Painter Named William
WILLIAM THE PAINTER
With a great smile that always shines,
he is a great painter, he paints art real fine.
William makes paintings with acrylic, oils and pastels,
he is a realistic painter, muralist and cartoonist as well.
I went to William’s art event,
it was at a church is where I went.
He did a mural on their wall,
it was huge, it wasn’t small.
William has a great eye for shape and form,
he is an original artist, not in the norm.
Now I just saw William today,
he was happy to see me and we talked away.
I will do a mural with him in Lake Worth soon,
we will paint a wall with some cartoons.
Looking forward William to see more of your art,
your art is unique, it sets you apart.
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Related quotes
Painter Man
Went to college, studied arts
To be an artist make a start
Studied hard, gettin my degree
But no one seemed to notice me
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
Tried cartoons and comic books
Dirty postcards could have done
Here was where the money laid
Classic art has had its day
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
Did adverts for t.v.
Household shops and brands of tea
Labels all around the cans
Who wanna be a painter man
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
La...la...la...la...la...la...
La...la...la...la...la...la...la...
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Young William And Young April
Young William and young April
Met in the park one day.
Young William said to April,
'Why did you come this way? '
Young April said to William,
'I thought I might see you.'
Young William, then to April,
'It's funny, what you do.'
Young April gave to William
A sweet, young childhood kiss.
Young William said to April,
'Don't bother me like this.'
Young April stood in silence,
Not knowing what to do.
Then young William turned away.
Young April, torn in two.
Young William said, 'Don't follow me.'
Away from her he fled.
April then, sat down and cried,
And wished that she was dead.
William never came again.
At least, for many years.
Fearful that young April still,
Might be there shedding tears.
William walked the park again.
It seemed just like before.
Wondering if he might see her.
Young April, there once more.
Young William never noticed.
The roses hid it well.
The place they found Young April.
The place she used to dwell.
poem by Greenwolfe 1962
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Madonna on a wall
It’s another thing to see
how a mural,
gets a life of its own.
I see her measure and draw
the outlines and I wonder how,
she calculates the image that unfolds
With a palette
on which she mix different colours
and a painter’s pencil,
she paints an image
[See picture of the madonna mural at my webpage: http: //www.mabooki.com/poems/display/1420_Madonna_on_a _wall.htm]
that comes out of a wall.
.
I am struck by what she’s doing
and how her fingers,
perform magic with a brush
and the art and beauty
that unfolds almost without bother.
It’s as if the Madonna’s eyes
follow me as if she’s alive,
to where I move
all over the room
There’s something of her soul
and a new presence,
that’s caught on the wall.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I'm just a landscape painter. I look out the window and I see what's going on, and I paint it. While I'm painting it, I also write thoughts about what I see going on out there.
quote by William Wiley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet 24: “Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled…”
Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled,
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart,
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies,
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes:
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done,
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.
poem by William Shakespeare
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I Once, Your Other Darkness
for two paintings, one by Caravaggio,
'The Conversion of St. Paul, '
the other by William Hawkins, 'Horse'
I once, your other darkness, quoted Hopkins to you,
of seasons of dryness in the bitter pitch midst
his discovery, 'What I do is me, for that I came, '
not a text for self worship but, rather, an assent
to keep world woe intimate, felt in that greater
scape - inner - making poems from orphan woe, from
furtive grace which eludes then storms, in bleakest
place sudden parses in the greener green,
newly, of things while pleading still,
'Lord, send my roots rain.'
In the shorter light, the extended
night, of cold and star-bright questions,
may you cast clumsy net forward into
what it all might mean to fretted you,
to me, stretched canvas, though I will
not thrust these words upon your paint
or pen but make offering for your own
work to feed us through the eyes;
perhaps time to remount the horse
and soldier on, or to fall again, gain
Damascus perspective, from one's
back watch vision distort massive
horse into a God receding into necessary
darkness foregoing image,
see what may form in the spreading dirt,
what resurrection there is in the smell of paint.
Caravaggio, (1571 – 1610) , Italian painter,
'in painting not equal to a painter, but to Nature itself'
- from his epitaph
William Hawkins, (1895-1990) , self-taught American artist
'His dynamic, artistic style was forged from his optimistic,
hard-charging, 'survivor' mindset.'
poem by Warren Falcon
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Sonnet 24: Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled
Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill
To find where your true image pictured lies,
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazèd with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee.
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art:
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.
poem by William Shakespeare
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I will be a historical painter.
quote by William Allan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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An Art Is Dead
Colors and ideas just rush in
As has been observed and seen
It is one of the tricky jobs
Inspiration is nature from where he has to rob
If not then any object
People can't reject
As his brush and color
May soon find great honor
Painter can brush the lines
They may appear as happy lines
Someone may read it as an art
Others may find it sales object in mart
His heart bleeds in brush
It finds great rush
Through his eyes and on canvass
The shape appears at last
Who may sing in praise?
Who may love it and chase?
No one except bidders
Or genuine art readers
That is his worth
Real asset and wealth
He has contentment
With lots of praise and comments
It may adore anybody's wall
Receive attention and call
Painter may be lost
As it has been sold at cost
It is an art piece
With lovely message of peace
That is worth to understand and read
Before anyone says 'an art is dead'
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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An Epitaph 3 (From The Greek)
Painter, this likeness is too strong,
And we shall mourn the dead too long.
poem by William Cowper
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I am and always will be an HRH. But out of personal choice I like to be called William because that is my name and I want people to call me William - for now.
quote by Prince William
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Boys And The Apple-Tree
As William and Thomas were walking one day,
They came by a fine orchard's side:
They would rather eat apples than spell, read, or play,
And Thomas to William then cried:
'O brother, look yonder! what clusters hang there!
I'll try and climb over the wall:
I must have an apple; I will have a pear;
Although it should cost me a fall!'
Said William to Thomas, 'To steal is a sin,
Mamma has oft told this to thee:
I never have stolen, nor will I begin,
So the apples may hang on the tree. '
'You are a good boy, as you ever have been,'
Said Thomas, 'let's walk on, my lad:
We'll call on our schoolfellow, Benjamin Green,
Who to see us I know will be glad.
poem by Ann Taylor
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Father, in spite of all this spending of money in learning Latin, I will be a painter.
quote by William Allan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Painter (Ang Pintor)
The Painter...
He colored the sky
He colored the sea
and even the mountains
and the field.
The Painter...
He colored the roses
and even the birds
and animals
in the farm.
The Painter...
even my life...
He colored.
But the Painter,
I guess no one
have seen Him yet.
The Painter...
can anyone paint the colors
of His life?
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Gay Marriage For William (just For Fun)
this world opens itself to gay marriage
the gay priest presides this solemn marriage
of william to another william
and wilma to another wilma
do you william take william as your spouse
for better or for worse, in sickness and in health
till death do you part?
and william says, yes i do
and so by virtue of the authority vested in my by law
i hereby pronounce you william and william
as spouses
in the presence of your witnesses
wilma and wilma
the groom may now kiss his groom
it is not funny, it can be real as it has become real
nature keeps up with overpopulation
and goes for more copulation
between two same sexes in love with each other's sameness
life is an experiment and so love is an experiment too
love and its quivers
bodies and more bodies warming themselves
hearts fusing as one, how lovely to see?
seriously speaking, in the dark the souls keep on dating
the bodies become so irrelevant, the sexes not important
there is this kiss, this touch, these solvents of our loneliness
these glue and paste that must fill the gap
of our respective emptiness
the same goal the same purpose: we always want to be filled in full
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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William, It Was Really Nothing
The rain falls hard on a humdrum town
This town has dragged you down
Oh, the rain falls hard on a humdrum town
This town has dragged you down
Oh, no, and everybodys got to live their life
And God knows Ive got to live mine
God knows Ive got to live mine
William, william it was really nothing
William, william it was really nothing
It was your life ...
How can you stay with a fat girl wholl say :
Oh ! would you like to marry me ?
And if you like you can buy the ring
She doesnt care about anything
Would you like to marry me ?
And if you like you can buy the ring
I dont dream about anyone - except myself !
Oh, william, william it was really nothing
William, william
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Far Too Many Aspens Are Now Felled (Cavatina)
(after William Cowper and Gerard Manley Hopkins)
Far too many aspens are now felled,
gone is the shade
while the wind blows and its searching in vain
the colonnade
where it once played its own happy song;
it is man made
the destruction that came, the great havoc
that down many rows of great trees did knock.
[References: “The Poplar-Field” by William Cowper and “Binsey Poplars” by Gerard Manley Hopkins.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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From William of Orange to William Pitt the younger there was but one man without whom English history must have taken a different turn, and that was William Pitt the elder.
quote by Albert Bushnell Hart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There is no scientific discoverer, no poet, no painter, no musician, who will not tell you that he found ready made his discovery or poem or picture - that it came to him from outside, and that he did not consciously create it from within.
quote by William Kingdon Clifford
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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