"repainted" poems
He wore a purple knitted cap.
He had a carrot nose
This snowman figurine wore skates
with black buttons on his clothes.
His cheeks were daubed a cherry red
His bootless feet looked cold.
His smiling was perpetual
His was a hopeful soul.
Yet now he lay out near the curb
He was destined for the trash
His mistress found a figurine
that had a bit more flash.
He looked back sadly at the house.
The only home he'd known
His colleagues, perched on windowsills
looked out at him alone.
The trash-men came
and grabbed the bags
hydraulics crushed and smashed
One trash man took the figurine
and put it with his stash
The trash man and his little girl
since Spring had lived alone.
It was hard since Emma's mother died
but he tried to make a home.
With no insurance and one salary
his house this year looked bare
Where once they'd had a festive Spruce
now a pitiful fake stood there.
Such decorations as they had
were pilfered from the trash
of folks with little sentiment
and too much spending cash.
In his workshop in the basement
He made the snowman shine
His silver skates were polished
He repainted every line.
Little Emma loved the snowman
When she saw him near the tree
He is no longer called unwanted
since he found a new family.
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 10:19 PM UTC
I've repainted the wall
and dusted the shelf
as very soon I will become
myself.
I've given back the cow
and I've returned the lamb
in preparation for becoming
who I am.
I've made an alliance with
the fleeing refugee
hoping I find peace as I
turn into me.
So im putting many ghosts to bed
before leaving this body,
escaping this head.
Kaydee.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 11:37 PM UTC
What was known yet unseen
was a king and a dying queen
holding their last kiss good bye
That day the kiss died
He then ordered all his men
to bind all lovers in his den
Every embrace ever lied
The day the kiss died
The Judge and the Law
all came to find flaw
In any poet or guide
The day the kiss died
Finding two lovers, that spoke
of how his and her lips broke
Evidence, they could not hide
The day the kiss died
They cried,
*“We hold and we touch
yet it’s not enough in as much
a kiss can’t be denied”*
The day the kiss died
With a kiss hid in their heart
They tore them apart
and took them aside
The day the kiss died
Children chanted, *“the kiss of death
will draw your last breath.
Don’t or dare to no longer abide”*
The day the kiss died
And all the people they wept
and the sweepers that swept
the sad streets, they sighed
The day the kiss died
In lace they all dressed
in hope to lay the last kiss to rest
In a coffin to confide
The day the kiss died
That night,
Artists repainted the sky
Lanterns hung high
In the black rain they cried
The day the kiss died
While white doves bled red
It was heard and it was said
even the angels cried
The day the kiss died
The clowns in all places
Painted a frown on their faces
for all grooms and the brides
The day the kiss died
Old widows slept as it seems
waiting for their dreams
nuns by their side
The day the kiss died
The romantics broke doors
of bottle shops and liquor stores
yet the wine had all dried
The day the kiss died
Yet, still up north and down south
lovers, for love, open their mouth
welcoming death near and wide
The day the kiss died
May 14, 2023
May 14, 2023 at 3:44 AM UTC
(on a Black Saturday)
Sun beams touch the lustrous shells of
the capiz chime, dazzling the eyes and mind,
the walls on both sides of the big window are
newly painted, immaculately white, so bright,
....the pink blooms of the bougainvillea,
humbly bowed for almost two weeks now,
have turned to a faded brown.......wilting...
the strange nest had fallen, and gone
the young of the yellow green-breasted birds
have grown, flown away...all have found
............other trees to perch on
the sweet sop tree quivers
from its heavy fruits and birds on branches
enjoying their meal of fruits...ripe and juicy,
leaving some for the bats at night
a striped yellow cat rests on a shaded part
of the roof...i patiently wait for daddy long legs
to come out from the gutter...but in vain...
...paint still wet?...scent too strong, maybe?
maybe, the gravel and pebbles on the ground
weigh too much...did i unknowingly bury them?
i am missing the spectacle of an earthworm,
..........emerging from under the soil
big ants are restless...driven out...roaming,
the bricked wall's natural tan-beige shade
has surfaced...concrete wall is too hot...
these bricks, must be repainted white, as well
the ants, the spiders, the earthworms,
the bats, make their own preparations,
why can't we human beings do the same?
we prefer to suffer the consequences, and
deal with the results of unpreparedness:
el nino, earthquakes, unwanted people,
la nina, unexpected decisions, unwanted
changes...and all sorts of crazy "uns,"
townhouses have risen on my street
strange faces of new neighbors
......pass me by...
......as i write...
the worst heat of summer is yet to come...
Sally
Copyright April 15, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 3:06 AM UTC
Because of you
I'm all here
Buried all the pains
Dug a new chapter
Imported new feelings
Seeded hope
Exported all the grievances
Took hold of the promises
Watered the heart
Cementing the broken pieces together
Laminated the smile
And on the wall I nailed it
Began a tireless journey
Wishing for the best
Trusting the eyes
Enjoying the sweet melody
A lullaby I need for a lifetime
Remember those days?
Acting silly and stupid
The ignorance we entertained
The confusion we embraced
Embroidering the hatred
An the mist of pain we got lost
Turning our backs on each other
Anger reddening our eyes
Silence that became a graveyard
Silence that almost murdered our hearts
Intoxicating our feelings
Destroying the taproots of our future
I remember that days
Buried now
Now I smile
For we hold it
In our hands we are molding it
Together moistening the clay
That long ago cracked
With no hope of being a palp again
We have it
We repainted the wall
A new dawn of hope
A beginning of a new chapter
The chills of winter all gone
Summer says hello
With its rain we will puddle
In the mud together
Yes the mud of love we will ***** ourselves
For we buried the past
Oct 8, 2021
Oct 8, 2021 at 5:32 AM UTC
I felt like I cried too much just then, with my head in your lap and my cheeks stinging with salty tears.
I want to die today, but I can't bring you with me.
I can't bring you with me in the bleak narrow curvings of my soul absent doubt.
I hate hating myself so much.
When I look in the mirror I judge from predisposed and painted self doubt.
I trim my frame with unrealistic absurdities that make matters worse by setting them self up for failure to begin with.
I do not think one should continue to prevent them self from cutting off their own airflow to preserve another being's feelings.
Though the act of suicide is selfish, and abstaining from the act to keep others from blaming themselves is in fact selfless; however perpetual self loathing is almost as demanding a lifetime of guilt that comes out of wishing you could have done something to help.
I sit on the inside looking out. And more of the time I am perched in there, I am looking around, from within.
Disolving the interior and remembering the good old walls.
What happened to those willful walls and forgiving storage areas? Nothing is ever good enough; like a mingy white room-once coated twice, but over time has been repainted in folding colors, creating a texture that was not meant to gain, nor pleases as a result.
I want all of the excuses and laziness and hastiness to melt away and the chaos that sits with darkness at the corners of everything, to fall away as toxic as they are, and I want to sit outside of myself and watch in praise and humble patience.
Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 1:21 AM UTC
"I'm sorry, forgive me"
"I'll never raise my hand at you
I swear"
"I love you"
These bruises on my face that
I tried to conceal are finally
Wearing me
Not all the make-up in the
World can beautify the tallies
Of your anger that adorn my
Skin
Your heart beats anger
And it courses through your veins
Pulps of blood I tried
To hide with layers of clothes
Have finally stained
And I can't lie anymore
You call this love?
Is love the purple bruises
Plastered across my pale skin
That have been left behind
By the velvety hands I used
To yearn for?
You love me
It's okay
I should not be afraid
You were just blowing
Off steam
You love me
I've been swimming in this
Pool of denial long enough
To know that I can't really
Swim, I'm drowning
And my feet are firmly
Fixed on the ground
I am afraid of
The monsters lurking
Behind the iris of your pupil
The demons that lurk
Behind your shadows
I haven't seen my mother
In a few months
I'm scared she'll see behind
The facade I put on
She'll tell me
"Baby, you need to leave"
And I don't want to leave
He doesn't want me to leave
My head has been banged
Across the kitchen walls
More than it has been raised
These walls have been repainted
Repainted, and repainted
My scalp has been snatched
More times that I've cared to
Admit
I'm ashamed to say
I've traded parts of me
For shambles of trust,
A lot of bruises,
Rough ***
Infatuation,
And called it love
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
There were no last words
between us-
but you whispered "I love you."
Not acknowledging-
instead feigning prior pains
(acute metaphysical backache or similar;
poignantly posed silence construing that
I'd been wounded),
I told you goodbye.
Of course, it was a train
and a girl scenario-
her off-white handkerchief trailing
out the window, itself
saying an extra goodbye
(saying surrender).
I punched the dirt after,
because love
felt false- especially
coming from me, an unkempt
young actor.
You're a newly colored
kaleidoscopic green,
an old film repainted
(it was still relevant;
strong cast- a beautiful female lead
needing submission, to be tamed).
I am solipsistic graphite smudges
forming a halo
around the ordinary providence
of bold characters
erased from an inelegant diner napkin-
I wrote I love you I wrote I love you I wrote I love you.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 5:07 PM UTC
Don’t worry, I turned off my heart.
I disconnected its valves and
tapped my foot to its last beat.
I repainted the walls of its chambers
a nice neutral color that would
really brighten up the space.
No trace of love.
No trail of grief.
You wouldn’t even be able to tell
that it belonged to someone else.
I spackled the holes left behind,
plastered its cracks, sanded its nicks.
Refinished the worn floors where
too many games have been played.
With any luck, interested buyers
won’t look too closely.
“This one’s got some good bones,”
they’ll say, and marvel at its potential.
I marvel at its potential.
For now though, I’ll turn it off.
I’ll turn it off, if only for me.
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 7:00 PM UTC
As a kid, my best days had a trip to the park
in summer,
when Mother had time after work
and it didn't get dark so fast
we rode bikes on the paths between broken glass,
watched for stray dogs
(and avoided the grass)
once we saw two men strolling, holding hands
and Mother said not to stare,
"They must be Europeans - they do things like that"
her best friend was Mrs. Cohen-Around-The-Corner
they could cluck across our rough fence out back
or toss apples to one another
were there an apple tree nearby
(but there wasn't)
so they used the telephone instead
the woman, she once told me,
"would just die"
if her only son ever brought home
"a shiksa"
I laughed at the word,
because it sounded sounded funny and ethnic
(Mrs. Cohen taught English)
she let her boy back-talk,
even express profanity
in graffiti on a bedroom door
with black permanent marker
(it could always be repainted later, she explained)
mine met reason with
quick backhands or glowering looks;
once even washed my mouth out
with soap
so I nodded in agreement
I revisited the old neighborhood,
to the teacher long retired;
showed wallet photos
and discussed our health
(hers mostly),
hearing accounts of the son away
years at kibbutz,
too busy to call regularly
or make any grandchildren yet
I didn't mention the trip to the park
which was neater than I remember
the kids played tag
(on the grass!)
until a skinned knee needed a kiss;
where I'm certain I'd seen him, now balding,
the kid from around the corner,
holding hands with a European
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 2:37 PM UTC
*Pastel aqua waves of fate thrash upon a calm shore.
Silhouettes of rocky shadows stand above the horizon.
Within a sunset: anemic clouds gently prepare to soar,
As grains of sand glow like starlight from a tired sun...
A wondrous glimpse of hope sparks loudly within a thought:
Through ugly, grim days on earth, beauty still fights to stay.
A mystery sight to eyes seems to loosen up cruel knots,
And lift greatness to the earth with each brave waves sway.
Perhaps someone mirrors me on the other side of this ocean.
Inspiration fills my soul. I am a warrior prepared for life,
Yet when I awake from myself, I suddenly fear the motion,
With realization of this dream, my world is repainted strife.*
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
eyeshadow ground into
a finely powdered bath rug
feet stained gold and as
straight as sink ringed coffee
*(it's a perfect day
to run away
from all the crew neck
collars choking you)*
fall face down into a
cornfield and climb
dead pine trees clear
up to the blackbirds
*(i think you were once
upon a time the one who
never spent weekends
home and hurting)*
i am not your past
not your mistakes
i am not who you used to be
but won't say it didn't shape me
*(clattering red and
white checks skittering
across the floor as
hydrogenated oils)*
i know you're
disappointed
sometimes in who
i've turned out to be
but i am also
disappointed
sometimes in who
i've turned out to be
*(only ever thinking about
ceiling fans and my latest
mistakes or an odd assortment
of unspoken disagreements)*
i can't breathe under
highway overpasses
in parking garages or when
my hands are made of leather.
*(suburbia is just a
repainted mid-century
modern way of covering
up dysfunctional families)*
here and there
then and again
i remember that you
probably don't love me anymore
i understand that
neglect destroyed you
but you don't understand
that involvement destroyed me.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 2:34 PM UTC
Time stood still that day, for me it never really caught back up again . I can still see that black smudge mark on the pristine white wall, it was what I focused on thoughout the pain,
You entered my world and within seconds you left again, I'll never forget that eerie silence,with just the ticking of the clock to be heard, and the nurse's face, how quickly the colour drained.
I knew at that moment but I still waited, hoping to hear the cry that never happened.Now I'm left with an emptiness no one can fill, The worst thing was the waiting, hearing cries from all other room except this one... but wait there were cries here, mine.
How can they tell me to move on?
How can they make out you never exsisted?
I still have the swollen ******* that have harden where you're not there to suckle the milk from them, I still see mum's with their newborns in the street, yet I come home and your room is empty where they packed your things away and repainted it a dull yellow.
I want to scream, but I don't, I just give a small smile, what's the point of saying anything they think I need help anyway.
You were a part of me, everytime you moved I felt it, I knew when you had hiccups cause it felt like a bouncing ball in my stomach,and at night you reminded me you were still there with your kicks to my ribs I'd already fallen in love with you, maybe that's why time can't move on, for I pray to go back to the seconds before that final push, when you and I were still connected, maybe than I could change the outcome, but that's not going to happen is it?
What I can't understand is why, why let the whole nine months go by so fantastically, I was glowing now my world is dark, just darkness with no light at the end of the tunnel.
I pray you saw that light and it took you to that better place, where one day we'll meet again. Until that day my life will be stuck reliving those seconds you were still there inside of me, I'll still feel your heart beating next to mine, and you will not have died.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 8:54 AM UTC
I met someone
we had some fun
then we were done
he made me so happy I couldn’t write
he made me so happy I didn’t bite
he made me so hopeful I thought we might...
I met this man
whose daddy hand
could burn my sand
we stole each other’s shirts
kissed each other where it hurts
planted flowers in these dirts
repainted stained and tainted glass
gave each other words to pass
decided not to pay for class
alas...
sand falls through spaces
between fingers’ interlaces
wind blows it in our faces
we shared some time
body soul and mind
there is no rewind
I said things I didn’t mean
Across the darkness like a screen
Pages burned and turned the scene
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC
I still remember
the night that you
repainted yourself
And used only
a monochrome shade
of my blood
I had been awakened
by the tender ache
in your voice
The weakest hands
have the strongest
hearts hidden away
You have drained
all of my pain
and left me incomplete
You plucked the thorns
and left me lying
to let me bleed
With a halved heart
I wanted to beg
for your voice
Instead I choked
on my own words
and waited for darkness
Let the moon
drip its tears
for one night
Bring the stars
to my sleep
in my last dream
Still your sweet
laughter echoes
like an angel-song
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 5:42 PM UTC
The light fades behind the moon
My heart is once again tainted
It is as if the darkness assumes
My soul is to be repainted
It's claws thick and stained by blood
Like a werewolf it howls sadly at the sky
I thought then it understood, but
I plea, I beg, dear god tell me why
I become this monster in my flesh
When the sun descends and retires
I become overwhelmed by death
And give myself over to haunted desires
I am asleep inside my own mind
These acts are not my own
I wake horrified to find
That inside I'm not alone
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
*my dreams walk
the blurred lines
between sub-conscious
hopes and fears
never predictable,
ever straying
tiptoeing further
than i dare think
in waking moments,
extracting
from some sleeping recess
the dusty musings
of experiences forgotten,
it uncloaks
a painting masterful
hidden long
and then defiles
its canvas
with the random spatterings
of fearful colors,
running down
fluid feardrops
from frame to easel
and onward to the floor
until it pools at my feet...
where it wakes me
from my restless sleep
leaving me to wonder
just how many more
hidden passageways
and rooms are waiting
to be unlocked...
revealed...
and then...
repainted.*
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
I don't find limiting myself with a title,
There are no boxes left for me to fit in,
Or burst out of....
I find it's excitingly horrifying to be,
This lost.
There's a similar difference between identity and persona,
I am what I am, am I?
What am I?
Do you think the men I have only half loved,
But stroked their meek egos of,
And the woman I have cowered at,
As they screamed my name,
Know what I am,
Is not who I am?
There is a solace to be found in being wanted;
Are you the one they fall to on a late night,
When they are alone and drunk?
What about when their beds are cold?
When they cannot see you because, they are blinded,
By their quest to find themselves more, and you,
And you,
My dear,
Oh my sweet you,
Who is no one in this world,
Are a literally stepping stone in under their feet,
As you wish to be a moon in their stars.
What they don't tell you,
About surviving trauma when your brain is developing,
Is that your world turns to opposites,
Chaos is home
Drugs are home
Hate is home
Fear, is home;
Here secreted beneath my pallid skin,
I try to find them all a home,
Knowing I'll never find mine.
If self care and therapy was literal exercise,
I could bench press all of you, and more,
And save you all;
My motivation to not be broken is stronger than my will to die,
And they'll never know that,
As they try to break me,
Over and over, and over,
And over again.
Everyone's broken.
No sorry, everyone has cracked edges,
Worn
Rusty
Mishandled a few times
Repainted
Cracked
Not broken, slightly damaged.
We, the ones filled with gilded light, and songbirds,
We know the ******* difference between depression,
And eternal internal sadness,
From not understanding love, to
Loving EVERYONE
From seeking solace in the extreme,
To running away from arms that seek to confine.
Where for art ******* thou?
We are not here for your pleasure.
But we are.
How could we be, but anything else?
I tired.
Sorry...
I tried.
Men.
Women.
Whisky.
*******
Driving too fast.
Telling them.
Saving them.
Being everything.
Hating.
Fighting.
Drowning.
Breathing.
Exalting.
Crying.
Pain.
Pleasure.
Writing
This isn't a shopping list.
It's. Not a bucket list.
It's what we do to survive,
When you're born without love.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 7:57 AM UTC
Yesterday’s sketching repainted tomorrow’s fruit.
Madly,
Love plunging through compressed artistic desire,
Found poetry on a piece of
Old scratch paper laughing with glee
As it avoided life’s garbage pail…again.
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 6:15 AM UTC
Sometimes you can forget
where you came from, but that somewhere
will never forget you. Memories triggered
by glimpses of familiar faces. Smiles I once knew
and eyes I once recognized
repainted a portrait of childhood
over twenty years aged, but never faded
on the canvas of yesterday’s past.
They were reminders of who I used to be,
just a child exploring the playground of life, unafraid;
filled with laughter, much to be taught
and together we all learned
how to grow and how to fear, how to fail
and how to care
on the street’s of yesterday’s past.
Together, we were the reunion of innocence
as I looked into each eye. I was reminded
of how we each wanted to reach the sky,
some of us never left the ground,
while others fly high.
But we will always be connected,
each of us a product of a place that will
never forget our name, a place where each of us
is a vision of yesterday’s past.
© 2010
Tarringo T. Vaughan
http://www.tarringovaughan.net
http://www.flexwriterscreativenetwork.net
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 2:21 PM UTC
My loves a battered box
with odd shapes
of wood
oak yew and pine
carved
with hearts
from time to time.
A mis matched
assortment
of broken pieces
glued
and repainted
though with age
the pictures
tainted.
Theirs no picture
on the lid
that's long since
faded
by the water damage
tears
from eyes
past players
jaded.
I hope you understand
this is more
than just
a toy
this is the
very essence
of a
very lonely boy.
Close the box
if you
can't help me
leave it there upon
the shelf
and let the pieces
feel untouched
as I do
within my self.
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 10:52 PM UTC
My soul is in surgery.
Tattered pieces are currently being sewn together.
Needles, of diamonds.
Stitched, with Ivory.
Repainted. With shades of ichor.
None but the gods have the power to save what little of it remains.
Their hands, claw deep into my being and it pains,
Once they are through,
It will be as good as new.
My soul needs beautifying.
Lavished with Koi ponds,
To replace the craters.
Polished with Orchids,
To replace the dead roses.
I somehow trust that someday
It will regain its glory.
And that the world will see it smile again.
It no longer wants to be in ruins.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 1:09 AM UTC
Have you ever feel like you're terrified
without truly knowing why?
That stimulus is right in front of you,
no matter how beautiful it is.
You are so scared because of the
uncertainties it brings .
Then later on
you find yourself
insecure.
You are too afraid of falling
and you found yourself on the floor
as when you were staring,
you found the paintings on the wall
uneven.
Told yourself, "The wall needs to be repainted."
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 3:48 AM UTC
He sprinkles this sugar on the world
Trying to make it a little bit sweeter.
Our response suggests he succeeds.
Each grain spinning like a hurricane,
Frozen droplets floating towards the earth
Until they kiss the frozen ground.
Confusion, as they aimlessly drift through the air.
Billions build up and coat the world
In a blanket of peace, hope and wild dreams.
Hugged plants are squeezed a new colour,
Rooftops too, are repainted white.
The bitter cold troubles no one.
This frozen sweetness engulfs the land,
And perfection is amongst a youthful world.
Perfection that thrives in the luminous dark.
But, nightfall slowly realises our fears,
And when weary eyes awaken to the morning sun,
All of Earths hopes and dreams
Have started to melt away.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 12:16 PM UTC