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Cné Dec 2017
~
O Painter
with thy own eye
                        would thee
paint me in mine own natural hue
prithee paint me as i am,
imperfections
            and blemishes true

Load thy brush
                      with colors sundry
to maketh yond first pure sweep
across the ****** frieze,
fill'd with pangs of hunger.
paint me as i standeth
                  bethought, in deep

With mine own love and mine own desire,
blurring the edges unclean
with mine own regrets
                  and mine own mental gyre,
in mine own natural age,
               of deep forest green

O Painter
Paint me sinister turquoise,
in lavender and maroon,
combine the amethyst and amber
blend the iceberg
       and the indigo moon.

Paint me as i standeth,
       prithee see with thy eye
a mistress in yond lady plight
Prithee paint me all i am
i cullionly
a mistress in all yond lady might

Paint me in the optimistic
                             silv'r of dawn,
but don’t miss the purple
to shade the bruise
                              of the bygone.
paint me in the sky blue journal

O Painter
Paint me as a unique template
smudge black white and grizzled
merging all the colors of thy palette.
col'r me a rainbow
                            in a rainy drizzle

Paint me tall so yond i standeth
loftier than any mountain
Paint me as a dram bird, delicate
with soft feathers silken

Paint me harmony, as a violin
so yond i can sing thy solitary tune
paint me as thy poetry
         with song and melody
wrapp'd in a cocoon

O Painter
paint me as a dream yond rises
                               in did saturate colors
with a steady upbeat flight awry
tint, a fluttering
             of a quite quaint butterfly

Portray me with endurance
imbue so bold and bright
doth not hesitate
                to depict mine own mind
in profound fuchsia and white.

Useth the colors yond thee would borrow
Thy palette not yet exsufflicate
Paint mine own loss and mine own sorrow
in search of a shade so ******

Adorn mine own heart in glowing garnet
at which hour thee paint mine own love
add a true broken blue shade
of the cloud and the rain above;

Study mine own dry sorrow
                              in mine own soul
useth any shade thee plaited
soften the edges of control
in a tinge of xanthene.

O Painter
Prithee paint me
Mine own passion and mine own spirit
shall has't a crimson r'd hint
mine own remorse and mine own regret
shall reflect an ink stain print

Paint me in mine own eye so true
O Painter
but add a dash of courage too

~
When I paint, I’m never quite satisfied as I see all my mistakes, blemishes and colors not quite right. I tend to keep painting to try and get it all right. At some point, I arrive with the conclusion, if I keep going I’m going to mess it up. I stand across the room and, it’s then that I’m amazed at what I have created. I like to think that I’m seen in the same way by my creator.
Shane Willey Nov 2017
Oh what news do you have in store for me?
I have been waiting all day to learn more.
More about the person I once knew well
And know less about the one I know now.
How about you start with your childhood, yes?
I know not from whence you came, but you must.
For you have lived through and through, life on end.
I will have to guess, that is how it seems.
My imagination isn't large enough.
I can't comprehend what lifestyle you had.
I wonder if you were a parent, hmm?
Or maybe a secret agent? Not so!
Perhaps you were just a normal person,
Wanting a new life, for people to stop-
I shared this with an old friend and she really appreciated it, I hope you can too! :')
Delta Swingline Nov 2017
I would've stayed up into the midnight hours for a conversation I cannot wish to have.

It is a forbidden thing to ask for conversations I am not allowed to even grasp.

I have seemed to love and lost but not lived.

Have I not suffered enough?

I am not even close to Shakespearean in voice or writing but I stand anyway.

When asked what time to you favour most, do I dare answer honestly?

I would've answered sometime in the midnight hours all those years ago.

And now, I would give anything for a night's rest for a fort night straight.

And yet, nothing comes of these times going by and by.

I do not dare say I love the night.

But rather say I wish for the sun.

I wish for the sun.

I wish for the sun.

I wish for the sun...
I am not the poet you believe me to be.
MysticRiddleton Sep 2017
(a Shakespearean sonnet by MysticRiddleton)

Lake of mirror from beneath,
On thee reclines the wet gray cotton sea
Glowing faintly overneath
Projects penumbras of the tree
Pictures alter by the angle
Heaven slithers swift as I
Near and closely leans in angle
Sees thy creature eye to eye
Alas! The radiance that makes thee luster
Decides to pluck thee bit by bit
Pictures fading by the mirror
Lake of mirror, be not beat!
Keep thy stagnant lake, oh mirror
Let thou ripple with some vapor.
This poem describes an object which appears only on a certain natural phenomenon. Try to guess what the object is.
Paul Butters Aug 2017
Shall I compare you (being modern)
To a summers day?
Or to a galaxy full of stars?
No I will not
For I know full well
That you will never fall
For any of my corny chat-up lines.

Paul Butters
Just thought of this straight after a post-tea nap lol
Anders Thompson Mar 2017
Tomorrow I and all the world condemn
That I am only, of a person, half.
I might’ve had a life tho’ I’ve missed them,
My maze of memories’ crannies worsens:
The afternoons that should be clear and strong,
A distant haze, forgotten roads - but soft!
Is there a place I have not gotten wrong?
Remembrance catches me so badly oft …
To keep a journal, to keep a diary,
To try and lock the day within my brain -
Will I lose it all?  Yes, no past for me.
Watch all my yesterdays down gutter drain.
             Worthless, my poetry I write today
             In hopes that it will yield a better way.
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