Painter Poems - Poems about Painter

Lure of mirage in deranged dunes, dances in dandelion rhythm with oasis dream, illusion inscribed in sane sands of time, sliding continuum with desiccated travail, thirst unquenched, stimulus sensuous, perpetual. Dormant despair usurps harps of hope, vibrato dissipates unperceived, wisdom shroud unfurls crafty chimera in life of actuality, awareness avid, imbibed. Stifling shadow anguished onyx cloud creeps remorseless, dissension darkness drips opaque desolateness on listless landscape, mangled in strife maelstrom, mind sucked within hope...

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The poet is a painter who spreads his soul on the vast canvas of time, with emotions flowing like a river of colors through the valleys of unspoken thoughts, touching with his invisible brush the shadows and light in fragments of eternity, combining sadness and joy in subtle blends of misunderstood hues, creating a living painting from whispers and...

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20th February 1888, he left as snow fell in Paris, seeking warmth, bright light and colour. Provence beckoned, Arles awaited. Cold welcome soon turned warm, Vincent keen to explore, keen to advance painting style, bold colours, dynamic brush strokes. May day and the yellow house his base, hopes of a collective studio. Daring colour adventure begins, townscapes, countryside, ordinary people, self portraits. 23rd October,...

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acrylic blue paint on my fingertips green paint on my wrist silver paint on my lower arm red paint on my cell phone orange paint on my tile floor yellow paint on the table turquoise paint on my chair fuschia paint on my rug six colors of paint on my nightgown twenty-six colors of paint on my apron black and brown paint on my shirt gold...

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I draw cartoons daily tonight I started with a Chinese geisha woman an elf house, flowers a frog, faerie, elf a yum yum tree, mushroom stools bunny, apples, a Scottish highlands dancer what else to add? I do not like a blank canvas and half was blank I added clouds, flowers, and grass of course this is the first part of the fun...

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Another typical insipid day the sweet, crimson glowing ember falling revealing the lustrous serenity of kaleidoscopic skies Elysian whispers around my remaining canvas of arid Gossamer and prosaic filled voids replaces citrine, saffron nirvana Bodies surrounding shimmer effulgent colors I'm yet to remain in my dull ashen-sparked cave A sudden delirious shriek gleeful, exuberant faces twisted into pale onyx terror An apocalyptic doomsday...

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(4-9 beat) The painter said? I need rollers and work pants I pled Paint brushes too Get my brushes now I say to you Floor sheet I need Cover the floor do not use speed Ladder I plead Spray can the wall done .Time to drink mead Solvent,I use Can't clean brushes without it don't lose Last coat of paint You definately get no complaint Hang plants for sure Free...

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The allure of mirage magnetic, thirst unquenched in hidden hope unperceived, insight intuits crafty illusion in life of reality, rational awareness absorbed. Onyx cloud clumps condensed, shadow masked...

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Where is that tulip painter? Someone asked in a strange way. Someone said, “Think I saw him on the sky wind today. “ Yesterday he was crawling out of an oak tree’s knothole. He is a wise artist for sure, being helpful is his ultimate goal....

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Cooler than Arctic ice Yet, you warm the palette of my life With your nearly bluebell shades Layers of sifted sky Diluted into the tender grey clouds That slowly dance Towards tears of rain How my heart longs to know you As my life brushes past Your pure selfless pouring out Unaware, you resonate clarity; Enlighten with sobriety The lilting, vacant canvas Of my existence ...

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In borrowed plumes a masquerade we stage. Thoughts echo doctrines passions are preordained. From broken families where fractured spirits weep Mothers of soulful sorrow With eyes that never sleep. We inherit canvases pre-primed with societal skews. But the brush trembles in our hand Praying for a different magical muse. Why is contentment suffocating and chokes every… Rebellious spark a shroud created from what...

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Your lifestyle is vibrant and restless and from tiny towns to big cities your search for human images to paint very realistic faces! And while you don't have the unique touch of a Davinci or of a Caravaggio: you do excel, many strangers from far places ring your bell: they spend hours posing for a silver brooch! Earning money is only for essentials, no...

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Your lifestyle is vibrant and restless and from tiny towns to big cities: your search for human images to paint perfect, lifelike faces! And while you don't have the unique touch of a Davinci or of a Caravaggio: you do excel, many strangers from far places ring your bell: they spend hours posing for a silver brooch! Earning money is only for essentials, no...

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The painter tore down night’s veil ~ the earth bloomed with colour like the Arthang...

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(Not) worrying about ruining a painting. Is different than (not) worrying about ruining my life. Colors blend. And life is dry. Colors can be crazy and dripping. I can be crazy and drooling I suppose… I’ve been painting my whole life. I’ve been painting my life away....

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