Artists wrestled here!
110
Artists wrestled here!
Lo, a tint Cashmere!
Lo, a Rose!
Student of the Year!
For the easel here
Say Repose!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Related quotes
From The Break The Nightingale
From the brake the Nightingale
Sings exulting to the Rose;
Though he sees her waxing pale
In her passionate repose,
While she triumphs waxing frail,
Fading even while she glows;
Though he knows
How it goes -
Knows of last year's Nightingale
Dead with last year's Rose.
Wise the enamoured Nightingale,
Wise the well-beloved Rose!
Love and life shall still prevail,
Nor the silence at the close
Break the magic of the tale
In the telling, though it shows -
Who but knows
How it goes! -
Life a last year's Nightingale,
Love a last year's Rose.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Pink Cashmere
Ooh, here I go again
Falling in love all over
Ooh, the cycle never ends
U just pray u dont get burned
Ooh, this fire inside of me
Dont nobody realize
Ooh, what u r 2 me
But baby u got 2 learn
Im making u a coat of pink cashmere
U got 2 know how I feel about u
How I always want u near
Im making u a coat of pink cashmere
Im counting every minute of every hour
til u r here
Girl, can u understand
I never used 2 go dancing
I...i was the kind of man who rather stay at home
Now, when I think about
H-how much I miss u
I wanna jump for joy
And thank him Im not alone (I am not alone)
Ooh, Im making u a coat of pink cashmere
U got 2 know how I feel about u baby
How I always want u near
Im making u a coat of pink cashmere
Im gonna count every minute of every hour
Until u r here (til u r here)
Here I go again
Falling in love all over
The cycle never ends (cycle never endin)
U pray u dont get burnt
Im making u a coat (Im making u a coat of pink cashmere)
Cashmere, baby, cashmere (u got 2 know how I feel about u)
U got 2 know (how I always want u near)
Yeah baby, baby, baby, baby (Im making u a coat of pink cashmere)
How I feel about u
How I feel about u
(Im counting every minute of every hour, til u r here)
When I get my arms around u baby (yeah)
So many things Im gonna do (pink cashmere)
Im gonna hug u (u got 2 know how I feel about u)
Im gonna kiss u (how I always want u near)
Like your, like your guru (Im making u a coat of pink cashmere)
I wanna tell u a bedtime story baby
1 u never heard before (Im counting every minute of every hour - every hour)
I said 1 u never heard before (how I feel about u)
About a girl (coat of pink cashmere)
About a boy
And all their joy
All the things they show each other (coat of pink cashmere)
How 2 stay in love
How 2 stay so happy
Baby girl (coat of pink cashmere)
So many things
So many things
Im gonna do
Cant u come 2 me? (coat of pink cashmere)
Cant u get 2 me?
Im gonna make gonna Im gonna gonna gonna onna
Im gonna make a little pretty pink coat of cashmere
Cuz uve got 2 know
How I feel about u babe
How I feel about u babe
Im gonna make a little pretty coat
Im gonna count every second, every minute
Each and every hour of every day
til u come on back
Come on back
2 your little man
Gonna make u a coat of cashmere baby
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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First rose
A heart of youthful year was yearning,
Crying out the pain; the burning
Tears would e’er remain until
An answer from the man would see them die.
A sympathetic mirror blessed her –
Softened up the curves, caressed her
Skin to help regain a calm –
Assuage a heaving breast and blushing eye.
And through a struggling mind, a chiming:
Someone at the door; the timing
Perfect and exquisite in the
Reconciliation of her woes.
She took the oak to make the parting,
‘Here! ’ a presentation startling.
Drawing deep through radiant lips, she
Kissed her very dream: a crimson rose.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Cashmere morning
It's a cashmere type of morning
Warm and plush in many ways
It is very important to me
To feel this comfort
On such a cold and fridget day
The atmosphere seems frozen
Due to the harmful words
which was once said
The type of words
Which can send
forth chills down inside
Playing over and over
In ones head
Yet, instead
Iam confident and comforted
For to me
It's a Cashmere Day
Iam covered
From the cold
In a warm
Precious and yet delicate way
It's partly due to your presence
Which envokes purpose and
passion to embrace
It's your
Classic charisma
The special words you say
Your elegant style
Of encouragement
Also, the warmth of your touch
The hidden strength
You share
with others
That really means so much
It's a Cashmere Day
poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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The Rose
We love the land when the world goes round,
And deep, deep down in her thorny ground,
Where nobody comes, and nobody knows,
We love the Rose. Oh! we love the Rose.
And none to tell us, and none to teach
By the western hedge or the shelving beach,
But all of us know what everyone knows,
We love the Rose. Oh! we love the Rose.
We love the rose when our day is dead,
And they lay their roses upon our bed;
Too late! Too late! in our last repose!
But we love the Rose. Ah! we love the Rose.
poem by Henry Lawson
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There were some extremely good teachers there that were great artists really in their own right. It was actually very hard to concentrate on getting down to going any work being an art student especially when it's a flighty thing at best.
quote by Graham Coxon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Miss Annie Hopkins
BENEATH the shelter of the bush,
In undisturbed repose—
Unruffled by the kiss of breeze—
There lurks a smiling rose;
Beneath thine outer beauty, gleams,
In holy light enshrined,
A symbol of the blooming flower,
A pure, unspotted mind.
The lovely tint that crowns the hill
When westward sinks the sun,
The milder dazzle in the stream
That evening sits upon,
The morning blushes, mantling o’er
The face of land and sea,
They all recall to mind the charms
That are combined in thee!
poem by Henry Kendall
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0008 A Woman's World
She was artistic as a student,
sweet-natured, imaginative, not
overly ambitious; a good catch
for him, the fellow student with
the drive, the ambition, the great
family connections.
They married young; she did
what so many girl art students
have done: gave him all her
intelligent support, bore and raised
his children; and in the few brief moments
that she was granted for herself, took out
her student paintbox, and while the kettle boiled,
sat at the kitchen table, and beyond the view of washing-up
part painted that familiar view –
a jug of garden flowers on the kitchen window-sill..
and when he left her for
another strong woman who, however,
sculpted the cutting-edge new abstract thing
she brought up his children by herself
and when they left the nest, and she, now older,
had more time to give to paint,
she returned - as so many artists do –
to that motif, for them an eternal reminder
of that moment when the exalted mind
sees, beyond the kitchen sink,
a glimpse of that great heavenly view
beyond the garden flowers, where
she could walk into that paradise
that eternally awaits
the sweet-tempered heart..
and year by year, the modest
jug of flowers on the window-sill
became herself
and she
became that heavenly view
until the jug of flowers burst into glory
and she did what only ikon painters, praying, do
and gold and silver joined the rainbow paint
to point the way to an eternity
where kitchen sink’s now holy path;
that is more now than now
and she became,
the painting is,
a jug of Eden's flowers on a kitchen window-sill
and with all heaven in its sight
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Student Demonstration Time
Starting out with berkeley free speech
And later on at peoples park
The winds of change fanned into flames
Student demonstrations spark
Down to isla vista where police felt so harassed
They called the special riot squad of the l. a. county sheriff
Well theres a riot going on
Theres a riot going on
Theres a riot going on
Student demonstration time
The violence spread down south to where jackson state brothers
Learned not to say nasty things about southern policemens mothers
Nothing much was said about it and really next to nothing done
The pen is mightier than the sword, but no match for a gun
Well theres a riot going on
Theres a riot going on
Well theres a riot going on
cause its student demonstration time
America was stunned on may 4, 1970
When rally turned to riot up at kent state university
They said the students scared the guard
Though the troops were battle dressed
Four martyrs earned a new degree
The bachelor of bullets
I know were all fed up with useless wars and racial strife
But next time theres a riot, well, you best stay out of sight
Well theres a riot going on
Theres a riot going on
Well theres a riot going on
Student demonstration time
Stay away when theres a riot going on
Student demonstration
Stay away when theres a riot going on
Student demonstration
Stay away when theres a riot going on
Student demonstration
Stay away when theres a riot going on
Its student demonstration
Stay away when theres a riot going on
Student demonstration
Stay away when theres a riot going on
Student demonstration
Stay away when theres a riot going on
Its student demonstration
Stay away when theres a riot going on
Student demonstration
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sweet Potato Muffin Cake
Sweet potato muffin cake,
What is it going to take...
For you to let me get,
Another hug and squeeze?
I promise the next time,
Not to sneeze and cough.
My allergies flared up...
Just when you took your sweater off.
Who knew I was allergic to cashmere?
Sweet potato muffin cake,
What is it going to take...
For you to let me get,
Another hug and squeeze?
Now that you know,
Cashmere and I do not agree...
Perhaps you will give me,
Another opportunity?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Where does the violet tint end and the orange tint begins? Distinctly we see the difference of the colors, but where exactly does the one first blending enter into the other. So with sanity and insanity.
quote by Herman Melville
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Some Rose Leaves Brought From The Vale Of Cashmere
Faded and pale their beauty, vanished their early bloom,
Their folded leaves emit alone a sweet though faint perfume,
But, oh! than brightest bud or flower to me are they more dear,
They come from that rose-haunted land, the bright Vale of Cashmere.
Cashmere! a spell is in that name! what dreams its sound awakes
Of roses sweet as Eden’s flowers, of minarets and lakes,
Of scenes as vaguely, strangely bright as those of fairy land,
Springing to life and loveliness ’neath some enchanter’s wand!
Cashmere! poetic in its name, its clear and brilliant skies
That seem to clothe earth, flower and wave in their own lovely dyes;
Poetic in its legend lore, and spell more dear than all,
Enshrined in poet’s inmost heart, the home of “Nourmahal.”
Yes, there oft fell her fairy feet, there shone the glances bright,
That won for her the glorious name of harem’s queen and light;
There, as she wandered ’mid its bowers, her royal love beside,
She taught him to forget all else save her, his beauteous, bride.
Cashmere! what would this heart not give to see thy favored earth,
So rich in nature’s peerless gifts, in beauty’s dazzling worth,
Rich in a name that in mine ear from childhood’s hour hath rung,
The land of which impassioned Moore with such sweet power hath sung.
Yet, were I there, oh! well I know the time would surely come
When my yearning heart would turn again to my far Canadian home,
Longing to look once more upon its wintry wastes of snow,
And the friends whose hearts throb like mine own, with friendship’s changeless glow.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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Recurrence
We shall have our little day.
Take my hand and travel still
Round and round the little way,
Up and down the little hill.
It is good to love again;
Scan the renovated skies,
Dip and drive the idling pen,
Sweetly tint the paling lies.
Trace the dripping, pierced heart,
Speak the fair, insistent verse,
Vow to God, and slip apart,
Little better, Little worse.
Would we need not know before
How shall end this prettiness;
One of us must love the more,
One of us shall love the less.
Thus it is, and so it goes;
We shall have our day, my dear.
Where, unwilling, dies the rose
Buds the new, another year.
poem by Dorothy Parker
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Student, Teacher
I would like to be a teacher!
The only qualification for teaching
is to be the student.
How can I be a student?
You have to find a teacher
who knows he is the student.
poem by David Taylor
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Two birds on the same tree
Two birds rest on the same tree;
their eyes are bright;
they look alike; yet one
is the Teacher; one the Student;
the Student tastes all the many fruits
upon that tree; the Teacher sits, just watches,
filled with love and pride;
the eyes of both are bright;
when the Student has tasted all,
the Teacher asks what has been learnt; for
only the Teacher knows within their heart:
that now the Student is the teacher;
the Teacher listens as a student;
the Student speaks now as a teacher
who has learned this of themself;
the Teacher’s eyes are bright:
knowing that to live it through
shows the knowledge to be true;
the Student is teaching the Teacher now, of
how to teach; the Teacher glows to know
the Student may surpass the Teacher;
knowledge shines from both their eyes;
who is the more glorious of these two
who share both the same name?
who rejoice to need the other;
who rejoice to be the other;
now they are silent; now the tree’s rejoicing too;
Its roots above; its fruits below;
its leaves, a shelter;
its branches, home.
*
[ Leaning on a poem of Kabir: Indian readers will be familiar with
'two birds in a tree' as a metaphor for acting with detachment; Kabir takes this further, into knowledge gained from wise action...]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Just One Rose...
that's a homework i need you to tell me if i should hand it to the teacher or not...(:
just one rose, a pretty rose...
just one rose for me with no coze...
just one rose pure and true...
just one rose for me is all i can do...
just one rose somewhere out there...
just one rose for me to care...
just one rose when dark days prevail...
just one rose when people only use petrail...
just one rose and all the time...
just one rosefor me is a crime...
poem by rose of death XxX
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Bestowers Of Transformative Vision
pathos suffering passion
ripe within bodily experience
pathos of culture artistic expression
artists the 'I give birth to'
shape shifters people creators
bestowers of transformative vision
sentence seen is life vibration alteration
passionate in artistic creation expression
enrichers of web strand seekers beholders
artists hung upon vision quests
artists hung upon life beat heart beats
artists hung upon eyes burning in soul flame
artists historical now you see them now you don’t
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The strongest results were in Florida and Texas. In just one year in a Texas charter school, an average student gained 7 percentile points in math and 8 percentile points in reading, while Florida charter schools improved student performance by 6 percentile points.
quote by Maggie Gallagher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Mountain Spring
Peace hath an altar there. The sounding feet
Of thunder and the wildering wings of rain
Against fire-rifted summits flash and beat,
And through grey upper gorges swoop and strain;
But round that hallowed mountain-spring remain,
Year after year, the days of tender heat,
And gracious nights whose lips with flowers are sweet,
And filtered lights, and lutes of soft refrain.
A still, bright pool. To men I may not tell
The secrets that its heart of water knows,
The story of a loved and lost repose;
Yet this I say to cliff and close-leaved dell:
A fitful spirit haunts yon limpid well,
Whose likeness is the faithless face of Rose.
poem by Henry Kendall
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A Faithful Witness
To the firstborn of Yahseph,
Of all that is created;
To the secondborn of Yahseph,
Do set set your mind on Mount Zion;
For His name is His glory and,
Of the economic well-being.
Of the year of the rat,
Of the year of the dog,
Of the year of the cow,
Of the year of the bull,
Of the year of the sheep,
Of the year of the dragon,
Of the year of the snake,
Of the year of the pig,
Of the year of the goat,
Of the year of the lizard,
Of the year of the crocodile,
Of the year of the elephant,
Of the year of the scorpion,
Of the year of the turtle,
Of the year of the fish,
Of the year of the earth,
Of the year of the wind,
Of the year of the fire,
Of the year of the water,
And of the year of the bush!
Like the firstborns of slaves.
The hips of romance,
The faithful witness will not lie;
The same day,
The same night,
Of the love shared at where no oxen are;
And the crib was very clean.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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