If the world could remain within a frame like a painting on the wall, I think we'd see the beauty then and stand staring in awe.
quote by Conor Oberst
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Frame II
The frame was best supporting act,
and held the ego high and proud.
He never moaned or groaned or spat,
just hung there, all chilled out.
Of course he would have liked acclaim,
a little lime light and a name,
although a painting with no frame
would look a little dull and tame.
The painting lapped up all attention,
with its enigmatic grin,
often feeling quite ecstatic
to be held with such esteem.
and so the frame in show biz style
put a brave face on and a smiled,
stoical in holding back
ambitions to be the star act.
The frame all low and down at heel
resigned himself as second bill
for after all it wouldn't do
if he were narcissistic too.
poem by Ruth Walters
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If I Were A Painting
If I were a painting
Captured on canvas
Alone in the portriat I would stand
And brush strokes bold
Yet soft as a whisper
The work of a feminine hand.
Caught in a still life
Surrounded by shadows
And lost in a background of blue
If I were a painting
My price would be pain
And the artist would have to be you.
I imagine the colors
Would all run together
If you ever allowed me to cry
So don't paint the tears
Just let me remember me
Without you in my eyes.
It's only the frame
That holds me together
Or else I would be falling apart
If I were a painting
I wouldn't feel
And you wouldnt be breaking my heart...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Bitter Truth
The life will remain the same,
You will remain the same,
They will remain the same,
The world will remain the same
With all its beauty and grandeur,
The moon will shine brilliantly,
The stars will twinkle
With all their splendour,
The nightingales will sing in the garden,
The flowers will scatter their beauty all around,
Nature will spread Her skirt for Her nurselings,
People will celebrate Eid, Diwali and, Christmas,
Their joy will know no bound,
But ah!
I will not be there
To share this joy.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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Framing You
Haven’t I planned to frame
And hang on the wall?
Ah, lackluster walls
Insipid!
How about in between the pages
Of those untouched books?
What’s the use?
Moths and rats!
Between the folds of clothes?
Oh, those rarely touched saris!
How best can I guard
Round face and chubby cheeks?
Can’t place anywhere, in tact
How to place here and there?
No, I will not frame
I will not place anywhere
What if I fail to recognize,
When one day you choose to
Come to surprise me?
The frame may get damaged!
Ah, heart is the best place!
Isn’t it?
Let you remain
In my heart
Till the heart ticks
Hopefully, I can’t possibly
Fail to recognize my heart!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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untitled abstract painting of Custer's Last Stand
Untitled abstract painting of Custer’s last stand
an abstract painting of custer’s last stand
Hangs in the Montana Museum of Modern Art
A fish with a halo and many Indians mating
And no name tag makes this painting, stand apart
Montanans know the title of this portrait
Although no name tag is shown
Yet, as the gaze falls upon it
the title is intuitively known,
the last words that were spoken
from this famous man’s mouth
As the battle of the Big horn
Began to go south
Oddly enough, as in the painting
his last words were not prayer
Though the words; “copulation and Indians, “
“Fish And Holy, “ were there.
The title of the painting and Custer’s last words
Weren’t from Romans or Corinthians.
They were simply “Holy Mackerel
Look at all the F#@*in’ Indians
poem by David Whalen
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Picture Frames
Picture frames that enclose the art
make the art stand out.
If the frame is not just right
better to do without.
For the artist had in their mind
what the frame should be.
But the framer who made the frame
did not know what the art would be.
So acquiring the knack of pairing them
is a talent all its own.
The picture itself cannot speak out
but it has always known
what its frame should be.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Why Is Repin Painting Monet?
why is repin
painting monet
why is not repin
painting repin
or why is not monet
painting monet
or they're just
making a team
in this day
very sunny day
in the south
south of beauty
oh beauty
beauty named france
france of that field
the sunflower field
oh making
making for a painting
a painting for price
a price for bread
bread for respect
respect for van gogh
van gogh for a day
a day for painting
painting for words
words for us
and us for them
and them are only
only and just
just se7en words
'we all are brothers
brothers
in love'
poem by Ahmed Khaled
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The put down......
The painting lays sprawled, arse up on the red carpet,
it's naughtiness displayed for all
Shameless it lays there, naked, no frame
and seems to poke fun at us all, I would say.
It begs to be thought of as art by the toffs
though some beg to differ, the painting just scoffs
for its strong self belief makes it hoity toity
as it shows off its je ne sais quois, la di da di.
Dare you to differ, consider its faults
it would tell you you're lacking in intelligence.
no culture, no delicacy and no style
then it will go to the wall and just smile.
I linger a little, look up and then down,
peruse the said image, so regal and proud
then move very slowly on to the next
while the poor dear looks hurt and a little perplexed
poem by Ruth Walters
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The Painting
The painting lays sprawled, arse up on the red carpet,
it's naughtiness displayed for all
Shameless it lays there, naked, no frame
and seems to poke fun at the crowds, I would say.
It begs to be thought of as art by the toffs
though some beg to differ, the painting just scoffs
for its strong self belief makes it hoity-toity
as it shows off its je ne sais quois, fa di di
Dare you to differ, consider its faults
it would tell you you're lacking in intelligence.
No culture, no delicacy and no style
then it will go to the wall and just smile.
I linger a little, look up and then down,
peruse the said image, so regal and proud
then move very slowly on to the next
while the poor dear looks hurt and a little perplexed.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Face
She's got an iron will
She's gonna do what she thinks is right
I know she will
And as for me I'm not that silent
It's hard to live in a world this quiet
And if you want me to let you go
Well I think you should know
That I tried hard to live without you
But it doesn't work for me
And I tried not to think about you
But your in all my dreams
I can't stand living on my own
I can't stand staring into space
I hate that everything I see turns into your face
She left an empty house
Without a word, without a sound
Without a shout
And as for me I'm not that silent
It's hard to live in a world this quiet
And if you want me to let you go
Well I think you should know
That I tried hard to live without you
But it doesn't work for me
And I tried not to think about you
But your in all my dreams
I can't stand living on my own
I can't stand staring into space
I hate that everything I see turns into your face
My teary eyes have seen all I wanna see
Of the world
I tried hard to live without you
But it doesn't work for me
And I tried not to think about you
But your in all my dreams
I can't stand living on my own
I can't stand staring into space
I hate that everything I see turns into your face
Turns into your face
song performed by by Warrant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Best Poem In The World
The best poem in the world
will never be read
when everyone is writing
The best song in the world
will never be heard
when everyone is singing
The best painting in the world
will never be seen
when everyone is painting
The best performance in the world
will never be witnessed
when everyone is acting
However a world where the best poem
is burried in a stack of poems
the best song drowned out
by a million voices
the best painting lost in a gallery
streatching out as far as the eye can see
And the best preformance
competing with limitless preformances
will not be sacrificed
for an artless world
poem by Svanhildur Njálsdóttir
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The first hope of a painter who feels hopeful about painting is the hope that the painting will move, that it will live outside its frame.
quote by Gertrude Stein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the Dark I Sit
In the dark I sit
A picture on the wall
Eyes staring observing me
Talks to me tells me I’m valueless
A nothing a nobody
I yell at it tell it to stop
But it just ignores me
In the dark I sit
A picture on the wall
Eyes staring observing me
Talks to me tells me I’m valueless
I’m nothing a nobody
I try to ignore it I try to block out the voices
But I have to give in
In the dark I sir
A picture on the wall
Eyes staring observing me
Talks to me tells me I’m valueless
I’m nothing a nobody
I try not to listen try to deny it
But it speaks the truth
In the dark I sit
A picture on the wall
Eyes staring observing me
Talks to me tells me I’m valueless
A nothing a nobody
I begin to believe it begin to listen to the voice
But then I realize they come from within
In the dark I sit
A picture on the wall
Eyes shut now dead now
No longer speaks to me the picture is worthless
A nothing a nobody
It’s finally quite it’s finally peaceful
But now it’s just dark
poem by Eboni Paul
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Painting The Walls
painting the walls,
rolling over handprints,
cobwebs, and smoke stains....
over splashes of color,
over peels of time.
painting over the sounds
of voices whispering, laughing....
painting over tears hidden
from the world, from each other.
painting over running, and working,
working all day and half the night.
painting over children, and dreams,
folded like old clothes, and put away.
painting over notes from God,
that were often barely noticed...
painting over the nail that held
up the clock, hands moving slowly,
turning the seasons of living....
painting over the final words,
the last breath held in the hands,
of lives written in the grain....
the testimony of each feeling....
painting the walls,
and brushing the corners,
as if we never lived!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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And Then The Beauty Dies
And then the Beauty dies
And goes where no one knows
And all the life remains
Hidden as it was -
And then the Beauty dies
And all forever lost
Remembrance too surprised
To no longer still remain-
And then the Beauty dies
And pain and poignant love
Remain for those behind
The beauty in their mind. -
And then the Beauty dies
And then the Beauty dies.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Posing
She ignores the oil painting, pretends to read,
she knows she's there, of course
flaunting herself, naked,
but the fat lady's posing days are over.
There were times, years ago
when she'd posed, secretly of course.
Oh yes, by herself in her boudoir, pouting,
hoping someone might walk in!
She'd pretend she was an artist's model
laying draped across her bed,
careful not to wobble
just in case somebody did.
Now of course she's far too big
she wouldn't even dream
but likes to show her stocking tops
when she's lounging, reading books.
As for her up on the wall,
she's a beauty, such a doll!
An oil painting of a queen,
above us all majestically.
poem by Ruth Walters
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The old mirror
I look in the mirror tainted and old
What do i see? ?
I see this woman staring back at me
She does'nt speak, she does'nt smile
She looks lost with a frown
I look in the mirror is it something from the 50's?
What do i see? ?
I see this man staring back at me
He does'nt wave he does'nt nod
He stands and stares with a glare
I look in the mirror the frame varnished dark
What do i see? ?
I see this girl staring back at me
She does'nt laugh or d a cheeky face
She turns away and begins to cry
I look in the mirror round and smoke stained
What do i see? ?
I see this boy staring back at me
Glasses and combed over hair
I wonder who they are
the people in the old mirror
~nikki addleton ~
poem by Nikki Addleton
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The Wall
I shall beat my head against the wall
Until the moment that I die.
Or until the wall does fall
Then beside it I will sit and cry.
Then on another wall I must beat my head,
Until I just cant stand the pain
Then you will understand what I have said
My loss; will be your gain.
And on that wall will be my blood
And there it will always stay,
Mixed with the stone it will be the mud
And like my pain it wont wash away.
I will pound my head against the wall
Until the moment that I am dead
And only then, will I stand tall
Because then will my anguish will be fed.
As I hold no sorrows or remorse
So much pain that I will release
As this is my only course
And only you this action will it please.
I will pound my head against the wall
Until the moment that I am dead
And from the wall my blood will fall
In remembrance of the words I have said.
Then the world will know that I died that day
As my soul will be all that will be left
And in your mind to GOD you will here me pray,
As my destiny, has then been set.
I will pound my head against this wall
Don't you know that I am dying
Then one day, this time you will recall
As you will know that I never was lying.
My blood will be kept on this old stone wall
And there for you it will always stay
And only then will this man stand tall
Because then you will understand what I did say.
Now only GOD can hear what I am crying
From the actions that I did or even say
Upon this wall please know I was only trying
But until then, it will remind you of myself everyday.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Mirror Mirror
(bob dipiero/john jarrard/mark d. sanders)
Mirror, mirror, on my wall,
Tell me, who is the loneliest fool of all
No, wait a minute, I believe I see
The answer staring back at me
Spent most of the morning laying in bed
Lunch was a black coffee and three cigarettes
They say it will kill me, but Ive got a hunch
That this broken hearts gonna beat em to the punch
Mirror, mirror, on my wall,
Tell me, who is the loneliest fool of all
No, wait a minute, I believe I see
The answer staring back at me
Yes, Im the one who swore she would stay
Right up to the moment the u-haul drove away
She didnt leave a table; she didnt leave a chair
But she knew what she was doing when she left you hanging there
Mirror, mirror, on my wall,
Tell me, who is the loneliest fool of all
No, wait a minute, I believe I see
The answer staring back at me
No, wait a minute, I believe I see
The answer staring back at me
song performed by by Diamond Rio
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When the painting is hanging on your wall for a long time, you don't notice it. You get tired of it, even if it's a Picasso. When the next generation inherits the painting, they sell it. I don't want to be sold.
quote by Julio Iglesias
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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