I will not be just a tourist in the world of images, just watching images passing by which I cannot live in, make love to, possess as permanent sources of joy and ecstasy.
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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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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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Those' Images Made
People love to treasure those images made.
Those images created to help them escape,
From depictions of reality.
And the way the displaying of it is portrayed.
People love to treasure those images made.
People love to treasure those images made.
The ones flowered to sugar without a bitter taste.
Those images glammed up to spotlight,
On a public stage.
But behind the scenes indignities can be mean.
Yet...
People love to treasure those images made.
And their minds are affixed to them to defend...
Every blemish that is openly seen.
Since people who love their images made...
Have not been conditioned on reality to feast.
People love to treasure those images made.
Those images created to help them escape,
From depictions of reality.
And the way the displaying of it is portrayed.
People love to treasure those images made,
With an excusing of detrimental flaws and pain shown.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Images
Images.
Images invented.
Images invented to cement.
Images invented to cement and limit,
To give images purpose and intent.
A reason to solidify limitations that prevent,
A bombardment of unrestricted imaginations.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Although images of perfection in people's personal lives can cause unhappiness, images of perfect societies - utopian images - can cause monstrous evil. In fact, forcefully changing society to conform to societal images was the greatest cause of evil in the twentieth century.
quote by Dennis Prager
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Images Presented
The image that's presented,
Determines how impressive...
Those pretentious rush to protect.
And the image that's presented,
Has less to do with intellect.
Or competence and its effect,
Upon those expecting...
Much more than an image projected to accept.
Images old have molded.
Although repeatedly they have been sold!
Those images presented,
Represent times gone.
Those images presented,
Have been rusted so long.
Those images presented,
Do not feed!
Those images presented,
No one needs now!
Those images presented represent a decadence.
And they represent with evidence pretentions that are meant.
Those images presented do not feed.
Those images presented no one needs,
Now.
Those images presented represent a decadence.
And they represent with evidence pretentions that are meant.
Those images presented do not feed.
Those images presented no one needs,
Now.
Those images presented,
Represent times gone.
Those images presented,
Have been rusted so long.
Those images presented do not feed.
Those images presented no one needs,
Now.
Those images presented represent a decadence.
And they represent with evidence pretentions that are meant.
Images old have molded.
Although repeatedly they have been sold!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The desired one is not desired.
Those days’ actresses whose images once
Captivated you, will fail to do now.
The frame in the brain holding those images
Had changed to hold the images of new ones.’.
25.02.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Images of Time
The images in my mind is like my thoughts.
Expressing my thoughts is like expressing my feelings.
Words are spoken.All my images are broken.
Broken down into pieces, which can never be made into new dishes.
Those images of past.It takes time to last.
It will last forever for met to take over.
All those images wore my past life.
But it has nothing to do with my past life.
Those images can be forgotten.But not those people.
Those people who are in your images.Can be in a real image.
When you see those people in front of you.
You like to say 'How are you'?
If they say I am fine.Then you will think of those time.
poem by Yash Pradhan
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Robert II
Your love to me was like the ways of interpreting reality,
And with images so close to my eyes at times;
But i will live on to call your name always,
For Robert is your sweet name on this muse of love.
Where are the birds that flew over us yesterday?
For my love will last forever with you,
And like the images of love that you introduced me to.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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They've found a way to privately, or within a small family group, share expressions, or other images, drawings, and then gain access to some of the world's great expressions and images and make them real, make them tangible.
quote by John Doerr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Images Birth Wet Paint Born
wet on wet paint on paint
layers of wet paint applied
to previous layered layers
images birth wet paint born
images born in liquid imagination
images born in landscape infinity
images born in individual creativity
images born in artistic genius ability
images born in limitless multiplicity
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
See also the poems ‘Layers Of Wet Paint Applied’ and ‘Interactions Invoke Imagination Entrances’.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Images Born In Crucible
spectral images
and images of light
born from heart
of huge
reservoir
of life
experiences
from souls
who dared live
crucible of lives
poem by Terence George Craddock
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It's the same with visual arts, you have some really cool, wonderful striking images that make you think and then again you have wonderful striking images that just take you away from the existing world for a second. And I like the latter a bit more.
quote by Ville Valo
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Images
All the images that occur in my mind
have had me think of places.
I may not have seen them in this life
But then again my memory erases
where they are from or why they are seen.
Could they be from another time?
They seem to haunt my being.
Oh that I could remember
what it is I'm seeing?
They're all mixed up with love and death
and I confess my need to know
why they've surfaced in my mind
and why they never let go.
I remember the images mostly at night
right before I sleep.
They form water-colored pictures
and sometimes make me weep.
not from sadness, but from joy.
For the images have made me think
that they have surfaced for some reason.
So from them I do not shrink.
I want them to stay. I really do.
For they connect to who I am.
For I've known since I was very young
that life after death comes again.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Like The Summer Fruits
Uppermost,
Outermost,
With the same images;
Images of the sun and the moon,
Extortion!
Like a puzzle;
To make an impact,
With gladness,
Like the summer fruits;
However, she really needed someone like you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Anger Behind The Swing Of This Axe
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting..
I did everything right and it still went so wrong.
Perfection in the moment and now its gone.
If I only knew what I know now.
I would have ran for the hills.
Never looked back.
Like a ghost completely disappeared.
Across the hemisphere.
Above the highest atmosphere.
Mind you they are limitation I grant you.
But still I don't think it's that far of an exaggeration.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
A broken heart I'm not debating.
For I know at one time I did love you.
But it faded as you became so god damn jaded.
Nothing I did was ever quite good enough.
With love their should never be any expectation.
Except not too stray or put yourself a abusive situation.
Support and do the best you can for your family and friends.
But in this case you didn't allow that to happen.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
I want to blame you for my unhappiness.
But I can not.
For I'm better off now then I ever have been.
In my eyes you have already been forgiven.
For your road was rockier then mine has ever been.
I will never forget the kids they will always be in my heart as if they were my own.
One autistic, the other blind.
You don't even acknowledge I ever existed.
Even as I ask how they are.
So I will never know.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Beyond Words Beyond Images
it is ironic, these words claiming
that one day, these words will be beyond words,
that these images will be beyond images
that i will be like those who went their way alone
not befriending anyone but keeps on writing
in the middle of the storm
and cyclones and typhoons
and quakes and volcanic eruptions
beyond destruction, beyond words, beyond images.
smart man.
unlimited.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In Working With Images....
when we work with images
they become real, touchable,
i, too, smell
what has been transformed by
a dream
like a bread
baked
sending its fresh flavor
in the air
hot tea is served in the cold
corners of the mind
i am seeing beauty
and shapes of bodies come out from
glossy paper
i severed myself from the pains of
you
the images are real and they do not ask
if things are moral
i embrace all these images for the main reason
that i must live
my life
amidst the rules of this mundane games
every night i sleep late
transforming what this world thinks as invisible
in the morning
virtual leaves fall at the foot of the real tree
on top of grass, as green as my mind
flowers are flaming
like fire
in my belly.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When Watching
One thing I've noticed I've come to miss
When watching my LED HD TV
Is that whenever I flip through the channels
On my DVR,
I don't have to become a tourist
Glancing at the sights anymore—
I can only read the dialogue of information
That tells me what I am watching
Or what I could be watching.
I don't have the time to observe
Foreign landscapes
(Partially because
Nobody makes shows
Of that
Anymore)
Or see how other people are different,
I just see text, text, text with no
Context, context, context,
And I feel like I'm missing something.
I don't even watch TV much anymore.
I don't enjoy sitcoms
Because I don't enjoy their jokes
Because my life isn't like that.
I don't enjoy the news
Because they don't tell me anything I want to hear
Because I want to know what's happening in the world.
I don't enjoy reality TV
Because those people make me afraid of reality
Because they call themselves reality.
I miss the white noise, the static,
The scrambled images of channels
I never had as a kid,
Or the disintegrated programs
That looked like high-energy molecular,
Heated up, when the cable is out.
I miss the way it sounded,
The thunder storm sound,
Voices reduced to raindrops
Pouring against the black backdrop
Of a dead screen,
A comforting hum
Made of chaos
For periods of silence,
Sometimes enough to make me turn it off.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Little black box called Television!
I watch it
Morning, day and night
The plasma screens are quite a sight
Soap Operas, Reality Shows, Movies
I watch anything there is to see
But the little black box called Television
Gets on my nerves
Images of other people’s life it serves
As a daily dish to my vision
Even my own ideas about fashion
Are ruthlessly destroyed in its mission
To impose on me of how to live
But I love Television
I am addicted to Television
Like glue is to paper
Or love making is to a beginner
I am its concubine with my permission
Please at me, don't point a finger
When I am lonely
It is easier to pretend
The images presented by TV
Are my friends
When I am horny
Without sounding funny
I can make love in my bed
After breakfast in bed
To anyone from the TVs images
Now endorsed into my head
That little black box
Sucks, it really sucks
It is just a vicious circle
Bed, Work, Television and Bed
Bed, Work, Television and Bed
Bed, Work, Television and Bed
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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