Don't be an art critic. Paint. There lies salvation.
quote by Paul Cezanne
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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Paint Brush
We forget
We’re humans in disguise
We lust for angels
We lust for demons
We cannot exorcise the human inside.
We paint a layer of lies
No water can wash it off
Human doesn’t let paint spread
In the end humans peel paint off.
Some are left buried
With paint left unpeeled
The paint dries away
But human never dehydrates.
We may paint on thorns,
But flowers we remain inside.
poem by Mehreen Mujeeb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wicket Cricket Critic
If the cricket critics' nagging
Merits stern official gagging
Which I doubt
How would critical ascetics,
With their prosy homiletics,
Shut it out?
And the question then arises:
If more cricketing surprises,
Such as bodyline, begin to threaten cricket,
And another stunt, when sprung,
Call for clicking of the tongue,
Should a cricket critic critically click it?
When the barrackers grow lyric
In a manner most satiric
And profane,
How, one ventures still to wonder,
May the clamor be kept under?
How restrain?
For one barbaric larrik-
In can do a lot of barrack-
In', and cause a lot of worry at the wicket.
But would sportsmen be abusing
Cricket canons in refusing
To supply that cricket critic with a ticket?
As a critic analytic
Of the cricket critics' critic
I would say,
When we criticise their cricket,
Then the players have to stick it,
Come what may.
No specific soporific
May be used; for it is diffic-
Ult to strike a critic partly paralytic.
So there's nothing gained in seeking,
As I know; and I am speaking
As a critic of the cricket critic's critic.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The first assumption of an art critic is that the artist meant to paint something else.
quote by Robert Brault
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Smasher - Devourer
Fear me not but fear my hell
Man made me so I could kill
Praise me in the name of war
I destroy both rich and poor
I am the way, prepare for salvation
I am the way, prepare for salvation
Strength in time of suffering
Man alone is a weakling
Ascension is what you ask
I will be the fall of man
I am the way, prepare for salvation
I am the way, prepare for salvation
Salvation...
Those of you who dare to stray
I will tear your mind away
Those of you who dare to stray
I will take your life away
Salvation...
I am the way, prepare for salvation
I am the way, prepare for salvation
Salvation...
song performed by by Fear Factory
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lies
Well Im reading this poem
And its so profound
And I like its rhythm
And I like its sound
Its by a very famous poet
No critic can criticise
And then I pause a moment
And I start to realize
Hes tellin
Lies lies lies
On the motel tv.
I dig the evangelist
Hell tell you all about that
And then he tell you all about this
Hes preachin up a storm
By the sea of galilee
Hes mixin up the truth
With something funny I start to see
Hes tellin
Lies lies lies
I never had this problem
With nobody in the government
I guess I always figured
They never mean what they meant
And God help us all
Not to be so stone surprised
When we wake up in the stars
With the skies in our eyes
If we keep tellin
Lies lies lies
Gordon gano: vocals, guitar
Brian ritchie: bass
Victor delorenzo: drums
Recorded at carriage house, stamford, ct
gorno music reprinted with permission
song performed by by Violent Femmes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rhiad & The Behovins
Oh, Oh-Oh
Ohhhh
Oh-Oh
Ohhhh
Oh, Oh-Oh
Rhiad and the bedouins
Got a plan and walk right in
But I don't feel that ???? from them
That I-am-crazy
Oh, my salvation
Oh, my frustrations
Caught in the lies
No one I love is there
Somewhere in time
When will I, get there?
Ohhhh
Ohhhh
Oh-Oh
Ohhhh
Oh, Oh-Oh
Rhiad and the bedouins
So that's the world ????
But anybody ????
Who can't blame me?
Half the time they're bedouins
Nomads and/or Aryans
You'll never take me
Oh, my salvation
Oh, my frustrations
Caught in the lies
No one I love is there
Somewhere in time
People will like me there
Oh, sweet salvation
Oh, my frustrations
Caught in the lies
If you ignore this world
Somewhere in time
When will I, get there?
Ohhhh
Ohhhh
Oh-Oh
Ohhhh
Oh, Oh-Oh
Ohhhh
Oh-Oh
Ohhhh
Oh, Oh-Oh
Oh, my salvation
Oh, my frustrations
Caught in the lies
If you ignore this world
Somewhere in time
People will like me there
Ohhhh
Oh-Oh, Oh
Oh-Oh, Oh
Oh-Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh
Oh-Oh, Oh-Oh, Oh-Oh, Oh-Oh, Oh
Oh-Oh, Oh-Oh, Oh-Oh, Oh-Oh, Oh
song performed by by Guns N' Roses
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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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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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All that a critic, as critic, can give poets is the deadly encouragement that never ceases to remind them of how heavy their inheritance is.
quote by Harold Bloom
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Strict It Gets
To challenge oneself,
Isn't fun that's done.
Because,
The critic visits.
And strict it gets.
To challenge oneself,
Isn't fun that's done.
Because,
The critic visits.
And strict it gets.
Stalking as a menace,
Looking for perfection in it.
And...
The critic vists.
And strict it gets.
Stalking as a menace,
Looking for perfection in it.
And...
The critic vists.
And strict it gets.
Picking seeking detail...
To prevail,
And...
The critic visits.
And strict it gets.
Detailed...
The critic visits.
And strict it gets.
Stalking as a menace,
Looking for perfection in it.
And...
The critic vists.
And strict it gets.
To challenge oneself,
Isn't fun that's done.
Because,
The critic visits.
And strict it gets.
Detailed!
The critic visits,
And strict it gets.
Detailed!
The critic visits,
And strict it gets.
Stalking as a menace,
Looking for perfection in it.
And...
The critic vists.
And strict it gets.
Detailed!
The critic visits,
And strict it gets.
Picking seeking detail...
To prevail,
And...
The critic visits.
And strict it gets.
Detailed,
The critic visits.
And strict it gets...
Detailed!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poets and critics
The poet is a child, emotion ridden.
The critic is a teacher, a check dam.
The poet bursts to cry or weep.
The critic stands there with a whip.
23.09.2000, Palasa
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Ignorance is exuberance
A child, a man, a singer or a critic,
Any can listen and enjoy the music.
Child’s is the highest.
The critic’s is the lowest.
Ignorance drops defects.
25.11.2001, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I still think like a critic, and I still analyze films like a critic. However, it's not possible to write criticism if you're making films.
quote by Paul Schrader
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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War Paint
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
Girl before the mirror
Appraises her disguise
Child become a mother
Tries to fix her eyes
No more of his excuses
It has to be today
She can keep her fantasy
If she can get away
Paint her name on a one-way street
Painted cheeks with angry heat
Wounded pride on painted eyes
Paint the night with battlecries
All puffed up with vanity
We see what we want to see
To the beautiful and the wise
The mirror always lies
Boy before the mirror
Checks his camoflauge
Polishes his armor
And the charger in the garage
No more lame excuses
It has to be tonight
He can take the princess
If he can take the fight
Pound the drums with martial beat
Pound the streets with marching feet
Wounded pride, distorted eyes
Paint the night with battlecries
All puffed up with vanity
We see what we want to see
To the powerful and the wise
The mirror always lies
Boys and girls together
Mistake conceit for pride
--- ambition for illusion
--- dreams for self-delusion
Girls and boys together
See what it is we lack
Boys and girls together
Lets paint the mirror black
Paint it black
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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