#painters - Hello Poetry

A bare canvas cannot grace the gallery, and solely a vacant amphitheatre applauds the painters who refrain from staining their fingers, the ones who shudder at just the flawed tint, rage at one stray stroke, and wince when colours slightly choke. But when the palette drains the last drop of paint, a canvas clad in imperfect hues remains superior to the isolated one drawing in blues.

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Jul 15, 2025

Jul 15, 2025 at 12:26 PM UTC

mwyyne

Brushstrokes on Canvas

A bare canvas cannot grace the gallery, and solely a vacant amphitheatre applauds the painters who refrain from staining their fingers, the ones who shudder at just the flawed tint, rage at one stray stroke, and wince when colours slightly choke. But when the palette drains the last drop of paint, a canvas clad in imperfect hues remains superior to the isolated one drawing in blues.

9

The moon dreams Upon the rose petals And her crescent hips They've felt the same Weary wanderlust blues and Sweet soothing jazz The exotic gypsies have all the fun Under the moonlight and sun Montage a luminous blur Sometimes even love is a costume, At least it sways sweet in the Moonlight, As long as it sways, the stillness Shall have no qualms, It can sway out of any gown, And dance and prance With Everybody and Noone around To its own exquisite sounds Sighs of Candelebras vintage as wine Shimmers of salsa waves modern As a blank canvas and gaze Love in the plein air Somewhere artists and revelers Are popping the corks Off of Vibrancies champagne bottles Like neo bohemians in love With the retro and enchanted rain Painters are painting with the gaze Of their palms, enough dust on our souls, More kisses candle caresses starry mist and ofcourse more petals to bloom Still life Still Loves that stays At least within sweet reveries Petals and Costumes Lovers and Romantics Vantage of the moon is a golden rose Bouquet and Jazz cabaret The diamonds and stars are glistening For a sweeter luminous shore Reynaldo Casison

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Mar 4, 2025

Mar 4, 2025 at 6:33 AM UTC

ReynaldoCasison777

Vantage of the moon

The moon dreams Upon the rose petals And her crescent hips They've felt the same Weary wanderlust blues and Sweet soothing jazz The exotic gypsies have all the fun Under the moonlight and sun Montage a luminous blur Sometimes even love is a costume, At least it sways sweet in the Moonlight, As long as it sways, the stillness Shall have no qualms, It can sway out of any gown, And dance and prance With Everybody and Noone around To its own exquisite sounds Sighs of Candelebras vintage as wine Shimmers of salsa waves modern As a blank canvas and gaze Love in the plein air Somewhere artists and revelers Are popping the corks Off of Vibrancies champagne bottles Like neo bohemians in love With the retro and enchanted rain Painters are painting with the gaze Of their palms, enough dust on our souls, More kisses candle caresses starry mist and ofcourse more petals to bloom Still life Still Loves that stays At least within sweet reveries Petals and Costumes Lovers and Romantics Vantage of the moon is a golden rose Bouquet and Jazz cabaret The diamonds and stars are glistening For a sweeter luminous shore Reynaldo Casison

39

Take my hand Walk with me through dalihian fields Vast gardens under the crown of gold light blooms By the lake Under trees A silvern rope swings Hold the rope swing to pond Swim beneath the stars See Northern Lights dance past Strokes of painter's brush Blues greens, pinks Pure in beats Music for our eyes Tears well up and fall at the beautiful sight Let love fly on the wings of hope and peace free High to the world of dreams Ride the winds of hope I embrace hold hands with my lost inner child Face towards the dark skies Shadows behind me Heart is now tender flame Don't hang, lantern Fly

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Jun 13, 2018

Jun 13, 2018 at 5:56 PM UTC

Lyn-Purcell

♡ Lanterns ♡

Take my hand Walk with me through dalihian fields Vast gardens under the crown of gold light blooms By the lake Under trees A silvern rope swings Hold the rope swing to pond Swim beneath the stars See Northern Lights dance past Strokes of painter's brush Blues greens, pinks Pure in beats Music for our eyes Tears well up and fall at the beautiful sight Let love fly on the wings of hope and peace free High to the world of dreams Ride the winds of hope I embrace hold hands with my lost inner child Face towards the dark skies Shadows behind me Heart is now tender flame Don't hang, lantern Fly

60

There are faces that go on the pretty, high-end magazines, In demand, highly sought Read once Then kept away Then there are faces that go on the canvasses of painters who were once unknown Coveted, evoking Imprinted on the mind Hanged in the Louvre (for all the world to see) Now worth a million

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Sep 3, 2017

Sep 3, 2017 at 10:57 AM UTC

kimberly-sanchez

Blanchard

There are faces that go on the pretty, high-end magazines, In demand, highly sought Read once Then kept away Then there are faces that go on the canvasses of painters who were once unknown Coveted, evoking Imprinted on the mind Hanged in the Louvre (for all the world to see) Now worth a million

10

When all around you saw darkness, you gazed at the stars. Everyone wants to paint their pain, but only you, Vincent, channeled that awful torment into beauty immaculate and sublime; only you, dear Vincent saw the beauty in the shoes, the bedroom, the weeds, the washers, only you saw the beauty when it wasn't pretty. To suffer is human. but to find ecstasy in the ordinary and transform the banal into the magical is something only you could do, my dearest Vincent. Merci;

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Mar 11, 2016

Mar 11, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC

matthew-berkshire

Vincent van Gogh

When all around you saw darkness, you gazed at the stars. Everyone wants to paint their pain, but only you, Vincent, channeled that awful torment into beauty immaculate and sublime; only you, dear Vincent saw the beauty in the shoes, the bedroom, the weeds, the washers, only you saw the beauty when it wasn't pretty. To suffer is human. but to find ecstasy in the ordinary and transform the banal into the magical is something only you could do, my dearest Vincent. Merci;

17

1. Our goddess lives under a banyan tree Deep in the forest. She paints And sings songs, to put herself to sleep. 2. Royina, your dad paints too. Tuesday evening, he paints skies And at the dinner table, you wonder Why he has blue on his throat. Wednesday, he paints the sun. His fingers are red with the flames He doesn't read letters addressed to him Because he's afraid Of burning them black. Friday, he doesn't paint. Just sits by the lake, on a secluded bench. Feeding pigeons. And hearing them coo. 3. Royina, remember the boy who held you Last time you allowed yourself To be kissed? He played a guitar, you told me. And he had long thin fingers, which fluttered, From string to string. He wrote you a letter when you left. And you folded it eight times. Then put it In your pocket. Tell me, Royina Did you put it in your heart too? 4. What is it with creative people, Royina? The writers and the guitarist and the painters. Do they look at you like you are the magic you are? Do they tell you, no, you're not Who you think you are. There are so many shades under your skin Let me peel off your inhibitions, and I'll show you. 5. Royina, their letters never reach you. And they wonder why, homes are still called Addresses.

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Sep 30, 2015

Sep 30, 2015 at 8:23 AM UTC

nilesh-mondal

Dreamcatcher #1.

1. Our goddess lives under a banyan tree Deep in the forest. She paints And sings songs, to put herself to sleep. 2. Royina, your dad paints too. Tuesday evening, he paints skies And at the dinner table, you wonder Why he has blue on his throat. Wednesday, he paints the sun. His fingers are red with the flames He doesn't read letters addressed to him Because he's afraid Of burning them black. Friday, he doesn't paint. Just sits by the lake, on a secluded bench. Feeding pigeons. And hearing them coo. 3. Royina, remember the boy who held you Last time you allowed yourself To be kissed? He played a guitar, you told me. And he had long thin fingers, which fluttered, From string to string. He wrote you a letter when you left. And you folded it eight times. Then put it In your pocket. Tell me, Royina Did you put it in your heart too? 4. What is it with creative people, Royina? The writers and the guitarist and the painters. Do they look at you like you are the magic you are? Do they tell you, no, you're not Who you think you are. There are so many shades under your skin Let me peel off your inhibitions, and I'll show you. 5. Royina, their letters never reach you. And they wonder why, homes are still called Addresses.

35

I write long stories Short, medium as well I write because I think that I have something to tell I've met people in my writing All living in my head They come to me in daytime And they speak to me in bed I don't know if I've met them There's a chance they may be real But, they're there inside me living Letting people know just how they feel I've singers, painters, dancers blindmen, kids who like weird things teachers, stutterers and hobo's crippled kids and kings I'm not sure if I've met them But, by now, I know their names I know everything about them And I know, no one is the same They keep me entertained and I hope you like them too I've got to move some boxes in my head To see if I can find somebody new.

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Sep 25, 2012

Sep 25, 2012 at 8:05 PM UTC

roger-turner

My people

I write long stories Short, medium as well I write because I think that I have something to tell I've met people in my writing All living in my head They come to me in daytime And they speak to me in bed I don't know if I've met them There's a chance they may be real But, they're there inside me living Letting people know just how they feel I've singers, painters, dancers blindmen, kids who like weird things teachers, stutterers and hobo's crippled kids and kings I'm not sure if I've met them But, by now, I know their names I know everything about them And I know, no one is the same They keep me entertained and I hope you like them too I've got to move some boxes in my head To see if I can find somebody new.

24

Must go. Cannot explain. The sadness is on the table. I left you as much as half of everything I own. Maybe more. Spend it how you like. I know you will anyway. This is no joke. The marriage painting is fixed. The key is under your lover's pillow. Tell the cat Vive La France for me.

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Oct 25, 2014

Oct 25, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC

william-keckler

Paul Gauguin

Must go. Cannot explain. The sadness is on the table. I left you as much as half of everything I own. Maybe more. Spend it how you like. I know you will anyway. This is no joke. The marriage painting is fixed. The key is under your lover's pillow. Tell the cat Vive La France for me.

13

*We are all painters Holding a color palette Conceiving a painting It’s how we mix the colors Depending on our imagination Whether we paint happiness Or scenes of saddened gray Situations yield the paintings Sometimes splashing all colors Or else black colors gloom Universe has mostly dark energy Yet, we have found our colors To paint our abode, we inhabit No matter, colors of joy and sorrow We celebrate all colors We are all painters, wielding the brush To create new colors of hope*

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Jul 12, 2014

Jul 12, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC

amitav

Colors

*We are all painters Holding a color palette Conceiving a painting It’s how we mix the colors Depending on our imagination Whether we paint happiness Or scenes of saddened gray Situations yield the paintings Sometimes splashing all colors Or else black colors gloom Universe has mostly dark energy Yet, we have found our colors To paint our abode, we inhabit No matter, colors of joy and sorrow We celebrate all colors We are all painters, wielding the brush To create new colors of hope*

17

Blasting out of the fog and mud Past the forests in the sunrise Farms and high ways Trotting through suburbia Through the tunnel Defacing and refusing to allow themselves to be part of an unjust ****** Believe in the intermingling of colors Waiting for the planets to fall into place To stop for a moment and inhale the abundant harmony that surrounds them and emote and create a inspiring response in the form of self expressive freedom that matches the beauty that had compelled them

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Feb 19, 2014

Feb 19, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC

tommy-johnson

Aesthetic Artisans

Blasting out of the fog and mud Past the forests in the sunrise Farms and high ways Trotting through suburbia Through the tunnel Defacing and refusing to allow themselves to be part of an unjust ****** Believe in the intermingling of colors Waiting for the planets to fall into place To stop for a moment and inhale the abundant harmony that surrounds them and emote and create a inspiring response in the form of self expressive freedom that matches the beauty that had compelled them

9

Love can make us fly, Love can take us high. Love can't make us lie, Love can give us wings. Love could make us try, Love wouldn't let us die. Love isn't that instant noodles, Love isn't ready-made clothes, Love is a pure example of art, Love made quickly isn't pure, Love aims for the perfection, Yes, love demands patience.

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Mar 22, 2014

Mar 22, 2014 at 2:46 AM UTC

Atul

The Romantic Painting

Love can make us fly, Love can take us high. Love can't make us lie, Love can give us wings. Love could make us try, Love wouldn't let us die. Love isn't that instant noodles, Love isn't ready-made clothes, Love is a pure example of art, Love made quickly isn't pure, Love aims for the perfection, Yes, love demands patience.

12