"paints" poems
Hidden within the earthy depth
only emerges with time
only dances in tangent
now slips out with the butterflies.
Now the nightingales singing aloud!
One has spoken out, one blew
a kiss out off the dark seed.
Ah, what then broke through?
Up from the sky the blue-nymph
dropped down on the scene!
One that hid blurring that's image
on the mirror is that now been seen?
Pouring rain singing down to primulas
paints it with all the colours of the wind
now the Spring picked up her paintbrush.
Rain some colour blow a kiss of the flower
paint it out of the mirror!
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
A fine mole down
the blue mountain sky
cannot be weighed out!
It's the cosmos's gold dust
the earthy depth triumphs.
Oh earth, our close clay-star
is far ahead of the day at noon.
Ahead of the moon
ahead of the Neptune!
With a million dash of curiosity
every new sunrise paints
upon her black box with the roaring fire.
Yet the ****** is a veiled wonder!
It has the plethora a room for everyone
and time for timeless times.
Guess, with her longhand
what an inside scoop did it pick out?
You too can be in the know
It's the feminine beauty all in all.
You may have by now
seen women million and one.
The earth is eyeing on only one!
Her closest admirer is the star
of the very luminary bunch
with open eyes in the hearts.
Her dead man is waking up
sniffing the daylight by her.
Yet to make the discovery
both are still wondering outside!
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 4:52 PM UTC
Sometimes the day smiles
shows me its colour.
No, then the wild blue yonder
doesn’t look to be far
I feel like I got the wings to fly.
But who would sway away
when the rose under the nose
floating on a sea of colour?
The luminary punter too
drops down from the sky.
Paints the broad daylight
as it sails down on its silky way.
Ah, the southern breeze
bends with the rose of the day
peeps in the colour before my eyes.
I could only see missing my butterfly.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 1:40 AM UTC
African woman
Mother of civilization.
Oh beautiful woman,
Thou are beyond description.
African woman
Queen of the people of Mamba.
Jambo to all those in heaven
Bless you too my dear mama.
African woman
Royal Nubian Queen.
The backbone of her man
You'll do anything to help him win.
Single Black woman
Made of broken pieces
You're the breadwinner,Superwoman.
You're the symbol of strength in all places.
African woman
Daughter of Eve's.
Thou are God's true specimen,
And the apple of his eyes.
Black woman
Daughter of Africa.
Blueprint of a **** woman,
Dark hue of coffee arabica.
African woman
Mother of humanity
Chieftess of ancient Nyngoman,
Mama Africa's bounty.
African woman
My Mandingo bride.
First woman of Africa's Eden
Center of God's black tribe.
Nigerian woman
My Yoruba Queen.
Envied by the women of Oman,
Cafe ou lair, cream of Africa's cream!
Warrior woman,
Queen of Wakanda.
Come and flip your wand,
Find the soul of Sarafina.
Curvy woman
In your womb lies Africa's future.
My Lormah woman
Oyobuays marvels at your structure.
Beautiful woman,
Perpetual envy of the silicon woman.
Pride of the Black man,
The essence of a real woman.
Indigo Woman
Lillies of the African plains.
Thou are Eve of the African Eden,
Best of the portraits that nature paints.
Voluptous woman,
Full, thick natural lips.
Real assert of the Black woman,
Nature gets aroused by your hips.
Ellen Sirleaf, today's woman,
Africa's first female president.
A Liberian woman,
Loved and revered wherever she went.
Smile ,Gambian woman,
You're daughter of Sarakunda.
Roots of the Black American woman,
Captives of the kanda Bolinga.
South African woman
Mariam Makeba
Sang for freedom and fought like a man
You were truly Soweto's finest Deva.
Dark ebony woman,
You are red, yellow and green.
Hanmatan wind stops at your command,
Born to slay and be seen.
African woman
Thou are the only reason
God put Adam in a coma.
Your perpetual beauty transcends time and Season.
African woman,
Under your cleavage, the Nile flows
And between your fingers, golden threads are woven,
You are the reason Beyonce glows.
Harriet Tubman, brave woman
Smuggled slaves underground.
She was a freed Black slave woman,
Who avowed to leave no soul behind.
Creative woman
Maya Angelou, gifted poetess.
Famous writer and a Black woman
Will be remembered for her poetic prowess.
Native African woman,
Africa's limestone and cement.
A mother, a wife, virtuous woman,
Lioness and the spine of the continent.
Liberian woman
Roots of my poetry, you gave me life
You are every woman.
Your edges are sharper than the Sumarais knife.
#IvanBrookspoetry©
13/8/2018
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC
At times I heard the songs of the giants
who opted to sing for a glass of wine!
Like Omar Khayyam would sing to the grove of vine,
while singing their lullabies they wouldn’t mind,
defying the bloomer stars in the moonlights
gladly treading on the black alleys of the night.
Didn't they budge, didn't they bend to pick up
a potion of the sea, billowing in the dark?
But they opted out, just for a glass of wine!
To paint a glimpse of that gorgeous Saqi
till now they shun, lending the sun a paintbrush,
‘cause "if only it was colourful enough,” yet the sun
paints the enduring shades of the blue yonder.
But they turned around—just for a glass of wine!
The moon hanging low over the ocean took a pause.
The earth weighed down so deep is brimful!
Every sunrise paints new, loves to shine on once more
That delved-deep earth vintage taste, cooled in age-old,
now close by the hands breathe in, full of warm south.
Yet they opted out—just for a glass of wine!
Even the time is speechless, ask me not but why.
Still keeps an ear bent on the wall of the leaning sky.
Nor those who pop out with an inside scoop are ever drunk.
Nor they leak out, it’s a sea off the sea or Abe-Hayath.
It ain’t that small, it is the deathless spring of elixir!
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 9:16 PM UTC
Lairs twist life so it's tasty to the lazy
Powerful to the weak and crazy
Brilliant and seductive to the
ignorant youth
But even in pain, there is beauty in the truth
Even a tiny bit of deceit is dishonorable
For only cowards lie selfishly without preamble
As lies only strengthen a liar's defects
A liar's character, mind, & spirit gains no positive affects
The abuser of the truth paints with disappearing colors
Valuing the canvass at worthless dollars
For once the veil of the facade is lifted
Honesty, integrity and trust can never be re-gifted.
Unhappy are the takers
Or why else be fakers?
But to devastate the essence of the believer
Measures the cruelty of the deceiver
Inner peace with self deception
Is the doing of one's own soul's destruction
However if truth be told
When lies gradually unfold,
Is it better to be the believer
Or the deceiver?
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 12:46 AM UTC
Sometimes beneath close eyelids
I quest to bring you back
As if you were driftwood floating
Downstream on your back.
I dip my hands beneath the veil
And dry away the death
And from my parting, weeping lips
I give you back your breath-
Just like the rising sunset burning
In the summer sky
Paints and saints the mountaintops
And casts their colors bright.
*Unrhymed Notes:
Sometimes I dream I can bring you back
Just as simply as dipping my hands into the water
To retrieve a floating piece of driftwood;
Dry the death from your skin
And breath life back into you
The way the sunrise reanimates
The Dark Mountains
Each and every day.
I see your Ocean eyes open
Embrace you like I'm trying to
Fold you into my skin
Where I can keep you always
And feel your summer peach warm flesh
Tangible against my permafrost fingers.
If the dead could talk
Nothing profound would leave your lips
They'd only quirk into a Cheshire smile
And you'd tell me to let go
Relinquish
Move along and stop standing still
Life is for the Living
Death is for the dead
And dreams are for the foolish.*
"You *******
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 3:08 PM UTC
She paints a pretty picture
But the story has a twist
Her paintbrush was her razor
And her canvas was her wrist
She paints a pretty picture
In a color that's blood red
And using her sharp paintbrush
She ends up finally dead
Her pretty pictures fading
Quite slowly up her arm
Blood no longer flows through her
She can no longer do her harm
Yes, she painted a pretty picture
But the story has a twist
You see, her mind was just her razor
And her heart was just her wrist
- Unknown
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
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
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 12:29 AM UTC
I never got the chance,
To see the outside world,
Since I was sacrificed,
For the honor of my family.
I sleep on the floor,
Right next to dogs,
I eat from the floor,
Just like a dog,
But I work for, a very honorable family.
My mother-in-law is loving,
She wants the best for me,
A daughter as a child would be bad right?
Us, being a family with honor and pride.
I was violated,
But my life was complete,
I married him,
The honor of the family wasn't tarnished at-least.
I don't want to marry,
My heart lies among the paints and brushes,
I shall marry,
My mind knows unmarried girls bring taints and shushes.
My brother gets home by 3am,
Me, 10 hours earlier,
My dreams, my life, my need for freedom?
These don't bring honor to the family.
My aunt died,
I will too,
My husband passed away,
Awaiting me are flames that flare and sway.
Our lives are a necessary sacrifice,
Our families should live, with honor and pride.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 11:50 AM UTC
He soars high, floating in her wake
Inhaling every detail of her flowing grace
Her brushes of touch, causing him to shake
Delicate weaving hearts of leather and lace
Inspiration sails high, with her drifting in his mind
Ripples from deep emotions, she elegantly paints
Closing his eyes, entrusting her, flying blind
Together, one with the other, interlinking chains
Flickering fates of fireflies under stars aligned
Precious moments in time, worlds collide
A rendezvous in the Milky Way, by design
Consummating souls kiss passionately, ignite
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
Paints of dark twilight hues,
Slathered across in blunt strokes.
Blend with deft hands,
Cajole gently with jabs and pokes.
Backdrop begging for a few others.
Longing to hold in infinite embrace.
Friends of earth and midnight sky.
Worthy of a doe-eyed lovers' gaze.
Cascading moonbeam...
Drenching all in silvery white.
Restless twinkling stars...
Singing their mismatched might.
Silhouetted landscape as horizon,
Darkened oils of plateaued ridges.
Finest brush could only manage,
To close the gap, I build bridges.
Nearing completion, this stint on canvas.
Nuances of dawn for what I've begun,
Usher the arrival of a brand new day.
All I need now is a few drops of sun.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
Why does the red tulip float?
Why does the flower shine through the window?
The warm breeze shrinks the breathtaking green.
Can't smell a flower, through a cold window.
Springs grow like warm breezes.
Courage, awakening, and blushing in the springtime,
All blossoms show strong, blooming red flowers.
God, such brilliance!
Never smell a tulip through a closed door,
Flower calmly like cotton clouds floating in the sky,
The sun paints red tulips, with an artistic brush,
Red flowers shake like misty sunrises.
Flowering warmly,
The small life calmly desires the clouds.
And reaches for the sky,
Blushing like a shy girl.
Copyright © 2016 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
She's an alphabet artist
she paints in words,
from a palette of adjectives,
nouns and verbs,
the landscape she finds
in the folds of her mind
she exhibits in volumes of verse.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
Quiet mind, immersed
in palest, warmest yellow.
Molecules within
find alignment
with infinity.
Silvery mercurial fluid
paints my bones
with gentle light.
You have come back.
Abundantly, warm salt
water envelopes me.
Even in this chair,
in this empty room.
On dry land.
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 3:04 PM UTC
I use to write of pain and tribulation
mmm I've always just been looking to feel the greatest sensation
senses at peaks, they peak when they peek at the sight of elation
I've always taken to sealing all my stories away
in notebooks with binding finally looking to fray
because the pressure they hold brings such a dismay
Binded in between faded blue lines
I swear im fine
I swear im fine
in these lines of what could have been mine
and I'll lose it all in this glass of wine
where red bleeds to black
and I've done away with that
The great purge of endless words
heard by no one other than the mad man
running through my head screaming that I can
do anything I thought my mind and limbs had banned
from the realm of possibilities
Because pain ought not be sealed to live an endless life
So I now write of hope and dreams
and the endless possibilites
that stretch from the cities and into the trees
finally dancing down into these seas
but I'm also writing
of wishes and laughs and smiles too
because what else can you do
there are only a few
who know everything is new
everything we knew
can be lost in the great blue
that paints our skies and seas
carrying away the bundle of keys
that locks pandora's box
and leaves us with happiness and cheer
Because happiness can be carried in anything as simple as a tear
racing down the lines of your cranial
that houses your greatest fears
From the lines of light blue to the minds of the hopeful and the true
And words of optimism should live
And breathe and smile and laugh
In the hearts of the world for a lifetime and I digress
In a habitat so vast
With horizons reaching from sky to sky
Drowned in blues and red
I'm glad to of found you at last
We're left to defy all that society presents as lies
I wanna speak at an intimate decibel
Acknowledge your flaws, don't be bound by them
Open your mouth to nothing coming own
Settle down in your head and make a home
I just want to compliment your soul
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
The artist is the one who is up all night,
The artist is the one who looks lost,
The artist is the one who fears no tyrant,
Because it just becomes the next piece.
The artist is the one who cries out with a pen,
The artist is the one who finds safety in a brush,
The artist is the one whose enemy is the blank spaces,
Because that's where there is uniformity and potential.
The artist is the one who retorts injustice,
The artist is the one who rips at the seams,
The artist is the one who screams at the world,
Because it seems no one will listen.
But never does that stop the artist,
For the artist is one of persistence,
A never ending fire that burns inside,
A passion that will never die.
Without the artist our world will crumble,
Without the artist our life will go gray,
Without the artist our days would be lonely,
Because that's when the blank spaces win.
It's the color that bursts from the mind,
It's the thought that paints the sky,
It's the music that gives us hope,
Because it's only with the artist we see reason to be alive.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 1:54 AM UTC
*Life is my current lover.
I swig her ephemeral taste from my cupped hands
worried as the golden, shimmering liquid rushes through
creases and cracks in my jaded hands.
Her mood varies through my stages;
at times she is of doting temper and roseate kisses
but when love evades her, most often than not,
her calloused hands damage the pearly flesh in tender
places,
and discontent paints a surly mood as she digs her crimson
brush against the canvas of my self.
Life is my inconsistent lover,
sometimes doting but most often than not abusive.
So I vowed my eternal devotion to Death.
We escape under the dark canopy of starless wings;
a tryst.
I eat of the forbidden feasts in the Kingdom of Hades,
grains of scarlet pomegranates staining my chapped lips.
Death has promised me perpetuity.
But until Life decides to release me from her capricious temper,
I shall long for the wintry, rainy comfort of my drowsy affair.*
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
A part of me lives miles and minutes and moments away
in an indefinite, dreamy place where clocks are not my enemy
and I associate the word “distance" with travel, not longing
My heart has sailed across the Atlantic,
moved eagerly through the Indian Ocean,
navigated using an atlas inked with butterflies
and stars that gleam ardently
(just as your rosemary eyes do,
every once in a blue moon,
when you’re able to sew together
the disarrayed thoughts
that dwell in your messy head)
You are so, so far away
However, if I avoid calendars and geography,
it feels like you’re right here beside me
In the afternoon, when the sun shines
through my bedroom window
and paints the world map on my wall with light,
I shut my eyelids and run my thumb along the string
that stretches across the parchment,
connecting me to you
I pretend that when I open my eyes,
you will be here
and that my aching fingers
that are so desperately
grasping the paper
will be intertwined
with yours
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 1:35 PM UTC
A happy couple,
You and me,
Walk.
A painter paints,
Both of us,
Exactly.
Into the Sunset.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 7:56 AM UTC