En.Citatepedia^®.ro

I want paint to work as flesh.

quote by Lucian Freud
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As far as I am concerned the paint is the person. I want it to work for me just as flesh does.

quote by Lucian Freud
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paint Me Down

Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im walking into studio
Consider strange appeal
Paint me in the home
Im brushing up on sketchbook
Designs for love unreal
Paint me in the home
Oil and skin youll need to buy it
Consider what I mean
She sinks beneath thr moving pictures
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im soaking up the surface
Conceaiving new idea
Paint me in the home
Shes oiling up her subject
But all still life is here
Paint me in the home
All the boys with framed dimension
A cover up on lust
Hell take his pain and paint it over
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down

song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We & Dem

We no know how we and dem a-go work this out, oy!
We no know how we and dem a-go work it out.
But someone will ave to pay
For the innocent blood
That they shed every day,
Oh, children, mark my word;
Its what the Bible say, yeah! yeah!
Oh, we no know how we and dem a-go work this out;
We no know how we and dem a-go work it out.
But in the beginning jah created everythin (oo-oo-oo-oo-ooh),
Givin man dominion over all things.
But now its too late,
You see, men has lost their faith (oo-oo-oo-oo-ooh), hey-ey-hey!
Eating up all the flesh from off the earth, eh!
We no know how we and dem a-go work this out (we no know);
We no know how we and dem a-go work this out (no, we dont know);
Dub-da-dub-da-dub!
Dub-a-dippidi-doop-de-doo!
Nim-a-nummany num-na-noo!
Num-a-nummana-num-da-nay!
Dippy-dippy-dippy: dip-de-dub-de-day!
Dip-a-dubbada-dub-da-day!
But I say: we no know how we and dem a-go work it out:
Them a flesh and bone!
We no know how we and dem a-go work it out.
But we now have no friends
In-a high society, yea-a-eah!
We no have no friends;
Oh, mark my identity;
We no have no friends. oh-oh! yeah!
We no know how we and dem a-go work this out (no, we no know);
We no know how we and dem a-go work this out (we no know);
We no know how we and dem a-go work it out (no, we dont know);
(we no know how we and dem a-go work this out.) rasta!
(we no know how we and dem a-go work this out.) ilyabom! /fadeout/

song performed by by Bob Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sign-Board

I will paint you a sign, rumseller,
And hang it above your door;
A truer and better signboard
Than ever you had before.
I will paint with the skill of a master,
And many shall pause to see
This wonderful piece of painting,
So like the reality.

I will paint yourself, rumseller,
As you wait for that fair young boy,
Just in the morning of manhood,
A mother's pride and joy.
He has no thought of stopping,
But you greet him with a smile,
And you seem so blithe and friendly,
That he pauses to chat awhile.

I will paint you again, rumseller,
I will paint you as you stand,
With a foaming glass of liquor
Extended in your hand.
He wavers, but you urge him-
Drink, pledge me just this one!
And he takes the glass and drains it,
And the hellish work is done.

And next I will paint a drunkard-
Only a year has flown,
But into that loathsome creature
The fair young boy has grown.
The work was sure and rapid.
I will paint him as he lies
In a torpid, drunken slumber,
Under the wintry skies.

I will paint the form of the mother
As she kneels at her darling's side,
Her beautiful boy that was dearer
Than all the world beside.
I will paint the shape of a coffin,
Labeled with one word-'lost,'
I will paint all this, rumseller,
And will paint it free of cost.

The sin and the shame and the sorrow,
The crime and the want and the woe
That are born there in your workshop,
No hand can paint, you know.
But I'll paint you a sign, rumseller,
And many shall pause to view
This wonderful swinging signboard,
So terribly, fearfully true.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Signboard

I will paint you a sign, rumseller,
And hang it above your door;
A truer and better signboard
Than ever you had before.
I will paint with the skill of a master,
And many shall pause to see
This wonderful piece of painting,
So like the reality.

I will paint yourself, rumseller,
As you wait for that fair young boy,
Just in the morning of manhood,
A mother’s pride and joy.
He has no thought of stopping,
But you greet him with a smile
And you seem so blithe and friendly,
That he pauses a chat awhile.

I will paint you again, rumseller,
I will paint you as you stand,
With a foaming glass of liquor
Extended in your hand.
He wavers, but you urge him –
Drink, pledge me just this one!
And he takes the glass and drains it,
And the hellish work is done.

And next I will paint a drunkard –
Only a year has flown,
But into that loathesome creature
The fair young boy has grown.
The work was sure and rapid.
I will paint him as he lies
In a torpid, drunken slumber,
Under the wintry skies.

I will paint the form of the mother
As she kneels at her darling’s side,
Her beautiful boy that was dearer
Than all the world beside.
I will paint the shape of a coffin
Labelled with one word – ‘Lost’
I will paint all this, rumseller,
And will paint it free of cost.

The sin and the shame and the sorrow,
The crime and the want and the woe
That are born there in your workshop,
No hand can paint, you know
But I’ll paint you a sign, rumseller,
And many shall pause to view
This wonderful swinging signboard,
So terribly, fearfully true.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I paint German artists whom I admire. I paint their pictures, their work as painters, and their portraits too. But oddly enough, each of these portraits ends up as a picture of a woman with blonde hair. I myself have never been able to work out why this happens.

quote by Georg Baselitz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paint my eyes in flowers

paint my hands in dragons
paint my back in windings
paint my arms in lightening
paint my neck in anks
my forehead intricate lines
paint my shoulder butterflies
paint my heart in henna
in henna of red in henna of black
body paint my heart

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Paint body art beautiful

her majesty the hand
with nail graffiti polish
pain in henna red
paint in henna black
paint paint my heart

paint body art faithful
faithful to the strokes
paint in strokes divine
paint in strokes of red
paint in strokes of black
paint paint my heart

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Work

Work never killed anyone,
Smithers said, a fair day’s
work for a fair day’s pay.

You continued to paint
the wall, your hand rising
and falling with the brush.

Tell that to those who died
in Auschwitz and other camps
or the archipelago of gulags
in Russia, you moodily replied.

Those were foreigners in
different times and different
places, he said, your average
person never died from the
labours of over work.

The paint was an awful green,
the wall was bland, above,
a window allowing dim light.

Some stilled died from labours
pushed to the limits, you sighed.

Smithers scratched his ass
and said, there’s always those
who’ve shirked and died.

You stood back watching
the paint dry, on a freshly
painted white glossed door,
was caught a fly, wriggling in
the stickiness, waiting to die.

poem by Terry Collett
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Sunday Afternoon

I can think of better days
As I look into your eyes
And I feel that in a way
I know that youll be alright
And he walks for a mile
Its his style
Baby never acts wild
Feels hes invencible
He walks for a while
But I never ask why
He needs his time in isolation
Its your views
On your groove
On a sunday afternoon
Paint it slow
Then youll know
What you need to work out soon
Im gonna whisper in your ear
Ive a lot of things to say to you
Ill give you all my universe
Youre all I want and thats for sure
And he walks for a mile
Its his style
Baby never acts wild
Feels hes invencible
He walks for a while
But I never ask why
He needs his time in isolation
Its your views
On your groove
On a sunday afternoon
Paint it slow
Then youll know
What you need to work out soon
Its your views
On your groove
On a sunday afternoon
Paint it slow
Then youll know
What you need to work out soon
In your darkest hour
Take my hand and Ill show you
Understand it much better
Ill make sure you get there
Its your views
On your groove
On a sunday afternoon
Paint it slow
Then youll know
What you need to work out soon
Its your views
On your groove
On a sunday afternoon
Paint it slow
Then youll know
What you need to work out soon

song performed by by Texas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Whither Thy Art, Man?

Yes, men and women, paint their eyelashes,
And dye their hair in hues and paint their nails;
And wear head-bands, multi-colored sashes,
And paint the tortoises and shells of snails.

Some paint their bodies fully or one-half;
Some paint their country’s flag over their face;
Some look like leopards, lions, clowns that laugh;
Some tattoo pictures or paint words so base.

Some paint their naked bodies as if dressed
Or apply stickers of men, Gods or beast;
Their art on human skins looks to them best
And dance in ritual for a sumptuous feast.

The art of man has gone so crazy now,
For men paint Dogs, cats, cattle, also cow.

poem by John Celes
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Paint

Don't paint me red,
Red is for bold women that use cheap scent

Don't paint me blue
Blue is for sadness and regret

Don't paint me green
Green is for envy and not to be seen

Don't paint me black
black is for the night and I love the light

Don't paint me white
White is for virgins and me, I love a flirtin'

Don't paint me orange
Orange is vile and I have some style

Don't paint me brown or grey or cream
these colours are boring and really not me.

Paint me in silver, platinum or gold
so I remain precious as I grow old.

poem by Ruth Walters
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Work Of Art

Life is a ‘work of art”, and humanity is the biggest part.
We draw and paint masterpieces, and write the
Histories of each generation.
Just to show that we’ve been here
Because in our lives we live in fear.

Paintings, pictures, movies and words
With all this knowledge we still don’t learn.
For we create our heavens, and we create our hells
Look around you and you can tell.

Wars, hunger, poverty and hate
We better stop before it’s too late.
We’re already destroying all that nature is giving
“is this what we call living? ”

(if you want to see the “work of art” of humanity
Then take a white canvas and paint
“A large black dot”.
For that is humanity destroying the clean beauty
That the lord has given us.)

This canvas a work of art? Who is to say?
Can you express this life in a better way!

“Work of art” it is anything and everything that
Man puts in their minds, and it becomes
A part of the times.
For “perception becomes your reality”
And this is the work of art that I see.

poem by Louis Rams
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There's Work To Be Done

'Tis the song of the morning,
The words of the sun,
As he swings o'er the mountains:
'There's work to be done:
I must wake up the sleepers,
And banish the night;
I must paint up the heavens,
Tuck the stars out of sight;

'Dry the dew on the meadows,
Put warmth in the air,
Chase the fog from the lowlands,
Stay gloom everywhere.
No pausing, no resting,
There's work to be done.
It is upward and onward,
Still on,' says the sun.

'Tis the song of our soldiers
Who bravely march on:
'There are souls to be gathered,
There's work to be done:
We must wake up the sleepers,
And teach them to think;
We must paint in full horrors
The breakers of drink;

'Dry the tears of the mourners,
Put the cups out of sight,
And, Eastward and Westward,
Proclaim, 'There is light.'
'Tis the Marseillaise of Progress-
There's work to be done,'
The song of our soldiers,
The song of the sun.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Layers Of Wet Paint Applied

wet on wet paint on paint
layers of wet paint applied
to previous layered layers
technique requires rapid working
fevered fast compulsive genius painting
art in realms born in new mind expressions
art in realms born in space time multiversity visions
art work fever finished before first layers have dried

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Dream Images

if I painted pictures
I would paint dream images
I would paint visions of inner mind's eye
I would paint life in veils swirling kaleidoscopic moods
I would paint canvasses imprinting fabric expanding universes

poem by Terence George Craddock
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You Only Paint The Picture Once

(Teddy Gentry/Randy Owen/Ronnie Rogers/Greg Fowler)
Look at those evening shadows
Casting a peaceful light
The sun is disappearing
It's a beautiful sight
Moments caught forever
By the master's touch
A lasting reminder
To us
You only paint the picture once
(And) you only get one chance
Take the time to do your best
While the brush is in your hand
Make sure it's just right
Before the colors dry
You can't change it once it's done
You only paint the picture once
Love is the canvas
That's where it all starts
A lifetime together
Becomes a work of art
Just look what's been created
Between your heart and mine
Oh I believe that we're one of a kind
You only paint the picture once
(And) you only get one chance
Take the time to do your best
While the brush is in your hand
Make sure it's just right
Before the colors dry
You can't change it once it's done
You only paint the picture once
It's a portrait of life
You can't live it twice
You only paint the picture once

song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Flesh Is So Nice

(j.buckley)
I want to tell you a story
About a little cutey
She's ass-slappin' pretty
And voluptous fingers
Wanna let her lick me
Stick the thick of my pussy
From across the street
She looks good enough to eat me
Kitty! your flesh is so nice
Your flesh is so nice
Let me take a bite
Your flesh is so nice.
Oh, i take off my belt
Oh, i whip the staircase
(whip the staircase)
Kill all the men
Everything's dead to them
You're the only one i follow
Come on and let me give you that "o".
Your flesh is so nice
I wanna take you twice
Your flesh is so nice
Oooo your flesh is so nice
Your flesh is so nice
Wanna take a bite
Your flesh is so nice
Your flesh is so
Your flesh is so
Your flesh is so
Your flesh is so
Nice
(repeat)

song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Four Letter 'Work' Song

Work me up, work me out, work me flip side down.
Work me here, work me there, work me with renown.
Work me hot, work me greedy,
work me through and through.
Work me to the very marrow,
work me just like I'd work you.
Work me proud, work me late,
work me do not hesitate.
Won't you let me work for you?
Work me til I'm black and blue.
Work me steady, work me needy, work me to a lather.
Work me til my backbone breaks, and the buzzards gather.
Work me in, work me under, work me til I bleed,
Work me over red hot coals, work me like a boss in need.
Work me nasty, work me silly, work me through the clover.
Up down, 'n' in between, into a slipknot sweet Jehovah.
Work me, work me, go ahead.
Work me, work me, til I'm dead.

Buddy Bee Anthony

poem by Buddy Bee Anthony
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Interactions Invoke Imagination Entrances

illusionism create a work of art
a work of art birth appears shares
physical space with vision viewers
entranced in mind memory emotions
interactions invoke imagination entrances
fascinate with etched brushstroke embraces

Copyright © Terence George Craddock
See also the poems ‘Images Birth Wet Paint Born’ and ‘Layers Of Wet Paint Applied’.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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