Sketch Book
If I may,
allow thee,
stand
lay
find
your
pose.
Will sketch thee in thy book.
Charcoal
grainy
dark
smudges blending,
image
take
form.
Disrobe
do not,
remove thy cloth
woven
cotton
cover
disguise
thy body shape
curves
contours
angles.
Distraction.
Already have sketch in hand,
conjured forth,
time
and
time
again.
Thy body shape,
lies beneath,
across they clothing drape?
Still life.
Artists interpretation.
Thy beauty.
Recline,
arm at side
other over head
finger poised
chin angled toward thee
eyes at slight glance,
legs
lounging
relaxed
ankles crossed.
Nude.
Exposed.
Yes,
of course.
Anywhere you would like,
when
your
ready.
Will sketch thee in thy book.
poem by Gary Kedron
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Related quotes
Thee, Thee, Only Thee
The dawning of morn, the daylight's sinking,
The night's long hours still find me thinking
Of thee, thee, only thee.
When friends are met, and goblets crown'd,
And smiles are near, that once enchanted,
Unreach'd by all that sunshine round,
My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted
By thee, thee, only thee.
Whatever in fame's high path could waken
My spirit once, is now forsaken
For thee, thee, only thee.
Like shores, by which some headlong bark
To the ocean hurries, resting never,
Life's scenes go by me, bright or dark,
I know not, heed not, hastening ever
To thee, thee, only thee.
I have not a joy but of thy bringing,
And pain itself seems sweet when springing
From thee, thee, only thee.
Like spells, that nought on earth can break,
Till lips, that know the charm, have spoken,
This heart, howe'er the world may wake
Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken
By thee, thee, only thee.
poem by Thomas Moore
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To Thee, Old Cause!
TO thee, old Cause!
Thou peerless, passionate, good cause!
Thou stern, remorseless, sweet Idea!
Deathless throughout the ages, races, lands!
After a strange, sad war--great war for thee,
(I think all war through time was really fought, and ever will be
really fought, for thee;)
These chants for thee--the eternal march of thee.
Thou orb of many orbs!
Thou seething principle! Thou well-kept, latent germ! Thou centre!
Around the idea of thee the strange sad war revolving, 10
With all its angry and vehement play of causes,
(With yet unknown results to come, for thrice a thousand years,)
These recitatives for thee--my Book and the War are one,
Merged in its spirit I and mine--as the contest hinged on thee,
As a wheel on its axis turns, this Book, unwitting to itself,
Around the Idea of thee.
poem by Walt Whitman
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The Waving
I'm here, you are there,
a vessel waving in our veins,
the hours that count my significant
life, the constant image of thee,
you! you are the title of my book,
of my memento, how I seek
thee in the little things I see
your face there in the body
of a grasshopper, a butterfly,
a nectar flower, any where
I look I see the endless of your
profound eyes, in the landscape
of my deserted life.
Where do you go and where do I look,
it is not that I worship thee
but that I need to live.
I'm dressed with the vision
of the bride to be in vain,
who told me I was his,
I can lie all I want,
I can pretend all I want,
'why are you so vivid'?
I know is all an illusion,
theres nothing real there.
You are gone and I am here
trying to dismiss the fact
of your cruelness, the smell
of your last day in my true,
in my illusion, the fantasy
I created to replace the
pain that follows my aching body.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Always Be One To Me
Sketch a flame on a candle.
Have it up-side-down.
What do you see?
It's like a water dropp out of a cup!
Like the sketch,
I find you known to me always.
To His Son, Vincent Corbet
What I shall leave thee none can tell,
But all shall say I wish thee well:
I wish thee, Vin, before all wealth,
Both bodily and ghostly health;
Nor too much wealth, nor wit, come to thee,
So much of either may undo thee.
I wish thee learning, not for show,
Enough for to instruct and know,
Not such as gentlemen require
To prate at table or at fire.
I wish thee all thy mother's graces,
Thy father's fortunes, and his places.
I wish thee friends, and one at court,
Not to build on, but support,
To keep thee, not in doing many
Oppressions, but from suffering any.
I wish thee peace in all thy ways,
Nor lazy nor contentious days;
And when thy soul and body part,
As innocent as now thou art.
poem by Richard Corbet
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I Love Thee
I love thee—I love thee!
'Tis all that I can say;—
It is my vision in the night,
My dreaming in the day;
The very echo of my heart,
The blessing when I pray:
I love thee—I love thee!
Is all that I can say.
I love thee—I love thee!
Is ever on my tongue;
In all my proudest poesy
That chorus still is sung;
It is the verdict of my eyes,
Amidst the gay and young:
I love thee—I love thee!
A thousand maids among.
I love thee—I love thee!
Thy bright hazel glance,
The mellow lute upon those lips,
Whose tender tones entrance;
But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs
That still these words enhance,
I love thee—I love thee!
Whatever be thy chance.
poem by Thomas Hood
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God
THOUGHT of the Infinite--the All!
Be thou my God.
Lover Divine, and Perfect Comrade!
Waiting, content, invisible yet, but certain,
Be thou my God.
Thou--thou, the Ideal Man!
Fair, able, beautiful, content, and loving,
Complete in Body, and dilate in Spirit,
Be thou my God.
O Death--(for Life has served its turn;) 10
Opener and usher to the heavenly mansion!
Be thou my God.
Aught, aught, of mightiest, best, I see, conceive, or know,
(To break the stagnant tie--thee, thee to free, O Soul,)
Be thou my God.
Or thee, Old Cause, when'er advancing;
All great Ideas, the races' aspirations,
All that exalts, releases thee, my Soul!
All heroisms, deeds of rapt enthusiasts,
Be ye my Gods! 20
Or Time and Space!
Or shape of Earth, divine and wondrous!
Or shape in I myself--or some fair shape, I, viewing, worship,
Or lustrous orb of Sun, or star by night:
Be ye my Gods.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Eternal Time, That Wastest Without Waste
Eternal Time, that wastest without waste,
That art and art not, diest, and livest still;
Most slow of all, and yet of greatest haste;
Both ill and good, and neither good nor ill:
How can I justly praise thee, or dispraise?
Dark are thy nights, but bright and clear thy days.
Both free and scarce, thou giv'st and tak'st again;
Thy womb that all doth breed, is tomb to all;
What so by thee hath life, by thee is slain;
From thee do all things rise, by thee they fall:
Constant, inconstant, moving, standing still;
Was, Is, Shall be, do thee both breed and kill.
I lose thee, while I seek to find thee out;
The farther off, the more I follow thee;
The faster hold, the greater cause of doubt;
Was, Is, I know; but Shall, I cannot see.
All things by thee are measur'd; thou, by none:
All are in thee; thou, in thyself alone.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Dink's Song
(b.gibson/b.lomax/j.lomax)
This is a blues traditional that has been performed also by bob dylan. jeff performed it several times in his concerts, and he performed it also live on-air for the music faucet, a wfmu radio broadcast, on october 11 1992.
If i had wings like noah's dove
I'd fly up the river to the one i love
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
If i met your man, who was long and tall
I'd hit his body like a cannon ball
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
One of these days and it won't be long
Call my name and i'll be gone
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
I remember one night, a drizzling rain
Round my heart i felt an achin' pain
Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well
When i wore my apron low
Couldn't keep you from my do'
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
Now i wear my apron high
Scarcely ever see you passing by
Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well
Now my apron's up to my chin
You pass my door and you won't come in
Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well
If i had listened to what my mama said
I'd be at home in my mama's bed
Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well
song performed by by Jeff Buckley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lamb
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life & bid thee feed
By the stream & o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, wooly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee,
Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee:
He is callèd by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb.
He is meek, & he is mild;
He became a little child.
I a child, & thou a lamb,
We are callèd by his name.
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
poem by William Blake from Songs of Innocence (1789)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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On a Dead Child
Perfect little body, without fault or stain on thee,
With promise of strength and manhood full and fair!
Though cold and stark and bare,
The bloom and the charm of life doth awhile remain on thee.
Thy mother's treasure wert thou;—alas! no longer
To visit her heart with wondrous joy; to be
Thy father's pride:—ah, he
Must gather his faith together, and his strength make stronger.
To me, as I move thee now in the last duty,
Dost thou with a turn or gesture anon respond;
Startling my fancy fond
With a chance attitude of the head, a freak of beauty.
Thy hand clasps, as 'twas wont, my finger, and holds it:
But the grasp is the clasp of Death, heartbreaking and stiff;
Yet feels to my hand as if
'Twas still thy will, thy pleasure and trust that enfolds it.
So I lay thee there, thy sunken eyelids closing,—
Go lie thou there in thy coffin, thy last little bed!—
Propping thy wise, sad head,
Thy firm, pale hands across thy chest disposing.
So quiet! doth the change content thee?—Death, whither hath he taken thee?
To a world, do I think, that rights the disaster of this?
The vision of which I miss,
Who weep for the body, and wish but to warm thee and awaken thee?
Ah! little at best can all our hopes avail us
To lift this sorrow, or cheer us, when in the dark,
Unwilling, alone we embark,
And the things we have seen and have known and have heard of, fail us.
poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
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Nearer my God to Thee
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee
E'en though it be a cross
That raiseth me,
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
Tho' like a wanderer,
The sun gone down,
Darkness be over me,
My rest a stone,
Yet in my dreams I'll be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
There let the way appear,
Steps unto heaven;
All that Thou sendest me
In mercy be given,
Angels to beckon me
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
Then with my waking thoughts
Bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs
Bethel I'll raise;
So by my woes to be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
Or if, on joyful wing
Cleavihg the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot,
Upward I fly,
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
poem by Sarah Flower Adams
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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In the National Gallery
Here, in the pale light of a winter’s day
I entered with a sketch pad in my hand.
I never dreamed that I’d encounter you-
To sketch out some old master was my plan.
Was it your eyes that first seduced me near,
or those cherry lips that I would never taste?
Two centuries past you were a beauty, dear.
Now, all but this image, time has lain to waste.
I envy him who painted you in camera,
together in your sitting room alone.
Who knows just how the session was concluded
If your old and senile husband wasn’t home?
I’m cast here in the role of a voyeur,
I haven’t even tried to draw a line.
Your dress of silk reveals just one bare shoulder,
Your eyes, the promise of a night divine.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Beware! (From The German)
I know a maiden fair to see,
Take care!
She can both false and friendly be,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
She has two eyes, so soft and brown,
Take care!
She gives a side-glance and looks down,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
And she has hair of a golden hue,
Take care!
And what she says, it is not true,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
She has a bosom as white as snow,
Take care!
She knows how much it is best to show,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
She gives thee a garland woven fair,
Take care!
It is a fool's-cap for thee to wear,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Death
O thou the last fulfilment of life,
Death, my death, come and whisper to me!
Day after day I have kept watch for thee;
for thee have I borne the joys and pangs of life.
All that I am, that I have, that I hope and all my love
have ever flowed towards thee in depth of secrecy.
One final glance from thine eyes
and my life will be ever thine own.
The flowers have been woven
and the garland is ready for the bridegroom.
After the wedding the bride shall leave her home
and meet her lord alone in the solitude of night.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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My Spirit on Thy Care
My spirit on Thy care,
Blest Savior, I recline;
Thou wilt not leave me to despair,
For Thou art Love divine.
In Thee I place my trust,
On Thee I calmly rest;
I know Thee good, I know Thee just,
And count Thy choice the best.
Whate’er events betide,
Thy will they all perform;
Safe in Thy breast my head I hide,
Nor fear the coming storm.
Let good or ill befall,
It must be good for me;
Secure of having Thee in all,
Of having all in Thee.
poem by Henry Francis Lyte
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I Will Not Let Thee Go
I will not let thee go.
Ends all our month-long love in this?
Can it be summed up so,
Quit in a single kiss?
I will not let thee go.
I will not let thee go.
If thy words' breath could scare thy deeds,
As the soft south can blow
And toss the feathered seeds,
Then might I let thee go.
I will not let thee go.
Had not the great sun seen, I might;
Or were he reckoned slow
To bring the false to light,
Then might I let thee go.
I will not let thee go.
The stars that crowd the summer skies
Have watched us so below
With all their million eyes,
I dare not let thee go.
I will not let thee go.
Have we chid the changeful moon,
Now rising late, and now
Because she set too soon,
And shall I let thee go?
I will not let thee go.
Have not the young flowers been content,
Plucked ere their buds could blow,
To seal our sacrament?
I cannot let thee go.
I will not let thee go.
I hold thee by too many bands:
Thou sayest farewell, and lo!
I have thee by the hands,
And will not let thee go.
poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
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Shape In A Drape
There's a guy going round the town
You got to check what he is puttin' down
Just one look you know the story is great
He's the guy the chicks love
And the cats can't hate
He's a shape in a drape
A shape in a drape
He's a shape in a drape
And you can dig that he is stookin'
Now some say he's a clipster and a tailor's toad
And he could hype a miserman for all his gold
Some say he's a hipster and some say nix
But everyone's solid when he gets his kicks
He's a shape in a drape
A shape in a drape
He's a shape in a drape
And he is sure alive and kickin'
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet XXIII: Time, Cruel Time
Time, cruel Time, come and subdue that brow
Which conquers all but thee, and thee, too, stays
As if she were exempt from scythe or bow,
From love or years unsubject to decays.
Or art thou grown in league with those fair eyes
That they may help thee to consume our days?
Or dost thou spare her for her cruelties,
Being merciless like thee that no man weighs?
And yet thou seest thy power she disobeys,
Cares not for thee, but lets thee waste in vain,
And prodigal of hours and years betrays
Beauty and youth t'opinion and disdain.
Yet spare her, Time, let her exempted be,
She may become more kind to thee or me.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Come To Me 07
Come to me dark angel, I need thee tonight
Unleash upon me, those merciless hunters eyes.
Come to me dark angel, I crave thee with in
Those hands that tear my heart, and infuse my skin
I beckon thee dark angel, how I taste your lips
That mouth that sears my totality, with a hypnotic tongue and teethy nips
Oh my angel, it is not your light that I seek,
But your darkness your savagery, that drives my aching body
Know me dark angel, as my soul calls to thee
Strangely your depth and demons comfort mine,
As you plunge me into dark desire,
I beckon thee dark angel, I am liquid fire burning for your claim
See me dark angel, as I see thee
Humane though not quite human, pour your fantasies into me
I care not what the dawn brings
I need thee dream angel, tonight be real and only for me
poem by Kira Bloom
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