If there were only one truth, you couldn't paint a hundred canvases on the same theme.
quote by Pablo Picasso
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Hundred Times Over
A hundred times over words have flowed through my fingers to the keys
A hundred times over I have released the freedom that is in my mind,
A hundred times over I have become one with my inter most longing,
A hundred times over I have taken a journey to show you my own world.
A hundred times over I have written of pain and life, of sorrow and joy,
A hundred times over I have used my art to show you what's in my mind
A hundred times over again I will show you.
A hundred times over I have cried for those, whose names are untold,
A hundred times over I have showed you their pain.
A hundred times over I have become their connection to you,
A hundred times over I have showed you the beauty of our world,
A hundred times over I have taken you somewhere you may never see,
A hundred times over my words have screamed the horror of darkness,
A hundred times over I have sung to you the beauty of light,
A hundred times over I have taken your hand to lead you to a new place
A hundred time over I have written for those who have no words to write
A hundred times over I have tried to show truth in a world of lies,
A hundred times over I have have tried to show the world's beauty,
A hundred times over again I will lead down these paths,
A hundred times over and over again I will show you reality,
A hundred times over and over again I shall show you my world,
A hundred times over and over again until you have memorised truth,
A hundred times over again until you can repeat what I have told,
A hundred times over again shall I create an art of words, time, of life.
A hundred times over again I shall do this,
A hundred times over again.
A hundred times over.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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I Will Not Paint Those Paintings
I used to see paintings in my mind's eyes
I used to dream scenes amazing paintings
I used to dream paintings in sleep sight
paintings in details I had never seen before
paintings which stopped heart in sight shock
I knew canvases were awkward hard to carry
to travel with poems is only paper and pen
paint your paintings inspiring I write poems
I will not soul carry paint those paintings
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As It Was And As It Is
You didn't see her nakedness so,
Don't paint her nakedness;
You didn't see her face so,
Don't paint her face;
You didn't see her breasts so,
Don't paint her breasts;
Rather, tell her story as it was and as it is!
And always try to tell the truth,
For the truth about life is always much needed.
This case around needs the facts and the truth,
This muse around needs your help and your truth,
So tell the story of what you really saw about her!
And, nothing but the truth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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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Key To What?
diddles on flight
on freedom
was a chosen theme
in early 2011 theme May
titles are an easy guide
to what theme would say
key to the theme
key to the dream
key to the imagery
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Lady Of The Lake
Today I talked
to the old lady
who lives across the way
she said she died
a hundred years ago today
She told me
of the time she saw me
fishing in the lake
I had to laugh
I said
if You've been dead
for a hundred years
it couldn't have been me
you saw fishing in the lake
I'm not even fifty yet
She said
have you ever seen me
walk out of this garden
or talk to anybody else
I said
you've got me there
but like I said
if you died a hundred
years ago today
it couldn't have been me
you saw fishing in the lake
She said
a hundred years ago today
you drowned trying to save me
now it's time to except
that you are dead
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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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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Washington couldn't tell a lie, Nixon couldn't tell the truth, and Reagan couldn't tell the difference.
Damaged
Didn't you hurt yourself
Couldn't you wash the blood away
Didn't you love yourself
Couldn't you see the truth
Didn'y you wake to see the light
Couldn't you hear the truth
(GOD YOU'RE SO SHAMELESS)
Stand up to me I know what you'll say
(GOD YOU'RE SO SHAMELESS)
Why don't you wake up and stop all the pain
How could you really know as your
blood flows
The damage left inside
If you should ever see the pain in me
You'd wish it away
Didn't you hurt yourself
Didn't you love yourself
Couldn't you find yourself
Such a shame it's a waste of a life
Couldn't you save yourself
How could you really know
[Chorus repeat 4x]
song performed by by Sevendust from Animosity
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Hundred Thousand Marching
One hundred thousand marching
One hundred thousand men
One hundred thousand heading
To a place and a time when
One hundred thousand dying
One hundred thousand cold
One hundred thousand praying
Forever young and never old
One hundred thousand lives were lost
One hundred thousand felt the pain
One hundred thousand maimed and slaughtered
And yet those armies march again.
poem by David Keig
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The End Of The World
Go if you want to
I never tried to stop you
Know there's a reason
For all of this you're feeling
Low, it's not my call
You couldn't ever love me more
You couldn't love me more
You couldn't love...
Me - I don't show much
It's not that hard to hide you
See in a moment
I can't remember how to
Be all you wanted
I couldn't ever love you more
I couldn't love you more
I couldn't love...
You want me to cry and play my part
I want you to sigh and fall apart
We want this like everyone else
Stay if you want to
I always wait to hear you say
There's a last kiss
For all the times you run this way
It's not my fault
You couldn't ever love me more
You couldn't love me more
You couldn't love...
Love me more
Couldn't ever love me more
I couldn't love you more
I couldn't love
You want me to lie not break your heart
I want you to fly not stop and start
We want us like everything else
Maybe we didn't understand
Not just a boy and a girl
It's just the end of the
End of the world
Me - I don't say much
It's far too hard to make you
See in a moment
I still forget just how to
Be all you wanted
I couldn't ever love you more
I couldn't love you more
I couldn't love you more
I couldn't love you more
I couldn't love you more
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I paint according to the moment and the theme. I don't have any prejudice. Life concerns me.
quote by Ralph Allen
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
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Lust for Perfection! ! ! ! ! !
Enraptured by the mystic starry sky
Vincent so desperately wanted to try,
To paint this enchanting twilight scene,
But how, Colours in that light couldn’t be seen.
He longed to paint on the spot at night,
What he saw, as he saw without artificial light.
‘Night is more richly coloured than day
Putting little white dots on a black surface, no way'
Struck by brilliance of stars on closer attention
And his zest and lust and passion for perfection,
A legend goes in rural areas of south of France,
He put candles in the felt hat to capture and paint.
Thus the locals gave him a name, illumine
French word meaning lit up and delusive.
Couldn’t care less, night to be painted on the spot
Settled for a gas jet after pondering a lot
The painting depicts a religious motif of youth.
To assuage his thirst for the Absolute
‘I just paint nature as it seems to me, complete
All we have to do is unravel the mystery…’
A tribute to Vincent Van Gogh, Impressionist painter, best known for Sun Flowers.
Starry Night is a fascinating work, as is his passion.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Truth Through Repetition
Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition
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through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth
through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth
hrough repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth t
rough repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth th
ough repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth thr
ugh repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth thro
gh repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth throu
h repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth throug
repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through
repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through
epetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through r
petition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through re
etition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through rep
tition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repe
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tion Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repeti
ion Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetit
on Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetiti
n Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetitio
Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetiion
Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition
ruth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition T
uth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Tr
th through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Tru
h through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Trut
through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth
through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth
poem by David Keig
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Paint Nothing
My wintertime came fast I gave you a drawing pad,
And then you told me,
You didn't like looking closely.
You don't like walking home,
You're not sure who you are,
And no-one knows about your scar.
But I told you to shut up once,
Because you're never there,
And you're too old to be scared.
Cause I've been in lots of these,
Bad, bad situations.
Paint nothing now.
Paint nothing now.
The summertime came fast you still had your drawing pad,
But you told me,
You couldn't see me correctly.
We don't like holding hands,
We don't like playing guitar,
And no-one knows about your scars.
But I've been in, lots of these,
Bad, bad situations.
And you never get out of this : Easily!
Cause I've been in lots of these,
Bad, bad situations.
Paint nothing now.
Paint nothing now.
Send me here send me there,
Repetitions in the air.
Send me here send me there,
Repetitions in the air
song performed by by Idlewild
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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I Couldn't Understand You
I'm sorry I wasn't good enough.
I'm sorry I couldn't make you care.
I'm sorry I didn't no what else to do.
I'm sorry I am no longer there.
I'm sorry I couldn't open your eyes.
I'm sorry I let it come this far.
I'm sorry I made you so mad.
I'm sorry I for whatever you said I did.
I'm sorry I couldn't see the truth.
I'm sorry I didn't want to listen.
I'm sorry I helped you when no one else would.
I'm sorry for always being there.
I'm sorry for so many things,
but I'm most sorry that I'm not sorry anymore.
poem by Emily Straka
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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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Man In The Mirror
sometimes i laugh
at the man in the mirror,
the miles written in lines
carved in the stone of experience.
save the world?
hard to do when
you spend all your time
picking yourself up!
years working with my hands,
my back bent and determined.
now i walk with the pain,
well deserved and well earned.
passionate to madness,
been there and back.
now i'm happy with stillness,
when i can steal a moment.
a lover, a fool, a warrior,
a loser... a spiritual walker,
a heretic, a demon...
i paint pictures on dollar store canvases,
with borrowed brushes and dumpster paint.
striving to bring into focus,
the beauty of that which is common!
the mothers, the fathers, the sisters,
the brothers... the 50 hour weeks,
the Saturday night blow...
the simple, and the pride,
of the honest and giving.
the mistakes that make or break a man.
the man in the mirror,
needs no name or title...
remember him for caring,
that will be enough!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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