dresses into that short skirt, puts on makeup.
She dresses seductively and places her breast firmly.
Oh, she's ready for the night.
She's ready to get heartbroken again.
She's a good one, only till 6 pm.
The  part two would be available in my anthology beautiful chaos. To read a free preview of it , click the following link : http://ge.tt/6QCKrYq2
Follow my instagram poetry page : chukspoetry
Gerry James Jul 2018
What is Poetry?
When your legs are numb,
Blood parching in your veins,
Throat choking from the pain,
And the fingers hitting the keys of the keyboard ceaselessly,
Trying ever so hard to create something impetuously,
Its poetry, you type.

When you dream of the possibilities,
And in what was once unimaginable,
You make the reader believe,
And change the way how their life, they perceive,
Its poetry, you dream.

When you play with words,
Just as an artist would play with colors,
To create a masterpiece,
That reaches the depths of the reader’s soul,
And burns them inside like coal,
Its poetry, you paint.

When you thread
Your fears, your desires,
Your insecurities, your pain,
All just to stay sane,
Its poetry you weave.

When your heart is melting
Like wax candles once lit,
And drops of tears smudge the ink,
To your knees you sink,
Its poetry, you bleed.
To all those out there who just enjoy painting their dreams with words that make it all seem so much more meaningful.
Shofi Ahmed Jun 2017
Looking at the
         satellite picture
                    it looks clear.
                       The earth is a blue
                                  drop of water!

                                    Did the sun paint
                 the shades of this blue dew
            dot years.
       Still, the ****** shines
   in same old
unfading colour!
Farzaneh Qaf Jul 2018
Night again
My stressfull mind again
Began the painting like a game
Paint some pains
And
Make some names
Each for a reason
What a lame
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