the boat permanently
beached on a canvas
thanks to my brush
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Pride On Canvas
While others walk,
I will run.
While others hide
on a rainy day,
I will search for
the sun.
I will paint
my pride on
canvas.
And no one will
get in my way.
My barefoot brush
on my infinite
canvas.
All my pride
directed,
Toward this
beautiful day.
poem by Plague Rose
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The Canvas
Oh how she loves her canvas,
The stories that it tells.
Oh how she loves to paint her thoughts,
And etch a perfect spell.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
The memories that it holds.
Oh how she loves to trace the lines,
And tell if new or old.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
Her stability in an unstable world.
Oh how she loves to fret away,
At all of her unfurled.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
A standstill of art and truth.
Oh how she loves the feel of it,
To reminisce her youth.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
A long work of her life.
Oh how she loves the twisted colors,
Splashes of red upon white.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
She crafts each inch with care.
She hides her canvas well away,
Though she often earns a stare.
Do not tell of her canvas,
Keep the secret- she insists.
But perhaps some time take a second glance,
For her canvas is her wrist.
poem by Dayna Mortimore
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Symphony Of Colours
I am a painter,
My hands hold a brush,
Moving as my heart wants,
Laughing the joy and crying the sorrow of my life.
I am playing with warm colours,
Using shadows I am emphasizing light,
I want the mankind see the beauty,
Of the marvelous world we have around.
Colours shine on my blank canvas,
In tones of rainbow and joyful lights,
All the warmth of the living,
Is concentrated in a piece of art.
Vibrant colours are merging together,
Dancing in shadows and lights,
All the past and the present lies here,
Being a reflection of my mind.
My thoughts are filling my canvas,
The brush strokes are following my dream,
Expressing the depths of my heart,
A symphony of colours has many stories to tell.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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I am an artist. The track is my canvas, and the car is my brush.
quote by Graham Hill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Still Life In Oils-De Jour
You painted a most exquisite picture
...Brush stroked her canvas delicately
With feathered brush-a touch
...Tinting with royal hues-
And crimson red coloured views...
'Tis a still life of a woman in degrees...
...A breath-taking piece of divinity...
A true masterpiece of elegance...
...Your virgin work of art...
Captured by your most artistic keen eye
...Creme De la Creme Ala Carte...
poem by Theodora Onken
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You Can't Brush Me Off
Why don't you just give in?
Just like a Siamese twin
I mean to stick to you
Until you do
I won't take it on the chin
You'll never leave me flat
I'm not a "last year's hat"
That you can cast aside
I've got my pride
And I won't stand for that
You can't brush me off
As you would a speck of powder, you may try
But you can't brush me off
You can't shout me down
You can yell but I'll yell louder, you can try
But you can't brush me off
You can say you're out but I'll keep phoning
You can tell me goodbye
You can tell me but I
Won't go
No
You can't leave me cold
As you would a plate of chowder, you may try
But you can't brush me off
[2]
What is this all about?
You've got me wrong, no doubt
I give you all my time
Believe me, I'm
Not looking for some way out
I want you for my wife
Sharing my care and strife
And that may not be fun
For when it's done
You're stuck with me for life
You can't brush me off
As you would a fresh mosquito, you may try
But you can't brush me off
You can't rub me out
Like a spot on my tuxedo, you may try
But you can't brush me off
You can cut me dead but I won't mind it
You may injure my pride
Still I'll never decide
To go
No
You can't drop me fast
As you would a live torpedo, you may try
But you can't brush me off
[3]
You can't brush me off
Like a colored pullman porter, you may try
But you can't brush me off
You can't lock me out
Like a frightened farmer's daughter, you may try
But you can't brush me off
You can drop a hint but I won't take it
You can tell me bad news
I intend to refuse
To go
No
You can't give me back
As you would a leaded quarter, you may try
But you can't brush me off
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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sea waves
painter's brush
dances over the canvas
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Empty Canvas
the canvas is juxtaposition
images colour movement time
time shifts in thought shifts
empty mind space canvas
is whatever artist declares
canvas is painted to be
empty canvas is whatever
canvas is painted to be
endless pigment possibilities
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Painting Words
IMAGES SPRING FROM NOWHERE,
BUT BEAR A KNOWN DESIGN.
NO BRUSH OR PAINT IS MY WARE
THOUGH PAINTINGS DO SEEM MINE.
MY CANVAS BREATHES ALIVE
AS WORD AND IMAGE MERGE.
FROM NOTHINGNESS I STRIVE
TO CAPTURE EACH NEW SURGE.
PEN SWATHES, LIKE BRUSH STROKES,
FASHION WORDS, ONE-BY-ONE,
UNTIL MIND’S EYE EVOKES
IMAGES CLEAR AS THE SUN.
ALL WHO VIEW THESE WORKS
WILL FIND IT’S NOT ABSURD
TO FEEL THE POWER THAT LURKS
BEHIND EACH PAINTED WORD.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Symbolic Stanzas' Sonnet Celebration response to Marion Mantel - The Painter
Pure poet imbibes artist's brush
creation's canvas celebrates
colour pigmentations' crush
inspires lyres' songs innate.
The timeless tides of metaphors
take form from morph hue cues,
as soul's semantice semaphore
signals sends, imbues.
Symphonic stanzas canvas caught
showers sublime compound,
symbolize synaptic thought
round watershed surround.
There none need karmic quest, request:
act/fact of being's freeing rest.
(24 April 2012)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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It's one of his radical paintings
They refused to take his painting for the Exhibition.
The reason they explained; ' It's a blank canvas.'
Then the painter argued; ' It's titled as Blank life.'
'At least there should be a brush mark then we can accept.' the director of the Art Gallery said.
With his ball point pen he kept a dot in the middle of the canvas
And added to the title as 'Full stop to the blank life.'
The director was really appreciated and taken the painting back.
* To my friend Denis.Joe who threw a torch into my little dark World and I saw this strange sign shines in the darkness.
'If the door is locked, someone is inside? '
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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And so my militant philosophy is this: to make with a brush on canvas is a simple direct delight-to make with the movie is the same.
quote by Norman McLaren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Parc Monceau
A wooden boat upon a sea of sand
stands beached, unfathomed by the fiercest storm,
beside the train, beneath the bees which swarm
furled flaglike round the Cherry close at hand
whose branches full two hundred years have fanned, -
whose perfumed petals in pink uniform
pattern the path in puzzle-picture form.
Upon the play boat, children, hand in hand
heedless of Time’s march, unruly play,
re-enacting pirate roles. Life’s farce
around them they ignore, nor cares display,
impervious to ciphered hour-glass.
Beside the playground, blinkered adults pass,
obey the sign: - “No walking on the grass! ”
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Paintings by fliss II Not So Abstract
Canvas on stand
Colours to the side
Pallet in hand
Let the brush slide
Orange and green
Coming from deep
Painting oh! Oh So serene
Trance like, almost a dream
Curves so sensual
The colours just flow
Enraptures, almost physical
Easy strokes, nice and slow
Show what's inside
Bristles caressing
Your hearts not lied
Smoothly, not fussing
Featherlight touch
Not a hint of blue
Like a lovers first touch
Exploring anew
Painted not drawn
Not one to delete
As fresh as the dawn
Canvas complete
RG/fliss
poem by Robert Green
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Canvas
I painted all my life...
just to be praised by the world.
Till you came - like the heat of the flame,
you stayed with me to hold.
My brush had a little more strength,
when i saw your heavenly smile.
Oh, how i wanted to steal those moments away...
and paint them all for awhile.
My heart had a little more art...
when I saw your gracious curves.
Oh, how i wanted to immortalize your eyes,
that speaks to me like a dove.
But the world still kept his praises away...
till i almost gave it up.
But then you gave me courage
and you always filled me up.
And then the world took you away from me-
till my soul has slowly died.
I stole your memories away...
and painted you by night.
Oh, how your eyes reflect the things
I never saw before.
How I can see my very soul
just by looking there for more.
Oh, how your smiles revived my heart...
but filled my heart with tears;
How perfect they were on my canvas,
how they hideth all my fears.
And then the world gave me the praise
I wanted so before...
He gave to me my past prayers
just after he took you so.
If I could only tell the world
how mean he was to me...
and curse the stars, and curse the moons...
and heavens constantly.
I felt like painting all my life
just to end up painting you.
Giving you life on my canvas...
stealing you from death by my brush.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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Boat To Sail
Youre up state, up late, and city fed
Im a california label
From the top of my head,
Forever, ah
See a lot of open sky
When the sun goes down
Theres a hot, lot of loving when you come
Around, to free me, ah
In a boat to sail, boat to sail, away, ah
All those letters mailed from a
Boat to sail, away ah
We are riding in a boat to sail
Bare foot, coconut and supermild
Jamaica take a look
At your own child
Forget not
Brian wilson songs are never left behind
Dont you worry baby, youre a friend of mine
For so long
From a boat to sail, boat to sail, away ah
All those letters mailed, from a
Boat to sail, away ah
We are riding in a boat to sail
We are riding in a boat to sail
song performed by by Carpenters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And Once You Will Learn..
As I mix a hundred colours to paint your picture,
My canvas shrinks in size
And cries it foul.
There you stand with a smile mysterious.
As I hold a brush with a thousand quills on it,
My right hand shivers
And calls it uncommon.
Someone stands by you a with a frown.
You think I wouldn’t draw your picture at all.
You feel it’s my indifference
And colossal lack of concern.
Your mind turns into an ocean of skepticism.
Still on my large frame of mind
Your portrait hangs for ever
And there I see your smiling face.
My love has ever been thus…
Once when you begin to learn things,
My canvas and right hand will wither away.
Then your portrait drawn in a thousand colours
Will be your last concern perhaps.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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As An Artist
As an artist,
I carefully paint
a picture on my
canvas
with each stroke
I wipe away a tear
causing a smile to
reappear
As an artist
I endow your face
with my brush
making it more
perfect as I go
until at last the
image of my love
I see.
poem by Heather Burns
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My Picture
I made a picture; all my heart
I put in it, and all I knew
Of canvas-cunning and of Art,
Of tenderness and passion true.
A worshipped Master came to see;
Oh he was kind and gentle, too.
He studied it with sympathy,
And sensed what I had sought to do.
Said he: "Your paint is fresh and fair,
And I can praise it without cease;
And yet a touch just here and there
Would make of it a masterpiece."
He took the brush from out my hand;
He touched it here, he touched it there.
So well he seemed to understand,
And momently it grew more fair.
Oh there was nothing I could say,
And there was nothing I could do.
I thanked him, and he went his way,
And then - I slashed my picture through.
For though his brush with soft caress
Had made my daub a thing divine,
Oh God! I wept with bitterness,
. . . It wasn't mine, it wasn't mine.
poem by Robert William Service
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The Boat and The Sea
I will tell you, my Dear
Story of the Boat and the Sea
'Since the unknown time
The Boat heard the call from the Sea
Wings of Gull, blue waves
Took Boat traveled everywhere, all ways
The Boat's soul's filled with hopes
And the Sea's boundless love
Boat went far, further no tiresome
The Sea was still far...so far
Those nights the moon was gentle
The sea was like a girl, who's little
She whispered, she sent her thoughts
Round the boatside, waves elapsed
Sometimes, causeless
The Sea, its waves, pourred impetuously in the Boat
(Because of Love, for all times, ever was just imovable?)
Only the Boat understood
How boundless the Sea was
Only the Boat knew
Where the Boat went to, back to
The days without meeting
The sea was with white head, with missing
The days without gathering
The Boat was broken - crack
If already seperated from the Boat
The Sea only remained the wind and waves
...up and down, a craze'
If having to be separated from you
I just only remain storms
(composer: Xuân Quỳ nh, traslator: Hanh My Nguyen)
poem by Hanh My Nguyen
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