Hey you Master Artist! Could you paint beer's taste? When you’re eating pizza, Could you paint its smell? As an expert painter, Why not saying: Yes!? Dear Master Artist! Is there any brush To save painters’ face? Charcoal, pencil, crayon Which is more fresher Than your blood, than your tears? Papers aren’t unique When your body’s alive Darling Master Artist! Pay your skills’ price Then paint the town red!
On a soft July evening he paints a garden path, lined with all the flowers she admires. He dabs tarnished lanterns on canvas, so she'd walk safely in gentle light. The brushstroke blows her goodbye kisses as she passes by and finally he sets amber accents into the twinkling of her eyes.
I gaze the wheat field gusts of wind erupt and impede to the very end crows take flight towards the blood red Sun he calls them back rests his weary hands and tired eyes before the long walk into town his silhouette fades as I awaken to view the captured image that hangs from my wall
king of colour a whisper into the future unheard in his time died in the pursuit of painting a world in his head visions of oil on canvas windows into his soul sorry your work is for the rich and famous not for everyone as it was made
People Pass (A poem inspired by The Scream by Edvard Munch)
People pass They don’t see the pain I’m in A guy in the street just like them with problems no bigger than theirs My internal struggle is waiting to burst but nobody cares The bridge I’m on acts as a platform for my escape A jumping off point into the watery landscape No problems at the bottom of the river Freedom so close I almost shiver Even one smile may change the tide But people are busy I cry for help with my mouth open wide But they continue their stride as if to push me aside so I’ll fall over Into my aquatic enclosure My hands are glued to my face as if to hold my untamed mind in place Can’t pull them apart If only I could restart My knees bend without my command My body flies through the air like a plane unmanned Within a second I feel the cold start at me feet I fall further until my descent is complete Looking up at a world turned to aquamarine It’s finally quiet This place is serine The struggle stops The last bubble to the surface pops My vison fades The nightmare of feeling, a forgotten haze
Wrote this for a class a few years ago where we had to come up with a poem inspired by a famous painting.
