Inspired by the Painting "A Girl With A Pearl Earring" by Dutch Golden Age Painter "Johannes Vermeer"
What are you telling me, My timeless Beauty?
You turn and stop..,
You look at me with your plaintive eyes,
Your luscious lips are apart, but you remain voiceless…
The pearl in your ear shines ~
Light on your face shimmers mysteriously,
Your eyes are serene ~ reflecting, refracting
The depth of your emotions…
Those dove-like eyes are the artist's inspiration!
The topaz blueness of your headscarf
With which you have covered your sensuality,
Surround your face with a serenity of
The ocean, gleaming emerald green
Of your attire evokes the unspoilt
Magic of your youth…..
You are not what you appear
To many souls in this mundane world…
They don’t see the painter’s Muse.
You are the nymph, who visited me
For a rare moment of tranquility.
The Pearl shines, an iridescent
Gem shimmering, unfolding your heart~
You remain eternal in my imperishable creation...
You linger in hearts..... my masterpiece!
Water is the artist the beach it's canvas
alfred sisley
impressionist en plein air
serves peace to my soul
AP: Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2026
blue, purple, black, red, green and pink
my hands are stained with painter’s ink
my apron is full of colors of every hue
turquoise, silver, gold, yellow, gray, and peach droplets too
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 vortex,
umbrage pervades,
unushered.
Silver spectrum
of lines transient
in acumen cloud,
splits into colors
of radiant reverie
in optimistic prism,
sculpted.
Convoluted canvas,
carapace conjured
for contorted hideous faces,
turning in a trance
into baroque frescos,
flicker of beauty
sparkles sneaky
in conceived smile,
beholder,
the painter.
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 silences, from laughter and shed tears.
With each verse, he weaves threads of desires and regrets,
drawing lines of melancholy on the smooth surface of the heart,
while his metaphors transform into fragile butterfly wings,
flying through the garden of dreams, carrying the essence of ephemeral moments,
in a symphony of colors and emotions that dance to the eternal rhythm of time.
The poet, a magician of words, creates worlds from desires and shadows,
painting with feelings that stretch like a horizon of hope and love,
while his soul becomes a rainbow of thoughts and emotions,
spanning the canvas of infinity, where each hue is a story,
and each story is a dream painted with a heart open to the universe.
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 paint on my shoes
I do not mind.
I am a painter.
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 I do daily
the best part is adding paint to the canvas
I am a painter; it relaxes me; delights me
Inspires me, keeps me fresh and enthusiastic
I am a cartoonist and a painter
And sometimes a poet
(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 windows to sunlight I implore
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 mind
tenuous,
disguised dreams
delusive,
shaped nebulous
by silver lines,
foresight outlook
splits spectrum
reflective
into colors of trance
in prism
of optimism.
Convoluted canvas
capturers
hideous faces,
makes murals
magnificent,
sparkle the contours
of conceived smile
in vintage vision
of beholder,
the pensive painter.
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.
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
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 passion is more satisfying
to glance at your finished paintings
and wish they'd be talking!
Painter of realistic faces,
immortalize them with your magical brush!
Those men's stunning, hard bodies;
those woman's seductive, soft curves,
don't need any correction or a final touch:
your artistic talent amazes!
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 passion is more satisfying
to glance at your finished paintings
and wish they'd be talking!
Painter of realistic faces,
immortalize them with your magical brush;
their perfect masculine and feminine images
don't need any correction or a final touch:
your artistic talent amazes!
The painter tore down night’s veil ~ the earth bloomed with colour like the Arthang
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.