Best Repainted Poems
I dyed my small world
In the colours of grief
I couldn’t find comfort
But I longed for relief
All my fabric was dark
I was shrouded in black
The weight of the world
Felt full on my back
I walked amongst shadows
With a feeling of dread
No one could reach me
with the words that they said
Yet this wasn’t a place
I was required to stay
My Lord He whispered
“You can leave, it’s Okay.”
My love brought her brushes
Colourful paints and her crayons
With brushes fingers and toes
She spread joy around
She repainted my world
Yellow, Purple and Gold
Each painting a flower
I now thankfully hold
I embraced her rainbow thinking
Let my sad drop to the floor
Dispensing of my gloom
I didn’t need it any more
In my grandpa’s field I stand midst rows of grain
whose gray-green blades stir softly in the moaning wind.
A night chill permeates my skin.
I look down at my arms and legs and realize
I’m a little girl again!
How did I get here? Why am I now standing here in the dark of night?
Far ahead of me, I see the old worn farmhouse.
Moon, big and golden, seems to have left the sky.
It’s reappeared at the window of my grandparent’s old house,
where it glows with a mesmerizing light eerily beckoning me.
I stand transfixed, not knowing what to do.
Is this a dream? It has to be!
Grandma sold that house when grandpa died.
I’d seen it one more time remodeled and repainted
and with another owner’s name.
The house I’m seeing now is the old one from my childhood.
Many things from long ago are coming to my mind:
The fields where my sisters and I frolicked in the summers;
the long dirt lane we skipped happily along;
the berry bushes along many pathways we discovered;
the hollyhocks we learned how to make cute dollies from.
It was daylight when I knew the farm back then. Sun was high in the sky.
Now I’m only seeing the eerie glow emanating from grandpa’s house. . .
I awaken to the darkness of a winter morning’s gloom,
vaguely remembering a vanished moon
which turned up on the face of my grandparents’ old farmhouse
as if to beckon me back to my childhood.
But somehow I knew (even while asleep)
that to near that house and then to go inside it
would not be the stuff of happy dreams.
There was a reason for the coldness of the night, the moaning of the wind.
The summer days have fled. Between the nightmare and the dream,
subconsciously I knew
you simply cannot go home again.
Summer sun minutes are counted
Nature clears space for autumn
Man recognizes the colors
From green to barn red and gold
- fresh impressions and experience
Everything will soon be repainted
I hear you shout my name ...
the eardrum is temporarily closed
- not quite ready for fall yet
17/08/2021
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
The roadside implement left without attendant,
an objective lesson of technology progression.
Long lacking use, should be rot and rust.
Yet is anything but, even years without digging rut.
A hand once guided, a horse once dragged.
Hung up like the harness, and the feed bag.
So roadside it sits, repainted and new.
A plow, a tool of a past we honor, that men would use.
Historic and remembered, now a monument,
to the hard working farmer and time that he spent.
TULUM
a fortress on the cliffs,
smiles down
at the paradisaical
Riviera Maya.
iguanas, reside in ruins,
overlooking
the Caribbean sea,
sitting pretty
for photographs.
long gone from old world -
sacrifice and fear,
Mayan riches and power,
of Playa del Carmen.
iguanas rest, play
tourist peek-a-boo,
never give thought nor sorrow,
to the people of yesteryear.
we don’t fear their reptile existence,
their abundance,
nor daunting size,
perched upon impressive buildings -
an ancient city of life and death,
good and bad,
repainted by the critical sun.
Kim Rodrigues © 2017
Funny Kids Contest
Sponsor: Team Poetry Soup
Once there was a funny girl,
She painted all her walls bright pink,
Then one day she woke up,
And the pink turned into purple ink.
She said, “mommy, what happened?
I miss my bright pink walls!”
“Oh, honey you don't remember?"
Lil' missy had to stop and recall.
After quite a few minutes she said,
“I could've sworn my walls were pink!”
But couldn't even remember,
If she repainted them in her sleep.
So she sat on her bed to ponder,
Tried to figure out what had happened,
She traced her steps through the night,
For her bed she never abandoned.
Her mommy said, “Look under your bed,
Right there you will understand,”
So she looked and found a zebra,
That could fit in the palm of her hand.
Just then she thought to herself,
“Oh my, I thought my Stripes had run away!”
Little did she know,
He walked back home to her yesterday.
See, Stripes was her itty bitty friend,
She won him at the city festival,
She tucked him in every night,
He loved it and he was so restful.
Except one sad day back in November,
His mommy came to take him back home,
And lil' sweetie felt so lost and alone,
Like a Queen without her favorite throne.
But there was that faithful zebra,
Who had missed his favorite friend,
For he traveled so far to be with her,
His dependence on her will never end.
So this is what clearly happened,
How her walls went from pink to purple,
He was playing a little prank on her,
For mini Stripes was so nocturnal.
He wanted to make her laugh,
He wanted to make her see,
But finally the next night,
He painted the purple walls back to pink.
Date Written: October 10, 2015
Starting,
again and again,
and again and again.
Each start, preceded by a step that was stopped with a monumental screech in mid motion, locking the brakes on a tire of movement.
Trepidation looms,
failure hung in the air like the dank moldy smell permeating from the basement of our lives,
waiting, begging to be ripped down,
rebuilt, and repainted fresh.
Each start is preceded by a notion for a grand desire for change, growth, newness.
Followed by the sound the screech against the pavement of realization, limitation,
burnt rubber fills the air as the tire slides...brake engaged.
Starting again and again,
Bambi of ice,
each leg independent of directed course,
each going in its own direction,
unintended,
uncontrolled,
Fighting my own instinct to move, be still,
move again, be still,
Is it stable ground?
Maybe not, start again.
wait, maybe it is.
A new deal was signed
Plantations workers laid down their tools
Freedom songs were sang everywhere
The birth of our liberty emerged
Our heritage we vow to defend
The root of our liberty we sure to protect
Upholding the lone star we will never desert
Its banner over Liberia we shout in victory
A Symbol of the first flag of Africa
Flying over the land and over the sea
Age to age we will never fail
Season in seasons we will fulfill the cause of our liberty
The lone star forever, the lone star forever
Shinning brighter like a golden flame
The wings of our foes are broken
And we are marching forward to never fall again
Midst low ‘ring skies and thunder storms
The star of liberty waves high in the sky
The sweat of every plantation worker is worthy
Liberia flag repainted with peace
Shinning forever over all the continents of the earth
The Valentine dress
A shock and surprise full of red and blue
coming from a heart, mine is devoted to
and from a hand I so value as my cute protection.
It is colourful, fitting and above all an exhibition of love.
The pan
A symbol of my dedication to the family’s need;
a loving reminder of all wonderful breakfasts,
its wash, a satisfaction of my duties already rendered.
The flowers
The purity of beauty without visual effect,
sparkle on the soul to answer their good morning call.
Please every evening with their aerosol of happiness spray,
causing every creature to relax and play.
The wall
A wedge to my upright smooth back
when in a tingly mood so homely and tender.
Its cold sensation, under my handy touch
serves as a suitable background to deep thoughts.
Unfortunately
On the wrong side of an argument,
the pan and my head cause an impact.
At the door ready for a nice outing
the admirable dress is now half way a rag,
the innocent flowers, becoming victims
of rage and uncontrollable violence
and a wall once noted for emotional reflection
is repainted with the splash of blood.
Indeed
I’ve absorbed all the heat and pressures- now he’ll burn.
Human right always prevail over the muscles- this he’ll see!
Immeasurable determination has been planted in a wounded lion
and no amount of sacrifice will deter this quest until justice is served.
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
In 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 the 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 leather hard 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 dirty ourselves
For we buried the past
Honey carry this
Dad the toilet is overflowing
Can you move the sofa there instead
Does this smell bad
Just three more stores Honey
You can build that easy
Sorry about the truck Daddy
Dad can you fix this
Honey I think it's time we repainted
Oh did you already finish Dad, I would have helped you
We didn't know you wanted to eat
Honey take out the garbage
Oh just put it in Dad's garage
And best of all it goes together in 4000 easy steps
Sorry about the report card
Honey turn that down
Damn you stink go take a shower
Will you start my car its cold out
I think it's time we repainted, don't you Honey
Dad I need to be picked-up at...Don't Forget
Honey I like the room better the other way
Tell Dad there's groceries in the car
I told my parents you'd build them an addition...Here
I think the septic tank is full...Honey
Did we clean those gutters
I thought we'd move the garden over there
Dad can I use your credit card
By we, I mean you Honey
I know it's the color I picked, but it's not the color I want...repaint it
Is It Good To Be The King?
I love you Daddy
Thanks Honey
Cool thanks Pop
I love you too Dad
Your the best Daddy
Yeah, It's Good
There are some colours
that can never be repainted,
marks that can never be removed
and stains that can never be covered.
Move on!
My past loved one,
don't hold unto my shoulders
as though nature formed us together.
We've once crossed that bridge
but even before reaching its middle
we had crashed into the river
and were swallowed
by the rocks of its depth.
Do you remember,
at first we built a garden
coloured in trust
and grassed with unbelievable care?
But we converted it
into an Oven
where love and hate mix
and our problems;
I'm the only one trying to fix.
Unfortunate episodes
of our heated drama
was already counting at thirty and six.
The beautiful songs of our hearts
we remix
as sadness and anger feasts.
Why shouldn't I leave
and prevent my heart
from an avoidable accident?
But you stick around
only to suffer from self torture.
My new and bright countenance
makes you wanna have sex
with other male colleagues, I flex.
It's barely two weeks
that makes you perplexed
well; it's your problem
b'cos I'm not bothered
if you're vexed.
Are you the first
to be an ex?
Just move on, my dear past lover!
It will be the height of folly
and the worship of loneliness
if you visit our world again.
INDIAN HEAD, SASKATCHEWAN
Used to live in Indian Head - never heard of it ?
An island of trees on the treeless prairie railway;
Unchanging oasis in a semi desert;
Small town bypassed by the Transcanada Highway.
Long trains with whistles in the night -
Coast-to-coast tracks and grain elevator.
Transcanada Voyageur truckstop, modern, bright:
Gas-up, eat, and on your way in a half-hour.
Bused tables there and learned to distinguish
Loud Americans from quiet Canadians:
Glad of the job, worked with relish -
Sleepy town with few options.
Nearby experimental farm (worked there too)
Grew trees for farmers; and every house in town
Had its stolen share of a tree or two -
While the prairie was empty around.
300-foot long-lots, with hot dry black soil, and
June bugs in the evening summer twilight.
Winter snow that sifts like white sand
Through the stolen trees in each garden bright.
Perfect blue sky all year round, like heaven:
Air of sleepiness, abandoned, forgotten:
Nothing changed since about 1927:
Old man on seat probably hasn’t moved since then.
Across dry meadow north of dusty “Water Street”,
Houses moved on trucks: cracked frames below and above,
Paint peeling off in the sun. Endless repeat -
Repainted, repaired, extended - with love.
As just-hitched kids, we drove
a Model T Ford with a crank
for the engine, and a running
board. My big brother sold us
his old carriage as a first car for
a brand new marriage. Never mind
it was his hunting car, repainted
and restored to all its former
glory, a new conversion to
a honeymoon car. In newlywed
land without a pot to-you-
know-what-in, we had no aversion
to second hand. Now, fifty years
later (and this may rub-ya)
I've got a yen for a two-tailpipe
Jaguar, or a BMW. Though I am
not fickle, own neither vehicle
and true to my origins still
modest and practical, I'm not
yet ready to go on the shelf.
RACY is how I see myself.
Music roves forgotten recess.
Spectrum of colors lack comprehension.
Objects of undeciphered importance appear.
Landscapes with familiar distortions,
Capture dialogue of competing personas.
The decayed buildings of my past,
Meet the repainted canvases of the future.
We row the lake of dreams in ignorance,
Lost in erratic, impulsive winds.
Hurricanes look tame in comparison.
Sometimes I find delight,
Loving many,
Finding impossible pleasures,
Discovering new insights,
Solving complex problems.
I have conversed with deceased relatives,
Witnessed black horrors,
Screamed in unsolicited howls,
Awoke in unhealthy shivers,
Breached chaotic doors.
Murderer
Victim
Seducer
Hero
Moralist
Criminal
Who directs the movies of my mind?
I am an actor without knowledge of the script!