The artist writes, paints, sings or dances the burden of some idea or feeling off his mind.
quote by Max Nordau
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alias Poem
Many selves with personalities I do have
I have different alias for you to understand.
Christina Sunrise writes about planet Earth
Suzae Chevalier writes about life since birth.
Sue Chevalier writes of characters on Krendoll land
Suzae is the visual artist, performing artist
paints and uses oral presentations to understand.
Now don't forget Puppit Lady for Razel has a voice
Melodie also who speaks with 'Freedom of Choice.'
So visit www.suzae.com right now
where you will see all of them make a home
Written by Suzae Chevalier on September 9,2012
www.suzae.com www.suechevalier.com
www.christinasunrise.com www.puppitlady.com
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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A Nude Artist
A Nude Artist
he says he is a nude artist
because he is naked when he paints
such nakedness has
nothing to do with being a nude artist
a naked artist who paints a cat or a chicken
is not a nude artist
there is no nude cat
thyere is no nude chicken
just paint a naked woman
and he will be called a nude artist
an artist is not an art
he must know that
- Frog Mantra, Accents Publishing,2012 -
poem by Suchoon Mo_
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An Artist
An artist paints with brush so old
Makes his painting worth gold
He paints the nature's gifted gifts
The flowing rivers in the midst
Of all he paints is a pretty face
A girl dressed all in lace
Portraying her beauty he is lost in time
The beauty she possessed is hard to find
Was it her beauty he tried to captivate?
But what a pity time doesn't wait
For she has gone so far away
Leaving her image with the artist to stay
Who paints her all through day and night?
Seeking pleasure deep inside
poem by Meena Mustafa
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Alias Poem
Many selves we all have
I have different alias for you to understand.
Christina Sunrise writes about planet Earth
Suzae Chevalier writes about life since birth.
Sue Chevalier writes of characters on Krendoll land
Suzae is the visual artist, storyteller who
paints and uses oral presentations to understand.
Now don't forget Puppit Lady for Razel has a voice
Melodie also who speaks with "freedom of choice."
So visit www.suzae.com right now
where you will all of them make a home
Written by Suzae Chevalier on September 9,2012
for Sue Chevalier, Christina Sunrise, and Puppit Lady
www.suzae.com www.suechevalier.com
www.christinasunrise.com www.puppitlady.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Many People Lives In Thy....
Many people lives in thy soul.
The painter paints the
Words, the singer sings
the lyrics, the philosopher,
dives deep into its thought.
Whom do you love most?
The philosopher within,
Drives your mind….
The poet, writes the feelings;
The painter gives color to it…
The singer putting life
To the lyric makes
More adorable……..
None can be left alone….
And all of them create
The sense of God…..
None can be left alone!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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The Canvas (Part 2)
We last left off with such the fright,
She paints—but gasp! —that's not quite right,
For every story has a twist,
And every painting is done on her wrist.
She paints with—sorry? —with little regard,
To what may bleed and what may scar,
But oh, she paints a lovely spar,
Despite the way that most things are.
Some find it funny and watch as she flees,
Others feel sick the moment they see,
Because a painter, she can't have much of a life,
If all of her painting is done with a knife.
This painter—in fact—she thinks she's alone,
Because of the burden of problems at home,
And then there's her mind, a nasty old place,
It's mostly the cause of the paintings she makes.
But one can be trapped, or one can be freed,
Though most painters like her find this hard to believe,
Yet this very painter broke free of her sadness,
And if she ever wonders 'why? ' she can look at her canvas.
poem by Dayna Mortimore
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He Walks Without A Poem
HE WALKS WITHOUT A POEM
He walks without a poem
There is no poem in his mind
No poem in his heart.
But the idea of a poem
The dream of a poem
The daily task of a poem
The justification given by a poem-
He stops and writes these words down.
All around him
the morning light sings songs
of the things
of this world.
A poem perhaps?
Perhaps not?
I
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Nature Paints
Nature Paints
Nature paints the sky in blue,
Then adds the fluffy spots of white
Which sometimes hide the fuel
Of fiery sphere - light
A relief that gives a gracious smile
Nature paints the high mountains green
An emerald of an incline climb
Extending stairway to heavenly dreams,
The peak is in a target's reach
Our nature paints the dark stained soil
A symbol for our hard day's toil
What in its core does treasure hides?
Seek the rainbow you will find
All colors that our artist binds
Copyright © 2012
poem by Godfrey Morris
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103 ~ Dances With The Moon
'At night the moon became
a woman's face.
I met the Spirit of Music.'
-Jim Morrison from Wilderness
Come my love, 'tis a glorious evening!
The moon is full, there's a million gleamings.
Let's get ourselves to an open field and lie,
kiss and wander through the bright-black sky.
Come spirits fill our breath with rose reeds.
Leave us here to soak in splendor of moon beams.
In Night's tender arms let us be wrapped,
me and my love, because my love
materials me affection in earthly stuff.
step in...slide into some light shoes
hold on...rest your hand on my balloon
launching...lifting off for better views
soon we...we'll be dancing on the moon
my love...my one true love,
she sings o'er the dunes
velvet...a velvet blanket
she dances with the moon
dances with the moon
Oh! my love, I'll never love one
more than she, the Night.
She holds me forever
in her celestial-glow eyes,
but she hides so far away,
this untouchable She,
so don't worry, for I'll love you,
as long as moon beams soak me.
you sing...into the soft winds
hold on...keep in mind always this tune
launching...lifting off for never-ends
then we...we'll be dancing on the moon
my love...my one true love,
she sings o'er the dunes
velvet...a velvet blanket
she dances with the moon
dances with the moon
my love...my one true love,
she sings on sad tunes
she know's...know I'll never
fill her moon's shoes
when she...awakes her Spirit
she dances with the moon
dances with the moon
poem by Stan Pelfrey
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Suzy Greenberg
Little Suzy Greenberg, with her head caved in.
Soon to let me drown beneath the undertow.
Aughta put that woman in a looney bin,
Cause you know I'd really like to be a part of her show!
Suzy is an artist - she paints quite a lot.
An artist she may be, but a genius she is not.
She says she wants to be a sociologist,
But she better first get checked by a neurologist.
Chorus
Suzy, Suzy, Suzy, Suzy
Suzy, Suzy Greenberg
Suzy, Suzy, Suzy, Suzy
Suzy, Suzy Greenberg
Suzy's 'bout as faithful as a slot machine.
Pays off once in a while, then she robs you clean.
She's always afraid that she's not sure what she's worth.
She's out of her mind, and she's not of this Earth.
Woman walks the streets like she's queen of the town.
Doesn't talk very much, she's very profound!
Little Suzy Greenberg's always playing a game.
Since the day we first met, she's probably forgot my name!
Chorus x2
Little Suzy Greenberg, with her head caved in.
Soon to let me drown beneath the undertow.
Aughta put that woman in a looney bin,
Cause you know I'd really like to be a part of her show!
Suzy is an artist - she paints quite a lot.
An artist she may be, but a genius she is not.
She says she wants to be a sociologist,
But she better first get checked by a neurologist.
Chorus x2
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Place
There is a place
In my heart that still dances
A place in my soul that sings
- And sings, and dances and dances -
A place so deep, so set
A place that even the mundane drudgery
The routine day-to-day
Can not kill
A place so close, so distant
A place that was, and is yet to come
A place where belief originates and lives
The birth place of
The most human humanity
The most divine divinity
A place where
Majesty, mystery and magic still speak
A place of all origins.
Some will not hear it any longer.
But, I still listen...
Waiting... hoping... trusting...believing...
The Place... is real.
It's way out there - it's everywhere...
It is ever within.
This Place... is my place.
It has called to me by name
Since the day of birth,
It's name is simple and profound;
I call him
Jesus.
He calls me
'My child.'
It's to him we go.
It's for us he came.
He is where I belong.
I am always on the Way
To the Place
Where he is.
The Place... home.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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She Belongs To Me
She's got everything she needs, she's an artist, she don't look back.
Takes the dark out of the nighttime, she paints the daytime black.
You will start out standing, proud to steal her anything she sees.
But you will wind up peeking through a key hole, down upon your bended knees.
She never stumbles, she's got no place to fall.
She's nobody's child, the law can't touch her at all.
She wears an Egyptian ring, that sparkles before she speaks.
She's a hypnotist collector, you are a walking antique.
Bow down to her on Sunday, salute her when her birthday comes.
For Halloween but her a trumpet, and for Christmas, buy her drums.
She's got everything she needs, she's an artist, she don't look back.
Takes the dark out of the nighttime, you know she paints the daytime black
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Must
She writes as if there’s not much time.
She writes to pain, to happiness,
She writes to every remote detailed thought.
She writes to the departed,
to the extant,
to poverty,
to wealth.
She writes to mourn, and grief.
She writes to the wind, the rain,
forest, the desert, and mountains.
She writes to her pouring tears,
to her grateful moments,
She writes because really what she has is time.
She has no little ones to feed, or bathe,
nor a husband to make happy. To write is
to escape- to her. Time is not a problem, time
is just a killing system, she needs to kill in many words.
She writes as if there’s not much time.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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An Idea
An Idea can change the world, how many
things can be done from an idea, every piece
of object was an idea, sense the beginning of
time idea was the first thought created in the
mind, an idea is what surround’s every being.
But an idea is still only an idea and it can't be
felt, you cannot touch an idea or kiss it, or hold it,
ideas do not bleed or feel pain or love, an idea
cannot be seen or heard, its created in our thoughts,
but then again an idea can become real. An idea
can be what ever you which it to be, an idea can
be destructive, an idea can be brilliant, I've seen
people get killed in the name of ideas, ideas,
we walk around with a little
light bulb blinking in our thoughts, ideas.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I wanted to become a cartoon artist, a portrait artist, and an illustrator. This was my first idea.
quote by Karl Lagerfeld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Poem Is An Original
No poem is an original
everyone who writes
poetry thinks their poem
was an original, it just so
happens that their poem just
surfaced to the top
of their mind first, so they
were able to write it.
Everyone has love, hate
compassion buried deep
in their soul.
Poets are able to bring
all of this to the surface,
to construct, add the words,
but it is not an original
idea, for the poet because
they wrote it now, it
becomes an original for them.
Who has not heard a song,
read a poem, story or book,
seen a movie and said,
to themselves, hey I had
that same idea.
Only thing is, someone else
brought it to the surface
of the mind, and wrote it first.
Even this poem I'm writing
now is not an original
someone out there
has this idea buried
deep in their soul.
So if you have an idea
for a poem, get busy
write it, don't wait,
or you won't write an original
start today,
don't delay.
wrote 2-2-07
Alice The Artist ('this Is Art')
She paints first the floor
Then the wall behind her
The adjacent wall
Stops not at the first quart
No shes goin for 6,
Six
Six
Six
Overtime
Or going untill she cant anymore.
But no she doesnt consider this suicide
This night is her graduation from person to artist
Red everywhere. Alice is covered in blood
wishing for a crypt.
So she paints a picture worth a thousand words.
And her last words?
'This is art'
poem by Deandre Cammon
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She
She watches the TV,
She reads the book,
She writes beautifully.
She sings, she dances,
She plays Lego & Barbie.
As you can see
She goes about
The house, being a
Busybody!
I’m not free either ;)
I’m so busy watching her
As every activity of hers
Mesmerises me.
Her looks,
Her actions,
Her expressions,
Her stares and ogles,
She engages me
Intensely!
And I don’t want to
Miss any.
Lest she grows up
Quickly,
Scurries out of home
For me to miss her
Miserably: (
Yes, you’ve guessed it right!
She’s none other than my
Dearest, darling Kochi.
I love her being a
Little girl, you see :)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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The Assassin, the Artist, and the Dog
Walking across this dangerous land
In this magical but corrupted world
The assassin, the artist, and the dog travel
This world is unbalanced
It surely is a world in ruin
The assassin, the artist, and the dog travel
And they know
That to survive
They must fight
Whether they like it or not
The assassin has his dangerous swords
and sharpened throwing tools
The artist has her enchanted paintbrushes
and magical paints
The dog has his bark and bite
And that's good enough for him
Everything else is perfect for the rest of them
During the day
During the night
As they travel along
It's a world on the brink of madness
But the assassin, the artist, and the dog know
of that
They know of the choices and chances they'll
have to make and take
It's tough out there to survive
But they know what it will take
They know what the world is like
They know how the world is
poem by Justin Gildow
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Critics in Our Life
When someone criticizes you, listen,
It means your subconscious created a burden.
Can mean that you are wrong or it is just fear of success,
Anyhow, you must look into it, find the truth, be fearless.
This world is full of critics
You find them everywhere in every topics.
There is a saying: if you tell your truth of opposition
They will chop your head in for their own protection.
Sure, nobody likes to hear what is not their idea,
And get mad when someone is opposing their area.
However, we are here on earth to edit each other
When someone say something, listen & see if their idea is better.
Sometimes it is just your own mind questioning what goes on,
So, be ready to stand up for your idea or be over run.
If they can convince you that their idea is wiser or better
Be flexible, humble and be their follower.
But, when you see someone who just want to pick on you
And you feel in this moment their idea for you is untrue,
Stand up, thank them, but let them know your answer,
That too bad, in this moment they are not your way shower.
It can happen later in your life existence,
You find they were right, then make a change in your intelligence,
But until you are not quite understand
Stand up for your own opinion, that I can recommend.
poem by LaSoaphia QuXazs
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