Brush Poems - Poems about Brush

This old brush would once brush cleanly This old brush once smoothed my hair This old brush once snagged a single strand When I was kempt and fair This old brush began to clog up With the hair that it had pulled This old brush was like a fur ball Can my barnet be refuelled Ain’t gonna need this brush no longer Ain’t...

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Survival in spite of a series of unfortunate events, And despite being delirious in the head, I thrived in the thicket and the brush. The Moon’s departure was the Sun’s arrival, Nights in the cities was ahead, I felt alive again in the swish of the rush. Light up a diluted filter with a crush,...

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Beneath windswept limbs of an ancient tree I quietly sit as Dawn's brush paints the sky. My thoughts turn in this sunrise morning to blades of grass around me that soon will dry after sprinkled with dew when night held sway. I'm feeling melancholy over days gone by, recalling sad memories that come to mind... A love once held deep within my...

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artists brush i have painted you with the pointed brush of an artist creating every line and detail of your body before finishing the colors now I have laid aside my paint-filled brush realizing that i could never compliment your beauty with pastels on canvas i filled volumes with words intending to tell you how much you mean to me by building paragraphs on...

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Twisting vines and bending branches Intertwine and wrap around Hiding lost, forgotten treasures, Encasing all that's near the ground Past the viridescent greenery Creeping twigs that reach and claw, All that exists will flee as you run Stuck amid the brush’s maw ...

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New walls, inviting colors crisp and… Clean, washed bright, beautiful and… Fresh, renewed by cheery colors, so… Neat, energetic like the unsullied, and… Different, unmarked by the past, unsoiled and … Detailed by soft brush filled with paint’s heavy scent… Sparkling, like the life reborn, new and changed, converted by the primer – His light never fades out… His brush mends the heart restores the soul with faith and transforms the...

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A Brush, A Hush, Of Scores Begun! Field's Of Victories, Our, .... Fun! ...

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I woke trembling on the threshold of dawn as dappled sunlight through my window shone Upon my primed canvas there had been drawn a masculine image with finely chiseled cheekbones What virile fantasy had I born while in flight for my hand to have created such a dashing face In stippled darkness of my dream-filled night,...

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This is where I hide, A secret garden Cool and quiet- Where words rest in safe space. Here I can write out those wary, hidden thoughts That come out with insight- Aware, half awake, they fly out. Caught by surprise, Flushed OUT from cozy comfort zone... Disturbance kick start with real life shock starts my heart with blush brush. Aqua Marine. Posted: Friday, 15th...

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Each brush stroke on the canvas marks a moment in time the artist left behind. A fragment of thought expressed in a line, a trace, a spot, a dab, a splash, a splotch, a daub by palette knife impasto. The brush a fleeting hand expressing the artists shade and light, color and flare, texture and shape in composition. It marks the way the artist...

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It runs in the blood, you know. The mind may forget, but the body remembers There are things you'll try to shake and fail for years Etched in the nerves for generations to come Love you grandpa You ol' whiskey-soaked lush You've got three daughters and three grandkids who won't touch the stuff So clearly, the responsibility fell to me It's extra bitter...

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an artist paint brush spreads magic across canvas exhilarating sight...

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Pile of dried branches ...

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Brush Strokes … The canvas of fate, Wind strokes of the brush create a straight. The vibrant hues blend seamlessly strait, Each stroke represents a chapter of my state. An empty canvas representing my soul. Full of dark void and hole. Hues of the future dole, Sudden colors I've never seen before began to appear on the palete as a whole. Stopped at my...

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The color palette has changed of the world . painters wispy brush clouds line clear calm sky. Day is cold and dry, Fine snow starts to fall. Plants have ceased budding bent, spilling over yet passion, fragrant, unadorned jasmine, honeysuckle vine, knit wooden arbor. untiring starlings, early mourning doves move the day with their inviting singing and soft coo-OO-oo throughout the chill day. Ardent breath, note traced of love, a heart shape onto cold window. 1/6/2024...

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