Portrait of life...
Awakened to the rough sketch of another morning,
The birth of this new day but a canvass of new creation,
The pallette of life felt in every breath and sense I feel,
My portrait slowly takes shape as the day unfolds,
I am the artist painting life upon another days canvas,
The beauty I preceive has influence on those around me,
For I possess a power within known to all true poets,
The power to paint a beautiful landscape of hope,
Or to darken man's reality with visions of despair,
What picture of eternity shall you paint upon life's journey? ...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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Related quotes
Winter
Shadows stretch long upon frosty earth,
The warming kiss of the sun a distant memory,
Darkness has become master of day,
Coldness smothers all living things,
Creeping up, suffocating, crushing all of life,
Ever friendless cold engulfing, killing all,
The canvass of life cleansed for another season,
Until the pallette of spring shines once more,
Painting as ever her beautiful portrait,
And all of life shall begin anew...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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You Only Paint The Picture Once
(Teddy Gentry/Randy Owen/Ronnie Rogers/Greg Fowler)
Look at those evening shadows
Casting a peaceful light
The sun is disappearing
It's a beautiful sight
Moments caught forever
By the master's touch
A lasting reminder
To us
You only paint the picture once
(And) you only get one chance
Take the time to do your best
While the brush is in your hand
Make sure it's just right
Before the colors dry
You can't change it once it's done
You only paint the picture once
Love is the canvas
That's where it all starts
A lifetime together
Becomes a work of art
Just look what's been created
Between your heart and mine
Oh I believe that we're one of a kind
You only paint the picture once
(And) you only get one chance
Take the time to do your best
While the brush is in your hand
Make sure it's just right
Before the colors dry
You can't change it once it's done
You only paint the picture once
It's a portrait of life
You can't live it twice
You only paint the picture once
song performed by by Alabama
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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Creation Hath Worked Its Mastery
Creation hath worked its mastery
Into the existence we know as our own.
We are as the statue of David if he were
To claim his existence free from Michelangelo’s hand,
We are a work of perfection that has the ability to deny
Our creator, nature hath a power to paint a picture,
A picture born with the ability to deny its painter
Any right to claim its existence lay within the imagination
Of the artist.
True art takes upon a life of its own,
Its home within the heart of the observer,
Those un-reserved enough to allow the
Canvas marble to speak unto their Hearts.
poem by David Lacey
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Life's passion...
As mother earth exhales life's passion,
I drink deeply her sweet nectar.
I stroll through her meadows and valleys,
A gusting breeze dances softly across my skin.
I crave the feel of her sweet caress,
She has the power to raise me from my prison.
To save me from myself so I may soar freely,
To gaze upon the beauty of all humanity.
She takes my dark thoughts and leaves only hope,
Seasons of love more beautiful than my senses can drink.
I see the purity of love and I bask in untainted emotions,
The beauty of life can bring peace from all the sorrow.
And on my journey, I find peace and love for all...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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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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Life is a painting! !
Coloured hues make up our life,
A role modelling brush shapes up our life,
Pure water mix our sorrows with joys,
A canvas's always there to put on your life,
A stand will always place you high in life,
A person is always beside to guide you in life,
And at last the whole world exists to look at your life....
You first paint your life on a piece of white,
you strive hard to shape your life,
but remember you always enjoy the strife you put in your life,
you first succeed when you sketch your life,
you then succeed when you paint it right,
you last succeed when you frame it bright....
Remenber a small jurk may spoil your thing,
bit of misguidance or excess of showing,
may not seem big when you ae doing,
but finally while looking,
that makes all the spoiling....
Just it is, your mistakes are not big,
when you do it,
but when life gets tougher,
mistakes look as blunders.
so strive as hard as you painted as much in life to succeed...
Good Luck! ! Go paint your life..
poem by Koushik Poolla
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God's Canvas Above
The Artist behind the canvas above, the sky's what I'm speaking of,
Stretched above so wide and blue, every day a painting brand new,
God's painting above for all to see, painted by The Lord of Eternity,
The canvas above God's Creation, visible by every man and nation.
He begins every day with the sun, The Creator's Light for everyone,
Keeping God's touch in mind, sometimes the sun He hides behind,
Those clouds, so white and full, all through The Lord's creative rule,
When the Lord does paint the sky, which is seen through every eye.
God ends each day not the same, although the clouds may remain,
As night begins He paints the sun, well over this earth's far horizon,
Turning the sky to a black canopy, to paint those stars that we see,
With the sun replaced by the moon, along with stars that are strewn.
This is just the sky above my friend, for God's Creation has no end,
It goes beyond what we can see, for God is The Creator of Eternity,
But, what God chooses to display, is a witness to all nations today,
His witness that men come to know, The Lord above all men below.
God's Creation, to all mankind, is The Creators testimony to remind,
There's a Creator beyond the sky, One, Who created both you and I,
Whose witness creates accountability, for every person that can see,
That above man there is a Creator, Who sent Christ to be our Savior.
(Copyright ©06/2012)
The Flat Horizon
(wang chung)
I wanna paint your portrait in bright color
I wanna paint the lines in red and blue
I wanna make your eyes appear like starlings
Saying, darling, I love you!
I wanna set your face upon a landscape
I wanna show the love and toil and sweat
I wanna show your beauty like a crystal
In an all-night launderette
Chorus:
Oh this line is the flat horizon
And you are the shape on the left
Oh this line is the flat horizon
And this is the sun in the sky
Oh this line is the flat horizon
And makes the great divide
Between heaven and angels
And earth and men
I wanna show what lies beneath the surface
In little squares of purple, green and gold
So everyone can see their own reflection
In the mirror of your soul
I wanna paint your arrogance and beauty
I wanna paint the way you laugh at me
I wanna paint the world in which I see you
Fixed for all eternity
Repeat chorus
I wanna paint your portrait in bright color
I wanna paint your personality
I wanna show the world just how I see you
I wanna show the world just how I see you
You know that only I can guarantee you
Precious immortality
Precious immortality
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Wang Chung
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When is a Painting Finished?
I paint.
On my easel
pictures in oil and acrylic grow
like stalagmites in limestone caves.
I think that painting is a magical act
that transforms invisible thoughts
and feelings into visible colors
and forms.
But I never can tell
when is the work finished.
After all it is always possible
to change a line, a hue, or a color
or even the whole composition.
Painters have different opinions
about this.
Some say that when the artist
successfully planted
all the details onto the canvas
the image expresses itself
as a severed autonomous entity,
which frees the painter from
the task of continuing to paint.
From then on the painting gains
an independent inner life of its own.
However, abandoning a work of art
involves a moral decision
ripened by the stiffening tension
between skill, creativity and integrity.
At what point does the polished image
meet the artist’s expectations?
And then, even if it does,
no single image can express
all that an artist wants to show,
and consequently his muses
compel him to carry on with his work
and create more paintings.
Hence the oeuvre of the artist
evolves as a set of different images
of the same single thrust and grind.
Many years ago I was wandering
through the countryside
of southern France in Provence.
Once I stopped to look at the road
where the village met the meadow.
A sturdy artist stood there
in front of his easel
painting the landscape
with skilful brushstrokes
on a well-stretched canvas.
I stared for a while
at the burgeoning picture
and then asked him:
“How do you know
when is the composition complete? ”
He gave me a piercing glance.
“Well”, he said,
“if you take a hammer
and hit me on the head
I know that the painting is finished.”
poem by Paul Hartal
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Answer me, please Lord...! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Do You like a potter,
Sit down with clay
And give things shape…
Do You like a painter,
Mix colours in a pallette to paint
Such beautiful landscapes…
Do You like an engineer,
Make blue prints and calculations,
Before carrying out Your vision…
Do you like an architect,
Make drawings and rough sketches,
Before staring a project…
Are these childish questions?
Am overcome with wonder,
As I look at Your creation…
Tell me, tell me, and tell me
It's not true; all I see is
Simply an illusion…
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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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
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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
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The Portrait of Rachel Fayne
She glided into the studio
And dropped her clothes on the floor,
Gave the artist a pirouette,
And said: 'Do you want any more? '
He shrugged, and told her to take a seat
While he etched the background in,
'I'll paint you draped on the canapé,
I'll tell you, when I begin! '
She wandered naked around the room,
At home in the artist's den,
Rachel Fayne was the model's name,
She'd modelled since she was ten.
From auburn hair to her shapely calves
She'd stared from a hundred scenes,
That hung in frames under different names
As a slave, or a Gypsy Queen.
Her lips were full and her eyes were green,
They'd startled men in the past,
Staring from frames in the galleries,
In the windows of shops they passed,
So haughty and so beautiful,
And beyond the reach of men,
Yet here she'd bare, for all to share
Through the brush in the artist's den!
She hadn't sat for John Durrell
Before, but she knew his work,
The famous 'Woman of Paddington',
The 'Girl by the Friendly Kirk, '
His 'Venus under the Waterfall' -
Her heart had skipped a bit,
As she stared green-eyed in her wounded pride,
Would he never ask her to sit?
The summons came through a friend of hers,
'Be there, first thing in the morn! '
She'd bathed, and powdered her body well
By the light of the breaking dawn,
For John Durrell was a master, skilled
And she knew it would seal her fame,
To be tied to an R.A. masterpiece,
And the famous Durrell name.
'Don't ask too many questions, he's
Intense, and immersed in paint,
He's hard and cold, and inclined to scold
If you don't sit still, or faint,
He'll look at you like a curlicue,
An enigma of line and form,
His passion is brushed in his pictures,
So, it won't keep your body warm! '
He laid her out on the canapé
And took up his sable brush,
Mixed the tint on his palette there,
For the flesh tones, and the blush,
He worked with a growing intensity
And he frowned, as if in pain,
As he brought the features to life within
The portrait of Rachel Fayne.
She wasn't to see the canvas, he
Would cover it, out of sight,
Before she dressed, and took her fee,
Was bundled into the night,
Each day she lay on the canapé,
Each day he'd frown and paint,
'There's something isn't quite right, ' he'd say,
In a tone of quiet constraint.
While Rachel felt there was something wrong
With her, a cold or flu,
Perhaps it was her complexion,
It had taken a lighter hue,
She felt quite sick to her stomach,
Couldn't eat, and her sight was dim,
But he'd continued on painting, so
She held her sickness in.
While there on the painted canvas was
A beauty, so profound,
Her eyes of the deepest green, that seemed
To follow him around,
The lips were a pouting marvel,
Breathing life to the easel there,
Durrell becoming excited with
Each brush stroke through her hair.
His heart was beating much faster with
Each stroke applied anew,
The love that cozened, eluded him
Began to seep on through,
While Rachel gasped to take each breath
And couldn't speak, or think,
As the woman within the picture, well...
Her eyes, they seemed to blink!
The canvas facing the furthest wall
Belongs to John Durrell,
The first and the only portrait that
He swears he'll never sell,
For where the woman had been, is white,
No paint was left behind,
And Rachel Fayne, before she died,
They say that she was blind!
22 January 2010
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Raindrops...
Raindrops fall from above cleansing our canvas of existance,
The landscape of creation is nourished by these watery jewels,
I am entranced by the melodious pitter patter of these life giving gifts,
The eternal tune of life beats out its rythm upon fertile ground,
I watch as the rain falls in a seemingly chaotic confusion,
I follow each dropp to it's ulimate destination,
Then I realise each dropp has fallen just where it should,
Raindrops fall harshly to earth shattering into unnoticeable specs,
Once again nature has painted for us the flawless portrait of life...
Spread the love... The peace will folow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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The Beautiful plan...
We know not where we came from,
Or where on lifes voyage we go.
But one fact remains quite certain,
This world's full of joy and woe.
Another fact we must be aware of,
It's a truth that is oh so plain.
It's in our power each day and hour,
To add to the pleasure or pain.
Our life is such a brief journey,
We exist but a small time in space.
And while we remain it's our duty,
To brighten and better this place.
The trouble I think with us lately,
Is the lack of a need to be sweet.
We all have the power within us,
To make our adventure a treat.
If we all took the time to be pleasant,
And travelled that extra mile.
We could make a very big difference,
And bring to some faces a smile.
How soon can we lighten the burden,
How easily right all the wrong.
If none of us shirk and each of us work,
We could help our neighbour along.
If we spread peace and love on our journey,
The picture becomes oh so clear.
The one's we know only as strangers,
Can become cherrished friends very dear.
So stop wondering where we came from,
Stop looking for faults and for flaws.
Rise up to each day and embrace it,
We're all part of a wonderful cause.
So look to your neighbour and tell him,
Life requires a sincere man.
There's a need for us all to try harder,
And strengthen this beautiful plan...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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God Himself Cries
Joseph Manduke Poems
Poetry and thoughts written after 1956
Friday, July 18,2008
God himself Cries
When love is true and lost the universe itself weeps
God himself cries when love is lost
Love is not contained
Galaxies weep when true love is lost
Nay, clusters of galaxies stop turning in infinity when love dies
God cries
The creator's heart itself, the infinite word
the power of creation that is love, waits
Takes pause in the tear
takes a moment from the foundation itself of all life and all hope
God sheds a tear
Such breaks the heart of the creator
When love is not preserved
Creation itself blinks out of reality,
And a moment is lost as God weeps for the loss of Love so precious
God himself cries
When Love is lost
Love is the creative force itself.
All is about love
God cries when love is unpure.
Creation stops and waits and takes a moment to mourn the lost lovers dream.
Preserve your Love.
Save the tears of God.
Sing a praise to having known true Love.
In the act of will that breaks a heart.
God cries.
Eternity wains under the creator's sadness
And we lose touch of precious binds to creation itself.
We lose our life and our fragile hold on humanity.
When love is lost,
Hope is lost,
Peace is lost,
And God cries
poem by Joseph Manduke
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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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My sister-in-law is a painter, and I'll say, how long did it take you to paint that painting. She'll say, It took me maybe three days, but it took me all my life to get the skills to paint that painting.
quote by Anthony Doerr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Portraitures....
she lays there
her legs spread on the table
like a turkey
dinner
he kneels
and surrenders all that he has owned
he breathes
and then takes time
to take back what he has exhaled
it is a picture of having to give
and having to take
someone may call it love perhaps
but actually
it is not what is intended to be
it is but a portrait
and nothing else
it is still life
it is nothing but the connivance of the brush
and the paint
and the keeping that lies within the boundary
of the frame
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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