Short Paintbrushes Poems

        
                 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

             cumulus, blankets
             cirrus, are God's paintbrushes
             nimbus, rain for us



                       1/24/2021
                            ~ 1 ~



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Pacific murmur
Blond eyelids wake up seagulls
Happiness alive

Surf and rays in love
Paintbrushes escape from box
Immortality...

Tempera of Soul
Obsessive Golden Spectrum
Rip open my chest

Don' t need oxygen
Growing gills,  play with dolphins
Sun alive again...



***for P.D.'s Contest " Sunrise"***...

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Oh life that beacons creativity.
Thy pleasantness has taught me oh so well.
Drawn out from fountains flowing deep within
Onto the canvas waiting for its sight,
That when paintbrushes strike with flow and flare,
My visions issue from me with no doubt.
And thus my soul becomes with fabric won.

© January 2, 2012
Dane Smith-Johnsen...

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Boots can be recycled for many things
This one was Daddy’s and it kind of zings
Reminding me of all the days I spent watching him rebuild a car
I tried walking in them when I was four, but did not get very far.
Now my twin sister has his left boot, and I have utilized his right.
I keep paintbrushes in mine, hers I think she keeps out of sight....

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Her asylum at Saint-Remy, eighteen-ninety where 
Vincent van Gogh with palette as paintbrushes 
Cast a vision thus timeless this beauty....
Outside divinities window upon her ledge
In captured their moment yet, no one knew 
His love so true ? Henceforth was sought a way
These heart's what light should stay and back..
Unto the future red, ruby shoes; there, which want not wait....

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Ars est longa,
vita brevis.
Art is immortal.
Art is infinite.
Pictograms tell a story,
of Man that have past.
Terra cotta pots and cuneiforms,
Depicts their details of Lives.
Paintbrushes and canvases,
bring history alive.
Statues of stone or metal,
Remind us of the legacies,
That people left behind.
Art is history,
And forever it will be,
The story of Life
as we see it....

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Flowering bluebonnets will soon carpet fields;
Baby colts playing, kicking up their heels.
Indian paintbrushes will streak through the blue,
And gnarled oak trees budding will show off their hue.

Once I rode a horse through the bluebonnet's terrain;
Low hanging thunderclouds portending of rain;
Showers refreshing drenching my face,
My love by my side 

Another time and another place....

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By a Spring Fire

There is a place

Where boughs of singing birds are swaying;
Little colts with wobbly legs are playing;
And bluebonnets and paintbrushes grow.

Once my love and I rode horses, o’er
Rolling hills like rough golf courses.
So long, long ago.

Now you are gone and I grow old;
Shut away from days of gold;
And the evening memories glow,

In the fire of early Spring’s  cold.

 




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