Brushes Poems - Poems about Brushes

Ancient painted woodland rushes, nature's beauty, painted thrushes, homeland under vivid bushes, lovely Indian Paintbrushes. Deepest, dearest, darkest red, scented, softly in my head. velvet stem and softest leaf colored beyond all belief. Tickling that which it touches, sentry keeping guarded watch as danger passes, gentle swatches of all time and breath she catches Yellow cousin,...

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Quote By Poet "One can paint with paints. One can paint with words." Oh, to open a fresh can of paint, can you smell the color? A bright sunny yellow paint fills this can, my brush will bring in the sunlight. Today, I will paint with words, red for the new fall apples. They are juicy and sweet, ready to be baked...

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Where did my paint brushes go? Asked the mole. I will help you look said the crescent moon, once so whole. I see them but I am keeping it a secret said McPink. He liked seeing the boot way up high, on the sink. Why would I have used the boot? The artist said with surprise. Did not realize it...

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I want to paint a portrait of you I have a brush, but what do I do? What is the colour of your soul? Is it really as black as coal Horse hairs paint your insides out Your heart is what you’re all about I see it yellow, red, pink and blue It’s the warmest part I ever knew Your eyes are deep...

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housewife brushes teeth after busy day, black specks .... vine ripe blueberries? My husband brought in blueberries for me to wash and prepare for him to put in the freezer. I ate some as I was working, when I brushed my teeth getting ready for bed, I saw what I thought was black stuff in the...

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Dawn’s xanthous blooming through the forest trees. Bouquet from God’s hand suddenly immersed in light. Flaming pine without a flicker, matchless crimson seize. Skinny oaks like a garden gate, applauds pleasing sight. O blaze of origin - Sun’s ancient grin. That was art and then the brush of current events - First snow! Ah, my trees with crystal light not senseless rain. Pavement...

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Masterpiece Paint me a picture. Add some red, blues and greens. Show me the "me" that you wish to be. Will I be contained or will I be free? Add your brush strokes. One by one and we'll see. What will you use? Which paints fit me best? Perhaps acrylics will past the test. Gather the materials for what's in store. A...

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smoke signal of clouds asking God to stop the rain — paint cans sealed near gate 1/17/2019...

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Dogs pant in the sweltering, humid air that morphs into dewdrops as the night cools. And summer swimwear isn't seen anywhere, now that the kids have returned to their schools, abandoning their sandcastles and pools. The leaves are slowly getting drained of green, changing color as they prepare to die. And cottage doors no longer need a screen, for now, as the sun...

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Still life. What bite have my grapes and plums? I capture the glaucous coating — the powdery residue. A fairytale gown needs just the right godmother-dusting of azure. The sparkling suds and frothy thrust! The concoction of a great day — my brush reveals teal and Caribbean waves. I long to drip my palette into deadpan eyes. Her passion...

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Previous training Had me mopping Croutons in the foreground. I'd always been Under or back And loaded with brushes. Now my "project-defined" Had purposely left My "effects-bank" With no filename. Since I to Had nine options I selected them all. It gave me the jiffies In no time at all. The series selected Underscored what was A housed initial setup. Mirroring errors Raised my buttons. So I reverted for Your convenience To edit mode And performed...

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Sharp ivory brushes my torso Pain, but pleasure’s persistent A flash of boredom that coinsides With Saliva and other Suspitions. Answers lay just beyond Splashes of color and Juxtaposed likenesses My squealing snout hides me And my pink flesh exposes But covered with fiery illusion From days in a ring of fire My voice illudes as inconceivable As it is I illogically continue Desbite negative notions Thrashing in dark...

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wind brushes feathers blending air and sky as one yellow and green, blue (February 4, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin) (c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved...

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our words freeze on a page- a moment of time A tribute to all imagist poets (especially here on PS)...

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The hour grows late, as hours grow late, They crawl like a thief in the night; With devilish art to administrate, Diminishing sight and purloining the light. Blood, sweat and toil, hot water and oil, Fever dispensed with a flair; Fervour and temperature brought to the boil, A fanatical prayer of both joy and despair....

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