I liked sculpting better than painting. You have more freedom in sculpting.
quote by Anthony Quinn
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
Photography suits the temper of this age - of active bodies and minds. It is a perfect medium for one whose mind is teeming with ideas, imagery, for a prolific worker who would be slowed down by painting or sculpting, for one who sees quickly and acts decisively, accurately.
quote by Edward Weston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode To Immortality
Jetting creative fire
Through a diamond eye
Sculpting hair-like ripples
On an emerald sky
poem by Leonard Daranjo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I recently took up ice sculpting. Last night I made an ice cube. This morning I made 12, I was prolific.
quote by Mitch Hedberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Art In Me
I'mages on the sidewalk speak of dream's decent
Washed away by storms to graves of cynical lament
Dirty canvases to call my own
Protest limericks carved by the old pay phone
In your picture book I'm trying hard to see
Turning endless pages of this tragedy
Sculpting every move you compose a symphony
You plead to everyone
song performed by by Jars Of Clay from Jars Of Clay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Immortalize
So how shall we immortalize?
I ask her with this face
School-boy gleam giddy
Talent, potential
augmented with
her very own, “perhaps”
dangles for follow
Text
draw or paint for sculpting?
intimate as evasive I
literate searching
tug tension tearing
tension indecisive
lends word for earing:
She the Master ever in training
(dare I steal her word for ask?)
“Let us keep this moment for last,
suspending perhaps... “
copyright Randy Resh 2007
poem by Randy Resh
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Lakeside
The grass is not emerald green.
It is a thicker shade, more inviting.
Welcoming as a field of poppies
only more austere.
The single tree in rustling witness stands
to Nature's indifferent sculpting of the land.
The ground is cool, moist with anticipation
-a land of milk and honey, as they say.
The barony of spring whets the last of winter's embers
preparing summer's empire by degrees.
The breeze disappears
following the arc of the sun
and I am one step closer to the water's edge.
poem by Ronald Shields
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What To Do
you get a handful of mud
put a little rain
and then you begin shaping
a face
carefully you put some
tenderness
sculpting forgiveness
you mold your vision
of integrity
you stop for a while
and contemplate on what is
it that is missing
your heart is heavy
it is filled with the burden
of love
you pour love
more of it like a basin
of water
the mold is so thirsty
until
it is finally broken
your hands after the
error
must begin again
to shape the mold
of regrets
until love reassembles
your face
a beautiful face so full of
hope &
courage
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Monuments
Crystal the desert
Sands sifted in dry air
Sun flecked sparkling.
Wind plays out,
Whistling, weathering rock
Sculpting.
Sand blasts in desert storms.
Fine glass moulds, shapes,
Caresses, smooths.
Forged in the heat of the desert days
Cold of its night.
Making monuments to natures art.
Towers of pink and yellow
Watch over rock strewn plains
Waterless river beds
In silent serenity.
Copyright P H Brookes 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
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Whisperings
Come closer
and whisper to me
from deep within.
I listen because your soul
speaks to me in quiet
pillow breaths;
its soft tones
are decibels
to my open heart beating.
Come close as I anticipate
ecstasies quietly rendered;
Yours and Mine.
Soft tones meditate
and separate
True-ness from background noise.
Come close because
I am listening for soul stirrings
in the cross whisperings
sculpting our intimate
moments
where in whispered connections
our love grows;
our minds reel;
our mouths touch;
all this on that gentle breeze
whispers make
allowing
humans to grow
flowers on their souls.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Gardener's Curse
This lapidary labor stirs a curse
Like sculpting marble blocks with callused hands
And polishing the surface to rehearse
Set ranks of wayward words the verse demands
To play an emerald tune on emerald line
And signify above the duple beat
Some metaphor that holds to the design
Or at hairpin turn, makes its sense complete.
Poems are never final, just abandoned,
As artifacts beyond minute repair,
Vainly arranged, then grudgingly stranded:
A moment's monument—a grasp to share.
Like Adam's Curse, to carve in stone means pain,
But only heart creates: the opened vein.
poem by William F Dougherty
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Pray For Me
Michael w. smith
Here is where the road divides
Here is where we realize
The sculpting of the fathers great design
Thru time youve been a friend to me
But time is now the enemy
I wish we didnt have to say goodbye
But I know the road he chose for me
Is not the road he chose for you
So as we chase the dreams were after
Chorus:
Pray for me and Ill pray for you
Pray that we will keep the common ground
Wont you pray for me and Ill pray for you
And one day love will bring us back around again
Painted on our tapestry
We see the way it has to be
Weaving thru the laughter and the tears
But love will be the tie that binds us
To the time we leave behind us
Memories will be our souvenirs
And I know that thru it all
The hardest part of love is letting go
But theres a greater love that holds us
Chorus
song performed by by Michael W. Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bluster Too
We live in times replete
where mere contentiousness
and peace
compete;
where the loving soul
hides
not knowing how to sing in the dark.
If the herd stampedes to some popular view
pause first
rather than follow
will blim and bluster shape the morrow?
Small things in years
will matter least.
Life is the shaping force;
the sculpting of character
where the difference is learned between
large and small matters;
let the small ones die
bury them
with a loving flower
and your hand will gain the golden touch
which plucks
and spreads
true happiness
and with it the seeds
of true peace
and incidentally
abandoned
blim
and bluster.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Maryann's Lament
Sculpting you in Precognition's Mind
had been my special mental preoccupation
and now
I cannot abide
ever leaving you;
your vision's
become
my sustaining aberration
gleaming it is in Perfection's Glow
and now no one
I fear
will match
its silver tones
its dulcet notes
which have now
captured me;
its vision
cannot
abide
another now
even if I
meet now
its twin.
I'd have to
lash
you and he
together
in my mind's vision
but I know that will fail
I'll ask how can
flesh and blood
compete with
crystal visions;
how can
human hands
glow
as much
as the hand
of my imaginary
love?
Perfection thus
is life's enemy
if we prefer
the vision of it
to
real live
human beings
and I
older now
am alone with it
drained
only now
realizing
visions
are nice
but will
in the end
leave you alone
with this
now cold
vision;
unsustaining
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Creation of a Single Composition
It has been said, poetry is nothing more that placing
The proper word in its proper place.
How simply stated for the effort of a single composition!
Beneath the primeval of our subconscious mind
Lies the clay-material of all creation,
The strata of spiritual sedimentation,
Laid down before our birth.
From this wet plastic matter comes the substance
Of our imagination, the foundation
For the architecture of our reflections.
Sculpting images by the vocabulary used,
The writer cast, molds and shapes
The verbs and nouns into their final stage
Of fluid acquiescence.
Thus, the poet, by placing each word
Into its proper place, gives power, vision and speech
To every inaimate object;
Translating the infinite invisible,
Into sacred symbols,
From the potter's mind of thought.
(Blank Verse)
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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Universal Freedom Is......
Freedom from hunger and freedom from pain
freedom from loss and so freedom from gain.
Freedom to give and freedom to share
freedom from want and that of despair.
Freedom to think and freedom to know
freedom to achieve and freedom to grow.
Freedom from bondage and freedom of liberation
freedom from ignorance and any unknown situation.
Freedom to come and freedom to leave
freedom to stay and freedom to conceive.
Freedom from struggle and freedom of ease
freedom to enjoy and the capacity to please.
Freedom from failure and freedom of success
freedom from denial and freedom of access.
Freedom from illusion and freedom of reality
freedom to become what we are in actuality.
Freedom to live and freedom to die
freedom to laugh and freedom to cry.
Freedom to speak and freedom to listen
freedom to act based on a wise decision.
Freedom from hate and freedom of love
freedom of below and freedom of above.
Freedom of the past and freedom of the present
freedom of the future and what it can represent.
Freedom from war and freedom of peace
freedom to begin and freedom to cease.
Freedom from sickness and freedom of health
freedom from poverty and mishandled wealth.
Freedom from wrong and freedom being right
freedom of the day and freedom of the night.
Freedom to choose and freedom to reject
freedom to imagine what there is to expect.
Freedom from lust and freedom from greed
freedom from anger and freedom from breed.
Freedom from jealousy and freedom from pride
freedom from within and freedom from outside.
Freedom of always not having anything to hide.
Freedom from space and also freedom from time
freedom from attachment and freedom from crime
Freedom to work and freedom to play
freedom to believe and freedom to pray.
Freedom to experience a rebirth someday.
Freedom from the body and freedom from the mind
freedom from the ego and freedom from being blind.
Freedom of transcendence being of the spiritual kind.
Universal freedom is eternal and infinite bliss
we should all therefore be able to realise this.
poem by George Krokos
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Honesty And Integrity
HONESTY AND INTEGRITY
Honesty and integrity shades of accolade is esteem of humans
Replacement is none priceless they are redemption is a stretch
Riches they are beyond assessment of disdains of commons
Paintings they are in abstract of virtues of moral sketch
Chartered it is in sublime of demeanors procured by attainment
Character is inutile minus the probity like flower without fragrance
One lapse is more than many smutch is for permanent
Worshipped they should be wearing on the sleeves with reverence
Respiring its essence in every breath with dedication and passion
Sculpting an image in its fable as treasure of heirloom
To be passed on as embroidery on fabric of tradition
Infinitely refined to keep its gloss in loom of wisdom
Burning the glow of flames of fire shedding the light
On virtues of honor letting spirit of soul burn bright
poem by Ashram Ashram
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Extension 33
Living at the y, extension 33,
Nothing to care or to worry.
Once I was in love with a blind man,
But my auntie told me, dont do it, its not worth it.
Living at the y, 33 years,
No one to call or to write to.
Once I was in love with a married man,
But my instincts told me, dont tell him, itll kill you.
Im sad I didnt marry the blind man,
But whats a life with three blind children?
Im glad I never told the married man,
It saved my pride and freedom.
Living at the y, in 33 rooms,
Nowhere to visit or write to.
Once I was in love, it nearly killed me,
But now I have my pride and freedom.
Freedom, freedom, freedom, freedom,
Freedom, freedom, freedom and pride.
Freedom, freedom, freedom, freedom,
Freedom, freedom, freedom and pride.
Freedom, freedom, freedom, freedom,
Freedom, freedom, freedom and pride.
Freedom, freedom, freedom, freedom,
Freedom, freedom, freedom and pride.
Freedom, freedom, freedom, freedom,
Freedom, freedom, freedom and pride.
Freedom, freedom, freedom, freedom,
Freedom, freedom, freedom.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Painting The Walls
painting the walls,
rolling over handprints,
cobwebs, and smoke stains....
over splashes of color,
over peels of time.
painting over the sounds
of voices whispering, laughing....
painting over tears hidden
from the world, from each other.
painting over running, and working,
working all day and half the night.
painting over children, and dreams,
folded like old clothes, and put away.
painting over notes from God,
that were often barely noticed...
painting over the nail that held
up the clock, hands moving slowly,
turning the seasons of living....
painting over the final words,
the last breath held in the hands,
of lives written in the grain....
the testimony of each feeling....
painting the walls,
and brushing the corners,
as if we never lived!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Beauty Beholden
tonight..
i've been ambushed!
by your memories
this tired body had not heart
to do battle after dark
and while i lay battered
nursing aching wants
in mists of warm waters
You came upon me
at once my paramour
and my enemy
my mind jarred
my heart forgot
to beat
in rythm with
tired monotony....
and i heard you whisper my name
and your lips sung the same
tune to which my love swayed
'You are just so beautiful
today
as you were that autumn day
when i first held you
and
when i first kissed you
'You are so beautiful
each day
as venus, marble etched
lovingly carved and gently held
in the palm of creation
to be worshipped
and forever kept
suspended in animation
through time in my senses
'Oh but youre beautiful.........'
and i drown
into the fantasy that is me
through the words that are you
and surrender
to the love you made me feel
for myself, when we were real
oh but You were beautiful
to have made me feel
this beautiful
for sculpting me a mortal venus
for loving me that achingly
oh but You were beautiful
oh
but
You
were beautiful...
poem by Wardha Jawdat
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Absolute Freedom
Freedom from within
Freedom to think beyond universe
Freedom from living up to other ideas or expectations
Freedom to stand against all odds
Freedom from gods will
Freedom from triumph and disaster
Freedom from democracy and aristocracy
Freedom from scams and scandals
Freedom from caste, creed and color
Freedom from meaning less dogma
Freedom from fear and hatred
Freedom from life and death
poem by Sunnieyd Inquilab
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