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Cné Aug 2017
Fragmented lives entangled
but asunder in our journey
as our paths cosmically connect
in a romance of the arts

And who's to say what's real
to touch or deeply feel
what will truly last
or simply where to start

So I’ll
paint you alla prima
as I feel you playing me
in warm colors of merging ardor
a wet blending of artistry
my brush strokes of your body
painted in my mind
of impressions blushed in passion
in hues I can’t describe

Suspended in the moment
floating on a breeze
I revel in this picture painted music
almost in disbelief, unthinking…
knowing every nuance of our love
found only in our dreams

Like children in parallel play
I’ll finger the keys
and slip the locks
of all your orchestrations
filling the walls
of my concerts halls
with deep
splattered tones
in pinks and blues
the hues
that forever
bind us

And we’ll not look back
nor forward
but hang here in the moment
to display our
Painted Song
in the eyes
of giggly children
both doing
our own thing
together
on a string
curated
A collaboration with Howard Hilde
https://hellopoetry.com/u693528/
He was art; unparted with his
pens, and brushes. He blushed
at your compliments, for it
was just a way to keep
from losing his pose to
sanity, a dainty piece rocking
against his wall,
making him
stay together
just one more
   day-
Art!
All feedback is appreciated
em Jun 2015
Hold in your pain and swallow their lies.
Stick with it honey, hold onto your pride.
Don't let them see that your dying inside.

A smile will cover the scars on your heart.
We've all known that right from the start.

Put on some make up and do as your told.
It's a vicious cycle to which we've sold our souls.
thx for the name JWL ;)
Seanathon Sep 20
You strengthen me
Stretch me tall in fond pursuit
And call my waking trees to move with subtle hints

Familiar as the folding sound
Between quiet rustling parchment leaves
Becoming new our newest sounds as an inkwell drawn

Like a sunlit jewel your dulcet glow
Is stumbling down a penciled path of painted memory
Colored by every season anew with the hues of you

Don’t cry when I am no more seen, my felicity
It was always and with you in mind
That you made me want to try
Painted Words Between Distant Mailboxes is built around a song, a sketch, a classic story. Separated by time and space no more. These lovers turn now, to face a new fate, having not been left alone in an empty word. "Through the long and lonely night." We persevere until the dawning bright. Shines back at us with joy.

#ICSTMYM
Traveler Jan 14
I know this may seems crazy
And surely I’m
A mere buffoon
Yet!
I have come
To deliver you
From the darkness
Of your very own gloom
The place where
You hide the
True wishes of your heart
I’m that artiest
You are my art
Aesthetically beautiful
I can't get enough
Oh how I need
More stuff!!!
⛺️
No thanks!
Traveler Tim

Lonely tonight!
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2017
A thousand and one sunrise
painted the first light time and again.
Yet it gets lost vanishes in one twilight.

Millions of stars witness
that it gets pitch black.
But one doesn't lose the sight,
one doesn't lose the sway!

Still, the night hooks
the Moon in the dark.
Umi Jun 2018
When everything has been said,
What is left to speak, but recurrance in my speach, over and over..
Alike a painting, drawn within a single colour which fades into darkness, as there is nothing left the sweet, majestic ink could cover.
What is the sense for me to write if the message stays the very same?
Verily, I have forgotten the answer for this question a long time ago.
Perhaps it is, but the sign that the message can be conveyed in many possibilities, ways and forms, such as stories what makes them uniqe.
So even if a painting looks all the same at some point or another,
It is still art, brought from the depths of thoughts, from within a heart
A painting is a world of it's own, but so is a poem, or a simple novel.
Because each contains the hopes and wishes, the effort and care of the person, who made it their passion to create a wonderful piece of art.
Return to the same old place, with the same old pace and you might find  joy in what you came to see yet again, before your tired eyes.
Alike an imaginated landscape drawn within your heart, the memories of a happier time might paint you a world in your head.

~ Umi
I want to give up, I really do
Umi Jun 2018
To a sky which showed no sign of light,
Black smoke was rising, from no other than a flagship which sailed across the stormy ocean, Nagato, ready to fight was however at ease.
Until we encountered two enemy ships, a Kongou and a Tirpitz.
Both of them, with a merciless sight fired everything they got, a hard decision was to be made, who shall hit us if we dodge, who shall not?
The Kongou, landed some hits as the sea consumed the others shells,
Just overpenned, lucky for us it seemed, until we re-adjust our angle,
What does the future hold for one who survived but couldn't protect her friends, as the sun no longer rises these memories return.
It didn't take long, the weakspot of one of them was their petty armor,
Kongou sank, spilling her tears into the water she was unable to escape from, another turn was made, it was the final battle, final hope,
Reparing some damage in the little time we had, Nagato drove like an absolute mad man, left, right continuesly just so our ship would not end up like their Kongou, our citadel was an easy target, after  all.
Shells are to be exchanged, smoke escapes from our guns, this lady was refusing to let her life slip away until she at least do what she could, exhausted and almost out of ammo, we landed a lethal strike.
Watching the enemy ship slip away before our eyes, knowing that Nagato was to sail almost into the same fate made us then realise...
Even if the damage could be repaired and parts exchanged, brought anew and even if we make it back in one piece without capsizing:
Forever will be the marks of battle painted in her burnt, wounded steel.

~ Umi
Sara Kellie Dec 2017
My name is Sara, a transgender chick
Wanted a *****, was given a ****
I hide it in knickers of satin and lace
before sitting down to make-up my face,
Next the prosthetics, I'm using two bits.
Stuck to my chest, they'll do as my ****
Now for my legs I'll put on false tan,
I wouldn't do this if I were a man
Alternative nights, a t-girl delights
to sit on her bed and pull on new tights.
I'll put on a dress, a cute one no less.
Then for my shoes, high heels I choose
A sandal style shoe as every girl knows
not only looks cute, they'll show painted toes
A bit of eyeliner, eyebrow definer,
lipstick and blush, I'm now looking lush.
I stand in the mirror all ready to go,
there's only one question I just have to know.
"Does my *** look big in this?"

Poetry by Kaydee.
I wrote this poem in 2010 shortly after introducing myself as Sara to the world.
September Roses Jul 2018
A little box
Without a key
You hold an air
Of mystery
To sit and glare
Right up there
Flashing red in front of me

I am the one who fills it
And I fill it with myself
No one would guess what's in you
Sitting up atop my shelf

I have thought of your discovery
The pros
And all the cons
But looking at my history
All candidates are wrong

So I suppose you'll stay a secret
I'll keep you to myself
Painted red,
Flashing dread
Little box on my shelf
Please forget you saw this
Yall feel free to tell me why you guys all like this poem so much. Curious
My heart has painted the beauty of your soul.
An artist that draws wonder to the canvas of the mind
and lends truth to love’s beauty. Love that delights my being.
Painting my love brings such wealth and vivid color.
A masterpiece robbed only of its poverty...
Iwo Andrzej Jul 20
Running from the bottom of the empty bottle
Looking at my veins they're opening a portal
See the reflection in million pieces

Painted in red
I'm alone
at the end
This is the time I need you Jesus
But I've gotta feeling he's freezing us.
fixing a broken mirror, it cuts you open
Blowing my candle out but it's still smoking
I feel alone, so I smile
My room is rotten,
I need your attention
I guess it's easier to buy new stuff when old stuff is broken
in the distance we all go the same way
From the birds perspective, behind the raining clouds it overcrowds

I see
first the bouquet
then a display
My portray
Oh look!
Now they pray!
Now they act like rain, on a sunny day.
Remember the church on next Sunday aswell.
Now I see the 50 shades of grey
Now I understand We only feel loved when we're fading away.
Like rainbows, we only feel our existence on a rainy day.
So I walk my path, with a burden filled with more weight
I need a stronger bag
It's hard when you have no defence, but constantly being under attack
You hear them say death fades to white and peace
But here it's all black, stuck in the midnight. Peace ✌️
Caroline Ward Mar 2018
I feel like an unfinished painting
A portrait of a woman
The figure without a name.
I am always
A nearly masterpiece,
The unfinished sequel to
An artist's best work.
Critics will consider
My half shaded eyes
And sheer, lifeless hair
From too little paint strokes
Or careful pressure of a pencil
A pity.
They will declare that I
Could have been a showpiece
And won awards
Maybe they will ask
Why I was never completed
But know not to push the matter
As not to upset the artist.
Instead I am shut up in an attic
A dustsheet hiding me from view
Maybe I have become
Damaged from exposure
To sunlight and damp.
Maybe I have been forgotten
As an unfinished, abandoned project
A mark of shame
For the genius
Whose other works
Were a roaring success.
Elizabeth Zenk Aug 2018
Four halves
No wholes
One father
No dad
Two wrong moves
Three plus two
Five broken lives
painting pictures
of grief on
different canvases.
Add up where I went wrong
MeanAileen Aug 2017
***** *** and cigarettes
bad decisions, no regrets.
Painted lips and fingertips
lace, leather, gags and whips.
Cheap motels, steamy nights
sweaty flesh and candlelights.
Pushing limits, breaking rules
naked dips in swimming pools.
Getting high while living low
riding rails, pure white snow.
Playing games & telling lies
the look of lust in lovers eyes.
Rendevouz in seedy places
sloppy kisses, hot embraces.
Ménage à trios, or even four!
Anything goes behind locked door...
Shots of Jack make it all alright-
just another dirt-bag night.
50% fiction...
Robin Lemmen Aug 2018
Our entire relationship I felt
like all I was doing
was waiting for you and I to break
like goodbye was only one kiss away

And when I finally started feeling
like maybe, just maybe
we would prove ourselves wrong
you left me in shambles on the floor
shards of our favorite memories
cutting deep and letting me bleed
flowers painted red

I can't seem to escape
everything feels laced
with your winter remnants
blooming a stark white contrast
to my deep dark wounds
leaving broken roses everywhere
Alice Baker Jan 2016
I am a canvas
Painted in harsh strokes
With kind words
Mistakes blend in
Over time and diligence
But are never erased
They sit quietly
Under layers of oil paint
Built into my foundation
Jessthemesss Dec 2018
I want to tell the world of my joys,

I want my confidence to bleed into those I care about.

Let my light be what sparks the world on fire.

I am focused, I am brave, I will not falter.

No longer will I cower, I am a raging force,

A force of good, the spec of hope you drink in your coffee.

My words will ignite the passion in their souls,

Sunshine will sing from my eyes,

With promise of changing the world a smile at a time.

Shake the trees of complacency,

Let these syllables leaping from this page be your first step,

Step into the sunflower laced fantasy world that fills my mind,

The bubble lettered day dreams that drips with optimism.

Pinks, yellows and greens leak out into the desolate grays of this world,

Push passed the mundane repetitive cycles we live in,

Create something with color and vibrancy.

It is here in this state altruism I pull my strength and happiness,

So here my friends,

Borrow my point of view,

taste the delicious strawberries I painted with my tongue.
Ciara Jones Jul 2018
A painted mirror
With the image of love
Only intended to show her exterior
No matter the size of the shove

They pick spitefully
Tossing flecks of dried work
But she responds oh so delightfully
Forgetting her crafted worth

Born to show others an image they'd like to perceive
Dead to have not even the maker grieve
CK Baker Jan 2017
( i )
I lucked out
on table 4 last night
window seat
baseboard heat
with intimate passages
from Ginsberg
in his purest
and most evident form

Cover-all Carl was draped
in his usual garb
turning pages
of yesterday's news
animating, culturing and bantering
on the fate of the
Greek barber
(in an accent of which
I'm not so sure)

His cronies
looked on
with a twisted conviction
countering
with their own tales
of ingovernance and woe
did you know that Panasonic
lost 5 billion last quarter?


The evening moved
in time lapse...
with painted winds
streaming lights
and a host of
high school girls
running cold

Maleah passed
on her late shift
(checking the pile and trough)
patronized the boys
and called it a night

( ii )
The bald man
is back at it again
bickering at the till
something about
a cold free coffee
or 99 cents
or the coloured guy
behind him who got it hot
a kind Filipino
is trying to get it done
at 8 bucks per,
losing her cool
and shedding a quiet tear

Wonder what the Purewals
or Haitians or Cossacks
would have to say
about this grim public reminder,
wonder what
this sad f*ck
will do tonight...
without his
bus pass
or sling sack
or broken Turkish stems
Cné Apr 2017
slipping in her wet painted petal
bitten by the sting of his bee
her first time, he fumbles being gentle
excitement dancing in his driving need

instinctively possessed
arcing her hips experimentally
his maleness sweetly carressed
teasing his need, tremendously

each submersion in her sweetness
peaking waves swelling in her breast
entwining rhythmic explosiveness  
pulsating gush, plunging over the crest
Metaphorically speaking... lol
Akira Chinen Jul 1
and there it was
playing out it slow motion
a flip book animation
of the white picket fence dream

two people so perfectly in love
it could only exist
in the paintings of a fairytale

and how strange to see
my face painted in this dream
to see such a foolish grin
plastered on my lips
to imagine myself happy

to see love once again
living and breathing in my chest
to feel my heart alive
to feel longing and desire
roaming in its chambers

if only I could be so careless
to abandon reason
to ignore my aging bones
my autumn years

to be so brave
to give into the hopelessness
of hopelessly falling  in love

to be daring enough
to tell the truth
to stand before you
to hold your hand

to hand you my heart
knowing you could not hold it
they way it is desperate
to be held by you

to let it get broken
and then to watch
every scattered shard
still sing your name  

if I were only braver
if I were only younger

maybe then I could believe
that a love this perfect
could jump off the pages
of a flip book animation
and find us both living
a life made up of the love
only painted in fairytales
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