Tomb of Lanis
The Lanis you loved, Markos, isn't here
in this tomb you come to weep by, lingering hours on end.
The Lanis you loved is closer to you
when you're in your room at home and you look at his portrait—
the portrait that still keeps something of what was valuable in him,
something of what it was you used to love.
Remember, Markos, that time you brought in
the famous Kyrenian painter from the Proconsul's palace?
What artistic subtlety he used trying to persuade you both,
the minute he saw your friend,
that he absolutely must do him as Hyacinth.
In that way his portrait would come to be better known.
But your Lanis didn't hire out his beauty like that:
reacting strongly, he told him to portray
neither Hyacinth nor anyone else,
but Lanis, son of Rametichos, an Alexandrian.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Related quotes
Portrait
As I gaze blink-less
At the bare beauty of your persona
Behind the thin satin coat
Your portrait steps out alive
Out of the golden frame.
Your portrait generates
A multitude of elemental emotions,
Some romantically elusive like fluttering butterflies,
Others tangible like love-making,
Yet some others audible like the dying cadence
Of a stringed music played on my lyre.
Am churned by the immaculate portrait
Like the ocean
And I deliver nectar and parijat
From the dark womb of my private secrecy.
I owe it to your portrait timeless,
As I take the yet-to-be christened
Eleventh incarnation of Indian pantheon
Embodying love and truth
With an assured confidence.
A Truth I Weep
wondering in the maze of life
somewhere i stopped on a hyacinth
O' my hyacinth
picking it in my hands
the fragrance though spread
overwhelmed in the perfume of it
i wanted to admit
the beauty of love i had for it
with a pricking pain
i saw the thorns
never with a hyacinth
but there were they
to grin was my compulsion
to laugh was the only way
to not let the heart break
i know the pain
but cant let you suffer
O' my hyacinth
cant let you suffer
cant let you suffer
poem by Gule Rukhsar
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It is not likely that posterity will fall in love with us, but not impossible that it may respect or sympathize; so a man would rather leave behind him the portrait of his spirit than a portrait of his face.
quote by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Portrait of a heart
Portrait of a heart
~
A portrait piece by piece
built through the heart
presents a romantic world
memories tell a moving tale
the full beauty of a loving heart
where the artist knows no end
and feels the strain of pride
still the picture takes its shape
to present a landscape of a life
touched by the words of love
scarred by the losses felt
the heart speaks and draws
from the uncharted depths
there in the eye of its picture
a romance reveals
a portrait of a world
built through the heart
poem by Matthew Holloway
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I do not paint a portrait to look like the subject, rather does the person grow to look like his portrait.
quote by Salvador Dali
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The reason that I'm an actor, or an artist, is ultimately because I'm trying to paint a self-portrait, and the most complete and beautiful self-portrait that you can.
quote by Terrence Howard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.
Oscar Wilde in The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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One Love
Champions in action,
And of your lovers gone by too soon;
But i still have one love with the muse of my story.
I am the black soul you once loved,
So study me and take up your degrees!
For my black culture will always be with you.
One love,
Take me home to meet the 'Twelve Tribes of Yisrayl';
For your lovers are hiding behind them.
I am the portrait on your walls and like, 'My Boy Lollipop'!
For i am the African you once loved;
But i do have one love for you because,
My mind is beyond human at times and you came in loved me.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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When you start with a portrait and search for a pure form, a clear volume, through successive eliminations, you arrive inevitably at the egg. Likewise, starting with the egg and following the same process in reverse, one finishes with the portrait.
quote by Pablo Picasso
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Moon is a Painter
He coveted her portrait.
He toiled as she grew gay.
She loved to see him labor
In that devoted way.
And in the end it pleased her,
But bowed him more with care.
Her rose-smile showed so plainly,
Her soul-smile was not there.
That night he groped without a lamp
To find a cloak, a book,
And on the vexing portrait
By moonrise chanced to look.
The color-scheme was out of key,
The maiden rose-smile faint,
But through the blessed darkness
She gleamed, his friendly saint.
The comrade, white, immortal,
His bride, and more than bride—
The citizen, the sage of mind,
For whom he lived and died.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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At the unveiling at the White House of the presidential portrait, President Bush pointed out that Hillary Clinton was the first sitting Senator in history to have her portrait hanging in the White House.
quote by Eleanor Clift
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The gallery of my heart
The gallery of my heart
~
Like a portrait hung
In the gallery of my heart
A girl of undoubted beauty
Breathtaking and full of wonder
Holds my gaze completely
I find my words flowing
In a river of adoration
I dedicate her my soul
There is a girl of beauty
Beyond which none compare
Painted to a memory
In the gallery of my heart
The softness of her eyes
A warmth to her lips
Fair skin and cascading hair
What love may imagine
When looking upon
A girl in portrait hung
In the gallery of my heart
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Just Another Day
It's a day like any other, A day to expect
Except
It's full of surprises
Trying to draw a portrait is tough
Because nothing that can be drawn is ever enough
A picture cannot represent who you are
It's not even close but far
Because paint, yolks, plaster, and pencil don't make a man
Instead what makes a man is not what is shown
But what is inside; the character grown
There is no artist who can
Show who I really am
Because even my appearance
Is about as trustworthy as chance
So painting a portrait is fleeting
And yet sometimes chance is a true friend
A trusted confidant that does bend
To your will even if unintentional
But when chance is on your side it's magical
With just a roll of the dice you get what you want
Even if you didn't know you wanted it
Double snake eyes is rare
But two sets of double is a scare
And yet as I said before, when chance is on your side
It's a wonderful surprise
So somehow this is what makes my day
Even those things that might not last, they're important I say!
Sometimes it's just those simple joys
That make this just another day, but a day to remember.
poem by David Knox
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A Portrait of Aspiring Perfection
A portrait of aspiring perfection hath been painted
Through the creation of evolutions tidings.
A portrait of respiring reflections lay untainted.
Leaving my thought in meditation hiding.
They cry, the muses of my soul how they cry,
Forever sighing as I am forever wishing to be whole
And in so doing I am assuming myself to be but half.
poem by David Lacey
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Round & Round
I just can't help thinking
What you've done to me
You built a wall of love and tore it right down
In front of me
And you think you know what's going on
You keep telling me that i am wrong
I don't care about what you do
'cause if you mess with me i'll get rid of you
The picture you see is no portrait of me
It's too real to be shown to someone i don't know
And it's driving me wild
It makes me act like a child
You think i am crazy, but what can i do
You waste your time, like my money
It ain't so funny, but it's true
(don't waste my money, baby)
Now you can't tell me what's going on
And that i am weak while you are strong
What is it you need, that makes your heart bleed
Do you really know? 'cause it doesn't show
The picture you see is no portrait of me
It's too real to be shown to someone i don't know
And it's driving me wild
It makes me act like a child
The picture you see is no portrait of me
It's too real to be shown to someone i don't know
And it's driving me wild
It makes me act like a child
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Remember those Martyrs
Remember those, who sacrificed their lives,
Remember those, who died for our safer life,
Remember those, who never returned home,
Didn't abandon their guns, wet in blood though.
We were eating cakes, they were facing bullets,
We were dancing in clubs, they were missing inmates,
Laying on bed of death they wished best to countrymen,
Not caring self, they went on the voyage to heaven.
Remember those braves, our land who protected.
Remember those soldiers, left us behind; indebted.
They were proud of country, we are proud of them.
They would live forever, who died for the motherland.
They didn't fight for power or fame, wealth or gain;
They had a commitment and love for the motherland.
Gun hanged on his shoulder, portrait of a soldier;
have hanged in my room, his sacrifice I always remember.
(c) S D Tiwari
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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A parable about a real woman
There were six men in her life
And they all loved her, but...
Their love was so different.
The first one was very rich.
He loved her because she was beautiful.
He just wanted to have a doll,
To demonstrate her to everyone
And listen to everyones' saying:
'Wow! What a beauty you've got! '
So, she had left him.
The second one loved her because he loved sex
And all the time in bed he repeated:
'Oh, you behave like a whore!
I want you more and more.'
She was fed up with him and left him too.
The third one wanted her to give birth to 11 boys
As he wanted to make his own football team.
She wouldn't say that she didn't like football or children
But....11 boys! She just imagined their noise.
The forth man was a famous sculptor.
She was a muse for him, his Goddess.
He even made a pedestal for her.
But she also had to leave him
As she didn't want to be a secret object.
The fifth one liked the way she cooked.
But he was always hungry, so she understood:
If one day she wouldn't have enough food for him
He would eat her leaving only the bones.
There were six men in her life
And they all loved her but....
Their love was so different.
When the sixth man came into her life
He proclaimed: 'I love you because you are a REAL WOMAN! '
He loved her when she was smiling,
He loved her when she was crying,
He loved her when she was capricious or angry.
But her food was so delicious.
He loved her when she was sometimes foolish
Or sometimes very smart.
He loved her when she was sometimes lazy
And didn't feel like cooking.
He loved her because she was just a woman,
A woman with a womanly soul.
And she had to be understood.
She loved him because he discovered her soul.
She loved him because he was just a man.
When he looked at her or just touched her
Her soul was coming to light.
He had brought her life to delight.
She loved him because he was a REAL MAN.
There were six men in her life, but...
May be there were not six but seven or eight?
Who knows?
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Nothing Natural About It At All
That portrait painted,
Hangs much too low,
The light from it appears to be shaded.
Where did the gleeming smiles,
And the brightness go?
Those sloping lush hills,
Seemed so green just yesterday.
Even when the clouds and rain came near...
None of it on this portrait showed.
The rays of the Sun,
Were then so clear.
Wasn't the Sunrise on the horizon,
Full of vivid promises free of duels?
And who came to smear a tinge of darkness upon it?
That had to have been just after noon.
The peaks of mountains,
Snowcapped and strong?
There is something about it,
That will not be prolonged.
The melting of snow,
Seems to have gone.
What 'is' this?
Something about it,
Has to be stopped.
I can see in its future,
This portrait is going to be forgotten.
Snatched off the wall.
And its presence remembered...
From memories dropped.
That can not be the same portrait!
Seen now to hang so pitifully.
Tilted, in a lopsidedness.
That brings not a hint of joy to me.
Is this someone's idea,
Of a joke to provoke?
My atmosphere...
Is not a place to invite tears?
The sweeping of the strokes...
Has abandoned its meaning.
To another scene in a secret elope.
That portrait painted,
Hangs much too low,
The light from it appears to be shaded.
Where did the smiles,
And the brightness go?
HELLO!
...hello...hello...hello...
Even the echos once heard from the valleys,
Aren't responding with a clarity.
Rich and reflective.
This is not an original.
This one is absolutely faked.
Who is trying to exhibit this image?
To pass it as something great?
Take it away from this place.
Get rid of it.
And tear down that wall.
It makes me sick.
It has become too common.
It blocks out all that's right.
There's nothing natural about it at all.
It conflicts with the ambiance.
And this ambiance...
Does not invite blight!
Get rid of it now!
More light is what I wish.
Take that piece of trash and burn it.
After its been dumped,
To cover the fumes...
In a dirt covered ditch!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Really Ultimately Definitely Obviously
I remember the day we met,
Fearing just to love you,
Seating behind you in class,
Taking every opportunity that came,
Befriending you with a trick,
Coming to your place aimlessly,
My heart was in a bottle,
Yet the bottle in your hands,
My greatest fear was fate,
Thinking she might break it,
I loved you, Really
I loved you, Ultimately
I loved you, Definitely,
I loved you, Obviously
Taking you by your hand,
Telling you be still,
Buying you lunch on fridays,
Driving your fathers car on saturdays,
Being a friend who loved you,
It was you and I knew it,
Writing you a poem,
Telling you i love you,
Oh yes in front of everyone,
The confessions awaited,
Said wanted to tell you a secret,
Your ear you inclined closer,
Kissing your cheek!
The fury you had, the anger arose,
Days passed and time flew,
You told me you love me,
And i told you I loved you,
I love you, Really
I love you, Ultimately
I love you, Definitely
I love you, Obviously
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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Her Portrait
Im painting another portrait. Look at her just look at her. Shes what you made. How do you justify it. Well let me be her angel of darkness. Let me take away all her pain and absorb it into me. I'm a sinner and saint. Im the equilibrium that holds every thing together. I watched many suffer. That when they are the strongest they are ever gonna be. I'm painting another portrait. Look at her just look at her. Shes everything you are not. Are you feeling jealous of what shes got. The ability to heal. The ability shield those under her. Let me be her angel of darkness. Let me take away all her pain and absorb it into me. Let me make her sane. Children are lost as love fades. Revenge leaves so many scars. Families torn apart for justification. Just make it okay. Just make it okay and make it go away. I'm painting another portrait. Just look at her. Just look at her. Such pretty eyes in which evil hides. Pictures of slaughter. It was her three year old daughter. Let me be her angel of darkness.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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