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FiguringItOut Jul 18
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.
stillhuman Apr 14
Powerless

I finally get up, i leave you behind
Now i'm free

Senseless

I cry of joy as mom holds me in her arms
Now i feel

Empty

I paint 'til i can't feel my hands anymore and my cheeks hurt
a sweet ache caused by my smile
Now i create

Ugly

I look in the mirror
I don't see a stranger
Now i am

But not really
I'm not
Not now
Practice makes progress, i guess
I want to paint you there,
so I never lose you again
even the sun wil set my pain everywhere.
I want to paint you,
but I am not a good painter
who will make you a good picture
in a frame or in the wall
I always hang it out.
I will make you come to see
in the colour
I love it should be.
Indonesia, 2nd April 2021
Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho
stillhuman Mar 21
When I feel lost in this world
full of potential
and twists and turns
When I feel I have no place
in structured conversations
and I barely recognize my face
When I have no friends nor foes
or at least I can't see them anymore
my aunt, my cousin, my dad propose
that art is always open
that poetry will always listen
and my history is my token
I am the culmination
of my family's art
So I will work
and tear myself apart
with verses and rhymes
and paintings and designs
'Cause our history has no end
so long as on my shoulders it dipends
Happy International Poetry Day!
This is to remind myself of my family's history with art. My dad writes poetry and used to paint, my aunt created beautiful art and my cousin is a pretty well-known painter. It truly runs in my family and I'm the last artist so far. I hope to make good use of their wisdom and love
Patrice A Mar 7
I spent all those years
painting achromatic smiles
on my sad muses.
karly codr Jan 29
a thin brush
painting small circles
on denim
steady hand
steady
stop shaking
finished
hi i'm back. i'm working on painting the back of a jean jacket I have and this just sort of came to me... anyway... it kind of ***** but whatever
Nikolas Aug 2020
Stained wooden tools in use,
Rapid brush strokes, blouse is loose;

Oleanders running up the windows,
My painter's face is like a wild rose.
🌹
Graff1980 Aug 2020
You can paint infinity
on a set of plates
that lay here before me,

share a season’s story
leaving out what is gory.

You can dance in skewed
perspectives,
make rainbows cry
while a little child
staves off this painted rain.

You can make manifest
the spirit over which
you give dominion
to all who live in
this little world.

Let lovers walk
from pools reflecting
many shades
that illuminate
the end of days.

Can take the infinitude
of every instance
that made you, you
and summarize it
in multiple tints
of blue;

Take the beauty
and wonder of
a stranger’s face
lit by inspiration
as she reads
by a windowpane,

while I can take apart
and break the art
you made with your heart,
to write this silly little poem.
Kamilla Jun 2020
Every cascading curve,
Envisioned and brought forth
Colt brushes accompanied by oils served
Gentle glide to slight drag North
Smooth, fair *******
Of yellows, white and reds
Complied thoughtful hues
Silk of emerald, bride of white
Paintress’ gaze, lovers by night
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