En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Sonnet: Artists

A lifeless bamboo-reed with holes few drilled;
And fingers deft those close or open them,
With air that’s blown by mouth to have it filled,
Producing music enthralling, ahem!

A piece of clay that’s molded by finesse,
And shaped in accordance to sculptor’s mind,
And worked into something that none can guess-
A magic feat that earthlings always find.

Few strokes by brush that spreads some hues across
A canvas specially prepared for it,
That finally lessens or adds more gloss,
Resulting in a painting that‘s a hit!

Our hearty tears of joy to artists skilled;
Our admiration to their works God-willed.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 9-17-2005

poem by John Celes
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Flute - a triolet

Hollow and holes of bamboo played with air.

Most natural, magical, musical instrument.

Makes melodious the complete atmosphere

Hollow and holes of bamboo played with air.

In hands of Lord Krishna, Hindus wish to be flute.

In tranquillity, ears sense celestial experience.

Hollow and holes of bamboo played with air;

Most natural, magical, musical instrument.

poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Part 4: The fish saves the worm

The big-mouth fish, snatched the worm.
As the worm was afraid; a small piece of him,
was left, on the sharp object.

The fish cuddle him, in his mouth.
Swimming as fast as he can;
to make it, close to the shore.
The fish, spit him out, on the land.

As the worm landed, he look toward the fish.
And said, ' thank you for not eating me? '
I wish you well, the fish said. Take care!

As the worm grind his way, toward a new place.
Knowing this ain't his home, the ground was moist.
He drilled a hole, and discover a new home.

The End....

poem by Derrick Clark
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Muse

In my youth's years, she loved me, I am sure.
The flute of seven pipes she gave in my tenure
And harked to me with smile -- without speed,
Along the ringing holes of the reed,
I got to play with my non-artful fingers
The peaceful songs of Phrygian village singers,
And the important hymns, that gods to mortals bade.
>From morn till night in oaks' silent shade
I diligently harked to the mysterious virgin;
Rewarding me, by chance, for any good decision,
And taking locks aside of the enchanting face,
She sometimes took from me the flute, such commonplace.
The reed became alive in consecrated breathing
And filled the heart with holiness unceasing.

poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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The Second Part: Misleading An Idea Like A Blind Man

my left hand touches the right side of my neck
rubbing it and then slides its fingers to my ear
i open my mouth to signify that i long for sleep

i put my hands on top of my unwashed hair
the day's schedule is hectic like the way a juggler pleases our eyes
i open my mouth letting the wall see my egg white
teeth and then i close my mouth again
sipping air inside my lungs
my eyes are like heavy clouds low to the ground
becoming fog to the grass

i am sleepy
but i do not want to sleep

i am teasing time since it has no
underwear

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Open Season On My Heart

Here's to the corners yet to turn
Here's to the bridges yet to burn
Here's to the whole thing blown apart
It's open season on my heart
Days go by like flyin' bricks
Leave gaping holes, too deep to fix
I'd just stay home if I were smart
It's open season on my heart
I can't blame anyone but me
For this wreckless fool I've come to be
My tired excuses just don't fit
They don't look good from where I sit
I've tried to change without much luck
I reach the point where I get stuck
I hit the streets the fireworks start
It's open season on my heart
I can't be something that I'm not
I can't give what I haven't got
I don't know where or why or when
I only know the shape I'm in
So here's to the clown down in my mouth
Here's to the whole thing going south
My own true love's turned poison dart
It's open season on my heart
Here's turning heartaches into art
It's open season on my heart

song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let Us Dance The Tinikling Then

the one without
the bamboo poles
the one
where we hum the music
of the tinikling
in your room
just the two of us
me without my pants on
you without your
inhibitions on
me without my shame on
you without your
second thoughts
me without my regrets
you without your future
me without my past

let us dance then
the tinikling
just the two of us
inside your
scattered room
let it be dark
let it be a dancing
with our eyes closed
with our fingers
crazy with our hands
open
with our hearts
stripped
(0r ripped off)

away from us

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I drilled holes in the floor of the club, and it's sinking.

quote by Bobby Darin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bamboo Tunes and Cat Eyed Girl

In the murmuring evenings,
Cat eyed girl, worn ear-rings,
Stands by bamboo cluster,
Putting down pots of water.

Gilded bamboos sing and sway,
And the tired path becomes gay.
Bamboo hearts throb ever;
Unnamed tunes cease never.

Her bamboo throes resounded
In the gloomy wind unbounded.
Melodies of earth does shower
On her soul that does hover.

Finger tip of the wind brings
Sweet tunes from bamboo strings.
Music enters her inner grove,
Where the forlorn dreams rove.

Cuddled bamboos swing and say
What the lovers failed to say.
Never dying natural music
So keeps her hopes rhythmic.

poem by Fabiyas M V
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The North Window: Bamboo and Rock

A magisterial rock windswept and pure
and a few bamboo so lavish and green:

facing me, they seem full of sincerity.
I gaze into them and can't get enough,

and there's more at the north window
and along the path beside West Pond:

wind sowing bamboo clarities aplenty,
rain gracing the subtle greens of moss.

My wife's still here, frail and old as me,
but no one else: the children are gone.

Leave the window open. If you close it,
who'll keep us company for the night?

poem by Bai Juyi
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On the Lake (1)

Mountain monks facing chess sit
Board on bamboo dark quiet
Shine bamboo no person see
Sometimes hear down chess piece sound
Two monks sit facing, playing chess on the mountain,
The bamboo shadow on the board is dark and clear.
Not a person sees the bamboo's shadow,
One sometimes hears the pieces being moved.

poem by Bai Juyi
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The Funeral Party

Two pale figures
Ache in silence
Timeless
In the quiet ground
Side by side
In age and sadness
I watched
And acted wordlessly
As piece by piece
You performed your story
Moving through an unknown past
Dancing at the funeral party
Memories of childrens dreams
Lie lifeless
Fading
Lifeless
Hand in hand with fear and shadows
Crying at the funeral party
I heard a song
And turned away
As piece by piece
You performed your story
Noiselessly across the floor
Dancing at the funeral party

song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Musical Instrument

What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
And breaking the golden lilies afloat
With the dragon-fly on the river.

He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
From the deep cool bed of the river:
The limpid water turbidly ran,
And the broken lilies a-dying lay,
And the dragon-fly had fled away,
Ere he brought it out of the river.

High on the shore sat the great god Pan
While turbidly flowed the river;
And hacked and hewed as a great god can,
With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed,
Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed
To prove it fresh from the river.

He cut it short, did the great god Pan,
(How tall it stood in the river!)
Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man,
Steadily from the outside ring,
And notched the poor dry empty thing
In holes, as he sat by the river.

'This is the way,' laughed the great god Pan
(Laughed while he sat by the river),
'The only way, since gods began
To make sweet music, they could succeed.'
Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,
He blew in power by the river.

Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!
Piercing sweet by the river!
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
The sun on the hill forgot to die,
And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly
Came back to dream on the river.

Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,
To laugh as he sits by the river,
Making a poet out of a man:
The true gods sigh for the cost and pain, --
For the reed which grows nevermore again
As a reed with the reeds in the river.

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Peace Proposal

Said General Clay to General Gore really must we fight this silly war
To kill and die in such a bore I quite agree said General Gore
Said General Gore to General Clay we could go to the beach today
And have some icecream on the way a grand idea said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore we'll build sand castles on the shore
Said General Gore we'll splash and play let's leave right now said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay but what if the sea's closed today
And what if the sand's been blown away the dreadful thought said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay I've always feared the ocean's spray
And we may drown it's true we may it chills my blood said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore my bathin' suit is slightly tore
We better go on with our war I quite agree said General Gore
The General Clay chanrged General Gore as bullets flew and cannons roared
And now at last there is no more of General Clay or General Gore

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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The Generals

Said General Clay to General Gore,
'Oh must we fight this silly war?
To kill and die is such a bore.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'We could go to the beach today
And have some ice cream on the way.'
'A grand idea,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'But what if the sea is closed today?
And what if the sand's been blown away?'
'A dreadful thought,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'I've always feared the ocean's spray,
And we may drown!' 'It's true, we may.
It chills my blood,' said General Clay.
Said General Clay to General Gore,
'My bathing suit is slightly tore.
We'd better go on with our war.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Then General Clay charged General Gore
As bullets flew and cannons roared.
And now, alas! there is no more
Of General Clay or General Gore.

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Root To Branches

Words get written. Words get twisted.
Old meanings move in the drift of time.
Lift the flickering torches. See gentle shadows change
the features of the faces cut in unmoving stone.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
True disciples carrying that message
to colour just a little with their personal touch.
Home-spun fancy weavers and naked half-believers --
Crusades and creeds descend like fiery flakes of snow.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
In wet and windy priest-holes. Grand in vast cathedrals.
High on lofty minarets or in the temples of doom.
I hope the old man's got his face on.
He'd better be some quick change artist.
Suffer little children to make their minds up soon.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no one's listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.

song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Little Less Conversation

A little less conversation, a little more action please
All this aggravation aint satisfactioning me
A little more bite and a little less bark
A little less fight and a little more spark
Close your mouth and open up your heart and baby satisfy me
Satisfy me baby
Baby close your eyes and listen to the music
Drifting through a summer breeze
Its a groovy night and I can show you how to use it
Come along with me and put your mind at ease
A little less conversation, a little more action please
All this aggravation aint satisfactioning me
A little more bite and a little less bark
A little less fight and a little more spark
Close your mouth and open up your heart and baby satisfy me
Satisfy me baby
Come on baby Im tired of talking
Grab your coat and lets start walking
Come on, come on
Come on, come on
Come on, come on
Dont procrastinate, dont articulate
Girl its getting late, gettin upset waitin around
A little less conversation, a little more action please
All this aggravation aint satisfactioning me
A little more bite and a little less bark
A little less fight and a little more spark
Close your mouth and open up your heart and baby satisfy me
Satisfy me baby

song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Roots To Branches

Words get written. words get twisted.
Old meanings move in the drift of time.
Lift the flickering torches. see gentle shadows change
The features of the faces cut in unmoving stone.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no ones listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
True disciples carrying that message
To colour just a little with their personal touch.
Home-spun fancy weavers and naked half-believers --
Crusades and creeds descend like fiery flakes of snow.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no ones listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.
In wet and windy priest-holes. grand in vast cathedrals.
High on lofty minarets or in the temples of doom.
I hope the old mans got his face on.
Hed better be some quick change artist.
Suffer little children to make their minds up soon.
Bad mouth on a prayer day, hope no ones listening.
Roots down in the wet clay, branches glistening.

song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Is Music

What is music?
What is music?
Is music the languages that shoot out of my mouth and speak in silence?
Is music the moving of my lip according to my mind command?
What is music?
Music is the one two word that my mind put together in my mouth
Music is the airs that escape a snap of my violence teeth
Music is the wisdom sound my mind and mouth produce
Music is the combine sound that entertain my ear drum
What is music?
Music is a simple sound I verbalize to state my joyful soul
Music is the jingle that loosen my soul in time of desire
Music is the sounds that launch me to a free world
Music is the spirit that struggle in me
What is music?
Music is the sound I scream from my mouth to a free humanity
Music is a one two word I yell
Music is the lyric I cry to express my mental mind,
My beating heart
My jumping feet
My shouting soul
My sweating body
What is music?
Music is the rhythm of my voice, what is music? ?

poem by Robert Otim
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I wouldn't mind producing a movie with a music storyline, but acting in one is too close to home.

quote by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Hundered Years

It doesn't matter if we all die
Ambition in the back of a black car
In a high building there is so much to do
Going home time
A story on the radio...
Something small falls out of your mouth
And we laugh
A prayer for something better
A prayer
For something better
Please love me
Meet my mother...
But the fear takes hold
Creeping up the stairs in the dark
Waiting for the death blow
Stroking your hair as the patriots are shot
Fighting for freedom on the television
Sharing the world with slaughtered pigs
Have we got everything?
She struggles to get away...
The pain
And the creeping feeling
A little black haired girl
Waiting for Saturday
The death of her father pushing her
Pushing her white face into the mirror
Aching inside me
And turn me round
Just like the old days
Just like the old days
Caressing an old man
And painting a lifeless face
Just a piece of new meat in a clean room
The soldiers close in under a yellow moon
All shadows and deliverance
Under a black flag
A hundred years of blood
Crimson
The ribbon tightens round my throat
I open my mouth
And my head bursts open
A sound like a tiger thrashing in the water
Thrashing in the water
Over and over
We die one after the other
Over and over
We die one after the other after the other...
It feels like a hundred years
One hundred years

song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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