So many dancers paint. I used to paint. I started again recently. While I was dancing, I was very busy with my career. Start something else that makes use of your creative ability because if you don't you will die inside as a person.
quote by Katherine Dunham
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
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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Paint Brush
We forget
We’re humans in disguise
We lust for angels
We lust for demons
We cannot exorcise the human inside.
We paint a layer of lies
No water can wash it off
Human doesn’t let paint spread
In the end humans peel paint off.
Some are left buried
With paint left unpeeled
The paint dries away
But human never dehydrates.
We may paint on thorns,
But flowers we remain inside.
poem by Mehreen Mujeeb
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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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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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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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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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Dream Images
if I painted pictures
I would paint dream images
I would paint visions of inner mind's eye
I would paint life in veils swirling kaleidoscopic moods
I would paint canvasses imprinting fabric expanding universes
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Sunsets With A Crimson Colour
We paint our sunsets with crimson colours
a sign of a brighter day tomorrow.
We paint our earth with blues and green,
the oceans, lakes and land.
However, we paint ourselves invisible
with the use of slight of hand.
How long will we paint with colours
if we carry on the way we do.
The crimson will become a dusty brown
for the dust cloud we created.
The green will become black,
chard and empty of everything.
The waters that were blue
will run red with the dead,
polluted beyond repair,
unless we open our eyes now
and our world we start to take care.
Hopefully, then once again we can paint
our sunsets with a crimson colour.
3 September 2011
poem by David Harris
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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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I paint on a sky
The dawn is breaking its early morn
Here, I m standing on a promise
of a brand new day
for new morning comes.
for the early morning smile,
So then, I paint on a sky.
Your eyes that shine like a golden sun.
I sense the morning glory.
Those cherry blossoms
That I paint on my mind.
As I heard the morning breeze,
That plays inside of me.
The notes and melodies
Were I paint on a sky
Over there beneath the silence
I watched the sea that dance on a wave,
And then I draw a line on sand
A line that connects my soul on wind
There I can dance to the music of my own
There I can paint on a sky.
Every step that I have been through.
I belong to the wind.
To fly higher than the mountain
Fly as free as the bird.
Then, I paint on a sky.
These dreams inside my mind,
These hope that I have been holding on
These love that last for more than time.
I walked on a bridge of the rainbow
I’ll be the sun in the sky.
I’ll be the light in all time
I’ll put back the blue in the sky
And learn to see the beauty that is waiting for
So then, I paint on a sky
All the happiness that brings back in my heart.
poem by Cheryl Aldea
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Yes You May Paint My World
be ready
paint my world
be patient
it is not as white
as a canvass
to start with
i am spotted
like gerard manley hopkins
with his cow
and this trout
i have some
red marks on
my heart and
some stains
in my brains
i am dark
and you will need
nothing black
paint me
with the color
of gentleness
and the color
of your concern
i am not really
lovable but
you may paint
me with the colors
of your love
if you have doubts
don't worry
make something
abstract about me
i won't bother
i am your brother
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I paint my own reality. The only thing I know is that I paint because I need to, and I paint whatever passes through my head without any other consideration.
quote by Frida Kahlo
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Paint My Love
From my youngest years
till this moment here
I've never seen
such a lovely queen
From the skies above
to the deepest love
I've never felt
crazy like this before
Paint my love
you should paint my love
it's the picture of a thousand sunsets
it's the freedom of a thousand doves
Baby you should paint my love
Been around the world
then I met you girl
It's like comming home
to a place I've known
Paint my love
you should paint my love
it's the picture of a thousand sunsets
it's the freedom of a thousand doves
Baby you should paint my love
Since you came into my life
the days before all fade to black and white
Since you came into my life
Everything has changed
song performed by by Michael Learns To Rock from Paint My Love
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Swallow Flame Words
swallow flame words into soul at own risk
I paint distances between seen unseen at world's edges
I paint portraits above beneath mask as multi veils
I paint shift faces figures skin deeds intended done deeds
I paint poetry life in shifting kaleidoscopic images souls
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Choose Your Color
I will paint the walls blue
Blue is calm, blue is power
Blue is the color of tranquility
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the ceiling green
Green is healthy, green is peace
Green makes time move faster
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the floor red
Red is fire, red is danger
Red is the symbol of passion
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the sky purple
Purple is sad, purple is gloomy
Purple is the color of romance
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the tree black
Black is fear, black is death
Black is the symbol of grief
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the street yellow
Yellow is happy, yellow is fresh
Yellow is the color of sunshine
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint the fence orange
orange is wisdom, orange is wealth
Orange is the color of success
Do you see my colors yet?
I will paint everything white
White is good, white is pure
White is the color of faith
Have you seen my colors yet?
(August 16th,2006)
poem by Christopher G. Turner
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Purple And Silver
frozen evenings
on me, they camp greetings
intruding me to the dark feelings
demolishing any happy traces
that i once discovered
teardropp cases, these faces
never seem to get em' outta my head
paint in purple, paint it silver
track a train
to the valley of midnight pain
which i once suffered
i still suffer
when we look back to the spring shower
they left us, leaving poison flowers
i extracted the pulp
she wrapped the words
we made a bomb
mark our words
paint them purple, paint them silver
bang bang now check this out
heavy storm outside
reminds me of one inside
tornado of tears
volcano of fears
but they had to hit
and hit they did
birth of a kid
off color white
put up a fight
listening to 9 crimes
i've been given too much time
he did his part
i broke mine fast
paint it silver
msg delivered
paint it purple
i start to crumble
over the top
the boat beneath the blue whale
river of lost got a new sail
they met the pain at the oceans date
cross the fence in senses
sit at the last bench
bury the drench
she did her seven cry
i made my blood dry
birth of anger
paint it silver
run in circle
paint it purple
something pushing me to
cry one last try
that hope to see blue butterfly
makes his blood dry
she just sees the sky
and does her seven cry
frozen evenings dark fire
anguish through lime wire
silver frost bite
i burnt my kite
purple midnight
i released my knife
hearing the drums
following 1,21 guns
getting nothing
expecting a lot
talking tears
hiding fears
for 16 years
he waited for his father
for 18 years
she blocked her laughter
the waiting purple
the falling silver
paint him purple
lost in jungle
paint her silver
remember this november..
poem by Talal Athar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Signboard
I will paint you a sign, rumseller,
And hang it above your door;
A truer and better signboard
Than ever you had before.
I will paint with the skill of a master,
And many shall pause to see
This wonderful piece of painting,
So like the reality.
I will paint yourself, rumseller,
As you wait for that fair young boy,
Just in the morning of manhood,
A mother’s pride and joy.
He has no thought of stopping,
But you greet him with a smile
And you seem so blithe and friendly,
That he pauses a chat awhile.
I will paint you again, rumseller,
I will paint you as you stand,
With a foaming glass of liquor
Extended in your hand.
He wavers, but you urge him –
Drink, pledge me just this one!
And he takes the glass and drains it,
And the hellish work is done.
And next I will paint a drunkard –
Only a year has flown,
But into that loathesome creature
The fair young boy has grown.
The work was sure and rapid.
I will paint him as he lies
In a torpid, drunken slumber,
Under the wintry skies.
I will paint the form of the mother
As she kneels at her darling’s side,
Her beautiful boy that was dearer
Than all the world beside.
I will paint the shape of a coffin
Labelled with one word – ‘Lost’
I will paint all this, rumseller,
And will paint it free of cost.
The sin and the shame and the sorrow,
The crime and the want and the woe
That are born there in your workshop,
No hand can paint, you know
But I’ll paint you a sign, rumseller,
And many shall pause to view
This wonderful swinging signboard,
So terribly, fearfully true.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sign-Board
I will paint you a sign, rumseller,
And hang it above your door;
A truer and better signboard
Than ever you had before.
I will paint with the skill of a master,
And many shall pause to see
This wonderful piece of painting,
So like the reality.
I will paint yourself, rumseller,
As you wait for that fair young boy,
Just in the morning of manhood,
A mother's pride and joy.
He has no thought of stopping,
But you greet him with a smile,
And you seem so blithe and friendly,
That he pauses to chat awhile.
I will paint you again, rumseller,
I will paint you as you stand,
With a foaming glass of liquor
Extended in your hand.
He wavers, but you urge him-
Drink, pledge me just this one!
And he takes the glass and drains it,
And the hellish work is done.
And next I will paint a drunkard-
Only a year has flown,
But into that loathsome creature
The fair young boy has grown.
The work was sure and rapid.
I will paint him as he lies
In a torpid, drunken slumber,
Under the wintry skies.
I will paint the form of the mother
As she kneels at her darling's side,
Her beautiful boy that was dearer
Than all the world beside.
I will paint the shape of a coffin,
Labeled with one word-'lost,'
I will paint all this, rumseller,
And will paint it free of cost.
The sin and the shame and the sorrow,
The crime and the want and the woe
That are born there in your workshop,
No hand can paint, you know.
But I'll paint you a sign, rumseller,
And many shall pause to view
This wonderful swinging signboard,
So terribly, fearfully true.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Am I a master
I am the master, master of art
have painted true pictures,
of rising sun, mountain, sea
through jungles flowing rivers,
shining stars, birds, cloudy sky,
can paint anything and everything.
insects, lions, bear and deer.
just like the living things.
I am the master, master of art,
can make my own paint and brush
Alas! but cannot create raw material
of any of paint, brush or canvas.
Oh! can not paint these seven
which are made only in heaven:
smell, touch, look, hear and taste,
emotions, thought and breathe.
No, I am not the master, master of art
can paint uncountable things yet not.
Not possible to paint love and laugh
I have to go again and again to learn
to the supreme master, who painted
the universe, stars, moon and sun
(C) S. D. Tiwari
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Primary Education
Read
Reading will let you know many things
Reading is a good habit.
(Read)
Write
Writing will convey your message
Day and night.
(Write)
Paint
Painting is a way to express your thought
Paint even if you are a saint.
(Paint)
Sing
Singing is a way to express emotions
Let singing be your engagement ring.
(Sing)
Dance
Dancing will wipe out your pain
So don’t miss the chance.
(Dance)
poem by Asif Andalib
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