I have become intrigued with the combining of seemingly unrelated ideas or images, or the drawing upon the many, sometimes dissimilar, meanings a word might have.
quote by John Barton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The f word and me
The other day we discussed reasons
why people use
the magical f word.
a Young woman is of the opinion
that it’s because of a lack of imperfect language,
where a person’s vocabulary
lacks other words to use.
I think that there are many more other reasons
to slip in everywhere
and that vocabulary
has very little
or nothing to do with it.
One thing that can incite it
is exposure,
where people hear it
hundreds of times
every day
like in an army.
Subsequently without intention
it becomes part of your conversation
and your own vocabulary,
without drawing any attention
with yourself.
The word f is a power word
that give colour intensity
to the meanings of other words
and it can underline, emphasize
or lift some out.
You can also use it as a word
that has many meanings
and use it like a good shifting spanner
that shift for meaning values.
This word can also
be almost any word type
that gives bigger power
to other words used with it.
The thing that really matters
what others read
in the meaning of my words
and if I loose integrity by using it.
There are times
my mother wants to catch a fit
when I use the f word
and not from the meaning
of my words,
but from the negative context
that can be drawn with the word
and the easy transfer
of the word on children that hear my dialogue.
[With thanks to Skymaster, whose article inspired this poem.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Images
I think images are worth repeating
Images repeated from a painting
Images taken from a painting
From a photo worth re-seeing
I love images worth repeating
Project them upon the ceiling
Multiply them with silk screening
See them with a different feeling
Images, oh, images
Images, oh, images
Some say images have no feeling
I think theres a deeper meaning
Mechanical precision or so its seeming
Instigates a cooler feeling
I love multiplicity of screenings
Things born anew display new meanings
I think images are worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, oh, images
Images, images
Im no urban idiot savant
Spewing paint without any order
Im no sphinx, no mystery enigma
What I paint is very ordinary
I dont think Im old or modern
I dont think I think Im thinking
It doesnt matter what Im thinking
Its the images that are worth repeating
And repeating, oh, images
Images
If youre looking for a deeper meaning
Im as deep as this high ceiling
If you think technique is meaning
You might find me very simple
You might think that images boring
Cars and cans and chairs and flowers
You might find me personally boring
Hammer, sickle, mao tse tong
Mao tse tong
Ooohhh, images, images
Images
I think that it bears repeating
The images upon the ceiling
I love images worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, images
Oh, images, oh, images
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unrelated Thing
Do you smile cause Im funny? said the man
I wasnt joking and I meant the thing I said
Not at all, not at all
Said the woman to the man
I was thinking of an unrelated thing
Unconnected and free
No relationship to anything
How come you never look me in the eye?
Arent you listening to me said the man
Not at all, not at all
Said the woman to the man
Im still thinking of an unrelated thing
Somewhere other than here
Something else besides the man
Please explain the expression on your face
Then Ill know whats beneath it said the man
No you wont, no you wont
Said the woman to the man
Ill be thinking of an unrelated thing
Ill be thinking of an unrelated thing
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Power of Ideas
The power of ideas are immeasurable
They are the hidden treasures which lies
Deep within each and everyone of us
When we take the time to mind them we will find
That they are more precious than diamonds
Ideas which may seem insignificant
Has tremendous power within them
They are the genesis the initiation the foundation
Of all invention and everything which
Is created by humankind
The power of ideas are immeasurable
They have got the power to move mountains
To overcome any obstacle and to make
The seemingly impossible possible
Ideas are the levers which moves and the axis
On which the world revolves
The power of ideas are immeasurable
The power of ideas...
poem by Anthony Shurland Phillander
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In Poetry There Is No Poverty
there is no poverty in poetry: it is a rich world
of flowers
and magic, of images that imaginations create
a warm sun
the deep blue sea, some mysteries of words
that come
and seemingly carry with them a bountry of meanings
liberation, oblation, jubilation
expression
birds coming out from our mouths
butterflies from our
stomachs
fireworks from our minds
in multicolors
to the darkest skies
of this earth
where can poverty
be
in a world of freedom: to say what you want to say
to think what you want to think
to dream
to imagine
to find meanings where others think there are none?
the secret garden
a path
a gate
a hiding place for all of us who still believe
about life
and aftelife and life after life
temporary deaths
and temporary losses
a jump a leap to the world beyond us
to eternity
we are meant
this i think is poetry and surely
there can never be
poverty
poem by Ayi Escalona
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Language is not merely a set of unrelated sounds, clauses, rules, and meanings; it is a total coherent system of these integrating with each other, and with behavior, context, universe of discourse, and observer perspective.
quote by Kenneth L. Pike
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Providing, meaning to a mass of unrelated needs, ideas, words and pictures - it is the designer's job to select and fit this material together and make it interesting.
The ought to be a worldwide cultural taskforce that just stops you when you have ideas like combining The Red Desert with an armored car heist movie.
quote by Steven Soderbergh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Word World Images
Poetic artist intuitively disposes
word world images transcending accepted meanings.
Magic superposes facettes prismatic, proposes music
surfeit. Seurat’s points paint interactions -
shows all is one, one all - key cues man’s heart.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Painting
I'm drawing a circle,
Which is concentrically diminishing,
With each gliding of the pencil on the paper,
Until it becomes a spiral.
I'm drawing the line of your oval eyes,
Which is concentrically diminishing,
With each winking of yours,
Until it becomes only the memory of your sight.
I'm drawing the line of your elliptical lips,
This beauty of your lips,
Which is dwindling concentrically
With each whisper
Until it becomes only the memory of your word.
I'm drawing your great feeling,
As a noble heart,
Which is eccentrically enlarging,
Until I can touch you
To become one soul.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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There are readers who want every point to be clearly and unambiguously set forth, and there are those who want to pry ideas and meanings out for themselves.
quote by John M. Ford
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dog Coffee
perpetrating counter-culture she is walking through the park
first light ugly and more muscular than the dark
pushing poems at the urban silence
drawing portraits of the passers-by
sitting on the curb
combining traffic sounds
getting dirty looks and dirty jeans
on the dirty ground
she says I can't figure out what kind of life this is
comedy or tragedy I just know it's show biz
and what if I don't agree
with the lines I have to read
they don't pay me enough
the way I see it
freedom and democracy
that's the word from washington every day
the americat's asleep
with warm milk and cliches
and people are expendable along the way
your dollar is dependable
what more can we say
would you like some dog coffee
it's all that we've got
you can have some
you can have not
would you like some dog coffee
it's all that we've got
we're taking care of big business
and meanwhile some of the beans rot
song performed by by Ani DiFranco from Ani DiFranco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Painted Canvass: Perspective Master Strokes
Luxury. Time and a whole new poem to cite.
Exquisite. An exceptional poem a classic write.
A great poem from a favourite master poet.
And mine all mine to read now in the night.
With deep appreciation, I read these words in hues of light.
Others may fear fail to tread, this path that shines so bright.
First we avid read, then deconstruct, then reconstruct,
the words are whole again, with new fair crafted insight.
If we do not venture, into the words?
How will we know, there meanings?
The poem was whole, written in theme concepts.
Word play gifted images, savour ponder contrasts.
Mine eye perceives perspective, shaped in logic art.
The images drawn forever grace, astound my heart.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Explorations: XXVIII
similar paths
may end up distinctly
dissimilar!
dissimilar
though the paths may seem
will prove similar!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Indelible Images
Idelible Images
That first day of school
That first friend
Indelible Images
That first play
That first fight
Idelible Images
That first graduation
That first car
Idelible Images
That first drunk
That first sober
Idelible Images
That first love
That first forget
Idelible Images
That first death
That first realization
Indelible Images
poem by Scott Tetreault
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A Boy And His Drawing
A boy once came across a penny.
Puzzled, he went to his sister Jenny.
He asked her What could he do?
She said we''ll buy something for you.
He went to the shop, to be fascinated by everything.
And at last decided that a Crayon Box he had to bring.
Thinking hard as to which colour to use.
He drew nature outside his window, that would amuse.
He drew his beautiful, first drawing.
To show his teacher, he went enjoying.
Teacher said smiling 'Great job Child! !
You drew the trees, the river, and the wind blowing mild.
The teacher added that without the drawing he should go.
Cause to many in school tomorrow, his drawing she'd show.
He went to bed smiling, and proud of what he had drawn.
His dream had come true, so he didn't dream till dawn.
Next day he went to School, to see his drawing there.
Many big people were there strangely, he wondered from where?
Many children had drawn pictures, at their best.
But he knew his drawing was better than rest.
He searched from the window, but his drawing was nowhere.
He didn't step forward, as he was scared of the crowd there.
He couldn't utter a word cause he didn't knew the word 'Betrayed'.
It wasn't from anyone else, but his teacher instead.
He couldn't do anything, but shed tears.
They were accompanied by rain of the year's.
The tears were more than the heavy rain.
They kept coming until the rain made him draw again.
poem by Vighnesh Birodkar
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The Parts In Relation To The Whole
the parts in relation to the whole are hard to muster
i get lost somehow
confused on this seemingly unrelated part to another part
like seeing the legs of this millipede
when it would have been easier to think of it
as a worm,
i remember being lost in a forest of trees
wild growing trees where i can no longer figure out the shape
of a single leaf
because it is too dark
and damp
too many little things, too many details, that hinder us
from grasping the wholeness of
things
and people and daily events,
i get tired of all these, parts and parts and parts and some more
miniatures of parts, a letter to the word,
speaking in cut phrases
how can i ever understand this and that?
show me the whole
be whole to me as i am whole to you
touch the parts later
relate it always to me
this love is whole, it was never meant to be chopped
like some garlic and onions
this love is an apple that you see and pick from the tree
take it first
in its appleness, then start to bite
every part is sweet, every part is me,
this love
this me, this whole world is me
it must be first to you
then love becomes us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Drawing-Room
I wanted to open the drawing-room door,
Looking so ordinary and collected;
Knowing my business, I ran in and collided
Running into clouds forming above the City.
I went on and on, but alas I knew the battering
Of the ball, the living in each other.
Spectacular images ran into my watery head,
Why fly as an outcast? Why have flight?
One could not laugh so much as heaven,
Exquisite moments were tampered.
Sitting down by me, the images of clouds
Were produced fortnightly.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Poem about Poetry - Chinese poets versus Western Poets
the chinese poet, his characters (calligraphy) help
set out images the western poets
look for words to show
the chinese poet, his characters help him
spread out his feelings and thoughts
the way a painting does
some meanings are trapped in his
pictographs that twirl and swirl over the page,
while some are reenforced
they show the schooled from the mediocre
the western poet, every cadence of the word
he has learnt since childhood determines his 'pedigree'
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Art does not 'mean' anything
..or else conceived or imagined be
try as well hard a place to hide
from those insisting the meanings there are
the meanings there meanings be must at least
conceived or imagined be
so you want to know what a poem means
so you want to see that the art is sense
of x is y I take eye for an eye
for too often outwritten by art
I can say art does not 'mean' anything
because it's all
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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