#painter
i’ve killed
versions of myself
so much
i no longer
recognize myself
as of late
i’m
tired
withered and
sore
my shoulders
less dislocated than my soul is
carry the weight
and sacrifice
of the cross i bear
my sword drags across the floor
i have no manner in which to reconcile
anymore
i can only continue
painting
my mother raised
a broken man from the start
but simultaneously
an artist
i know nothing else
but the continuation of
dashing red lines
across a field of lilies
while the bodies pile
in muddy clays
the reds and browns
collide and combine
and it is reminiscent of a
grand canyon
of sorts
mother, i know there’s a crater
left in me
weep i shall
but **** i must
it must all return to a dust
in order for me to continue
raging
so yes
give in to this rage
i must
as i also devote all other efforts
to honing it
it hurts, mother,
i want to give up
i want to die
and stay dead
one last time
but i’ve been cursed with being
my own hero
my own teacher
my own master
my own leader
my own brother
my own companion
mother, i admit you were right
you were right in telling me at
age five
that no one would ever
come to save me
all i know is that
on the day of your death
there will be your spirit
and the only hope for my soul
will be this constant
nagging fight
against the gravities that
pull on my very being
and on every tethered fiber
of my young
and ignorant angst
so with my sword i’ll keep on
brushstroke
after
brushstroke
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 1:21 PM UTC
How her oiled canvas ran over me
A cold flower bed
Mid crescendo in the morning light
Embattled sunlight's splitting blues
Yellow canary sun dressing her shoulders
As the white spill of layered brush just beneath
Leading her uprising
Her painters overalls scraped off upon
No longer drab
Trailing in her caps wake
Her old attitude
Feb 8
Feb 8, 2026 at 7:11 PM UTC
There was a young man who could paint
He was not known for using restraint
He'd paint things he likes
Such as **** women on bikes
They're good. But Picasso they ain't
Dec 30, 2025
Dec 30, 2025 at 5:57 PM UTC
I think of you
Lying on a sandy beach
A light breeze kisses my face
The sea is calm and still
I see you on the clouds in the sky
I see you on the air, hovering over the sea
I see you lying next to me
Yet I know you are very far away
I hear your laughter loud and clear
Your body emits a fragrance
Fresh as the scent of roses and jasmine
I can feel your presence next to me
Yet I know you are very far away
You are a portrait on the surface of the sea
A painting of vivid colours
A painting as only Michelangelo could make
So vivid, so real
Yet so far away you are
Ever in my thoughts you are, ever will remain
My Dream Girl, My Dream Girl
I have never seen you, yet I know you
Like I have lived with you, all my life
I see you so clearly that I could paint you
My Dream Girl, My Dream Girl
Alas, I am no Picasso or Rembrandt, MyLove
Only A Simple Soul From Down Under
Sep 29, 2025
Sep 29, 2025 at 6:56 AM UTC
Frozen beauty
breathtakingly
preserved in his
running watercolour,
rough charcoal,
faded photograph film,
A beauty forevermore-
stilled yet alive.
Jun 27, 2025
Jun 27, 2025 at 1:53 PM UTC
for Joscephine Gomez
I quietly closed the door behind me and stepped inside
Where several souls had preceded me.
A painter stood by her easel by the south door,
There was a poet seated at her desk.
A Buddhist scholar stood before an open tome
and a lyric soprano softly hummed her warm up patterns.
Just then another soul entered the room and asked,
“Who are these people and how did they get here.”
I answered, “they are all called Joscephine
and they have come from the stars
bearing gifts to heal us, encourage us
and light our ways with kindness and wisdom.
May 30, 2025
May 30, 2025 at 11:38 AM UTC
Color the sky with cerulean blue.
Know in your heart it will be true.
Paint the clouds titanium white.
Use indigo to pigment the night.
Oh, painter, your palette is as sharp as your knife.
May it guide you towards vibrancy all of your life.
Mar 7, 2025
Mar 7, 2025 at 7:31 PM UTC
I didn't want to sit and pose for you
I didn't want you to paint me
For all that I was in that brief moment
I was not enough yet then
And I had no desire to be your muse
I was sitting right in front of you
Eyes begging you to keep me forever
At the table next to you
On the other side of the couch
Or to the right of you while you sleep
I don't want to be hung on the wall
Not touched for months at a time
Something you passively think about
While I'm left out to dry
What a cruel thing to do to someone
The glass pedestal you put me on
Cut me when I fell from it
Will you paint that too?
Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 6:06 AM UTC
I look... empty, gray
and before that, crowds were peeked in
Everyone laughs, smiles
and my empty painting presses me against the wall without a moment's thought
I see someone painting my picture frames
With a different brush than the grave, the altar
He paints with words, good deeds
The image becomes something different from the gray and half-world reverie
He is a painter, a painter of my life's painting.
Jan 8, 2025
Jan 8, 2025 at 11:16 AM UTC
It's a nice day in Paris,
A chilly afternoon.
At a tourist cafe,
With an Italian Painter,
Chatting about the French language.
"Why would you write about Dan's Amour?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well it's Dan's thing, seems personal to him."
"No, no, I wrote about dans amour."
"Yes that's what I said, Dan's Amour!"
Sigh
Jan 10, 2025
Jan 10, 2025 at 2:49 PM UTC
In her eyes I was glowing
She thought I was a rare find
A diamond in the rough—
No, I am moissanite.
I am never that grand,
Even a thousand painters
Couldn't paint me as they can't
Get inspired with my abstract self.
It would be better to wonder
From a far like looking at that cool car,
Let it not be known
That it is lacking in parts.
Sep 30, 2024
Sep 30, 2024 at 11:41 PM UTC
For you, I am an artist,
My art is music,
My art is love.
For you, I am a soldier,
My duty is guarding,
My duty is protecting.
You lost someone special,
I'm an addition new,
Do not worry, dear,
I'm here to stay here.
Sep 18, 2024
Sep 18, 2024 at 10:19 AM UTC
The landscape forces
me to put it on canvas --
and then it won't work.
Apr 27, 2024
Apr 27, 2024 at 3:47 AM UTC
For you, I am an artist.
My art is music.
My art is love.
For you, I am a soldier.
My duty is guarding.
My duty is to protect.
You lost someone special.
I'm a new addition.
Do not worry, dear.
I'm here to stay now.
Dec 31, 2023
Dec 31, 2023 at 9:29 AM UTC
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!
Jul 9, 2023
Jul 9, 2023 at 8:50 AM UTC
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.
May 29, 2022
May 29, 2022 at 5:44 PM UTC
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
Feb 20, 2022
Feb 20, 2022 at 5:21 PM UTC
A little painter in her room
Gathers strength while Darkness looms
She takes a canvas, picks up the paints
A rush of adrenalin in her veins
She holds the brushes, takes a stance
Her hands over the canvas dance
And suddenly, the room is brightened
Successful work, she's no longer frightened
A powerful shield to fight the Night
A little painter that paints with Light
Jan 27, 2022
Jan 27, 2022 at 6:48 PM UTC
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
Dec 15, 2021
Dec 15, 2021 at 7:08 PM UTC
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
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 10:03 PM UTC
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
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 2:44 PM UTC
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.
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 8:01 AM UTC
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
Mar 21, 2021
Mar 21, 2021 at 2:31 PM UTC