Painting Poems - Poems about Painting

ART! He painted my death, With such dedication I've never seen before. Every stroke of his brush, on that paper, marking out each curve, twist, and turn my body made As I writhed in pain. Premeditated murder, or a death masquerading as suicide, or perhaps just an unlucky soul. My hands on my throat as I choked to death, He didn't...

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I happen to take Art classes in oils. My teacher directed me to Van Gogh's Flores: I am not sure what it's called. But I am very impressed with it's colors of yellow, maze and the swirls of a blue vase. It appears that the painting is all swirls. I can't imagine how it was...

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in the form of the readymade, now occupies a place in the void, you look at the size of this dewdrop & remember Andy Warhol, who was the first to begin this session in Tate Britain...

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Blank blue sky awaits for the night to dust stars across its face....

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The canvas is so much like a seashore Where hands comb for a body to the storm Sometimes a continental piece will shift These wounds under the palette — Give her light while looking through the bars From some more than thousand marks The brush of close kissing hair by The stroke of your blue in brown eyes Stay familiar...

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she rose from depths of his despair followed an artistic youthful D ...

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Painting a picture, Without any scripture, Soon to be a permanent fixture. A mixture of all types of things, I'm excited to see what it brings. Feel the colors sing, Timelines condensing, Closing, Superimposing, Shadows showing, Dimensions are growing, Bestowing stroke after stroke. Adding in a little joke, You're never broke, Take a little toke,...

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when i was a kid i used to draw a blue line near the top of the paper that was supposed to be the sky it started off being thicker in some places than in others but as the time passed i started to add clouds and draw inside the lines the older i got,  the more realistic the sky became then...

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hiku van Gogh 2 borinage b r e a t h e s on pot a ...

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Painting with words The ash in the wood burner is still warm white and esoteric an unborn dream a sin to shovel into a sink bucket when it looks holy and ought to be strewn upon the tranquil sea with the first drop of rain the ash in the bucket a dust cloud disperse like souls in the forest but,...

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They say a picture may paint a thousand words but I can't read what he wrote household paint poured onto a horizontal surface ain't what I call works of note splashed with no pre-planned end-result for art's sake to me does not art make known for his 'drip technique' yes he was a drip and no mistake yet a few of his spills...

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I romanticize you. No color will change the portrait I have painted of you in my mind. You could be black and white and still to me you are intricately dynamic. Your eyes are the window in which I feel gorgeously presented. Your soul is a breath of fresh air, something someone might only get to touch...

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rooster crows his morning song pridefully male apple blossoms arrived last night deep purple lilac bush in full bloom feels like May verdant meadow lawn nearly fluorescent i choose my paints ready to follow my artistic muse...

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The morning sunrise emitting a pastel rainbow sky. A sight that is so beautiful it makes me want to cry. As I see the sun rise, I remember we never truly die....

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Written: May 03, 2025, for contest by Brian Strand Olena Babak's artwork Spring's Easel Explodes Painting Shades ( It is more convenient to read the poem while looking at the artwork.) ******************* the light shines in the eye of the whirlwind whipping...

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