The Artist's Canvas
the artist's canvas
it is similar as the world
we all strive to paint
with the redness of our blood,
the heat of our passions
and the brushes of our life
how floored we are at times
in the face of things,
how petrified when things
turn out to be red rather
than the blue of our thought
Love which I have always
perceived to be pink is
actually a warm glow of
your fair skin and veins
under the morning sun and
the translucent brown of your eyes
and also beige and
forest green so splendid
they charm the emptiness
of the grey of day away
the freshness of your breath
is a consuming white and
your touch, a trimming of the
brown of muslin for us to anchor
our ecstacy as we lock eyes
in between all these are
the wave and wave of frenzied strokes,
blobs, globs, fuzzy angles
cubes and circles that never
fail to carry us over to the rainbow,
our feet to tango, our heart to sing
and our voice to soar
of love, of sweet dates, of angels
flying over to our paths
the artist's canvas
it is inviting as life where
our imagination can cruise
beyond the ends of earth
free as a bird and rich
as all the colours on the palette
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Related quotes
My Darling Is An Artist
My darling is an artist
who saves pictures, her impressions on a canvas
and sometimes deep things
are expressed by her mere words,
as she paints the sea green,
at times mother-of-pearl
or a dull blue
and I wonder how she does it?
With a brush she can warble
can charm and adorn things,
she can bring bewitching colours suddenly
to the early breaking day.
l'Envoi
My darling is an artist,
sometimes she muddles my whole life,
when her lips are sugary sweet
and she tells me the plain truth plainly.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Wonderful Painting
A Wonderful Painting
by Alex Lewis
I remember before my mother's art
When I was but an egg.
The painting took color in every part.
One shade is but a leg.
The lavish blues spread across the page like a waving, smiling sea.
The canvas was plain and bare, except the blues, happily set free.
With the blue, I went to play as childish as I may.
The one clam and I sat with ourselves on the whaling bay.
This is me, like a leaf, on my first day at green.
So, all the others spoke; I found that none were mean.
There were dark greens, light ones, and one stuck in the middle.
After math, my friend and I learnt to play the fiddle.
My friend and I continued to play our little tune.
We soon fell in pink to which neither one was immune.
Our pink grew and grew as each day had passed.
Green had ended blue; only pink would last.
We took our pink and ran right through to angry, waiting brown.
Brown was angry for making him wait with a black-white frown.
We explained that blue made us wait for an azure set of eighteen.
He forgave us. My friend, brown, pink, and I live for only one team.
We decided to get the canvas and add a dash of white.
Pink was overwhelmed as white carried on through the love-filled night.
We can add white to family before blue decides to return again.
Red will also join the painting party-Another eighteen before men!
It took a lot of work to make my dear reds come.
I enjoyed the work, but my reds were way more fun.
One red stayed with us, but the other ran away rather young.
Maybe brown kidnapped him early, but strange words travel by tongue.
We turned grey as brown dimmed down, but we swear we've never seen pink more bright!
Brown had completely gone, like both of our reds, but pink still made things light.
I then feared and cried as my pink's grey burned out like a setting sun.
My grey began to fade too, but I was ready. My life was done.
My mother handed me the canvas and the frame,
But I had to add all the colors (none I showed for shame) .
Blue, green, pink, brown, red, grey-my portrait is made of those colors,
But I am just one piece in a gallery, and all of you are the others.
poem by Alex Lewis
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A Brown Study
LET them sing of their primrose and cowslip,
Their daffodil-gold-coloured hair,
Their bluebells, blue eyes, and white violets,
All the pale dreamy things they find fair;
Give me stir of brown leaves in the sunshine,
The whir of brown wings through the wheat,
The rush of brown hares through the clover,
And the light in brown eyes of my sweet!
Gold hair? Well, I never could love it,
Yet gold, I suppose, has its worth;
The head that I love is as dusky
As the breast of our mother, the earth;
With a gleam like the shine of wet seaweed,
Round pools that the tide has left clear,
And warm like the breast of a linnet,
And as brown, is the hair of my dear.
From the edge of the cliff we look downwards
On the shore, and the bay, and the town,
And brown is the short turf we lean on,
The fishing-boats' sails are all brown:
The sky may be blue--that's the background,--
But the picture itself, to be fair,
However it's shaded and varied,
Should be brown as the dress that you wear.
A lark bursts to sudden sweet singing--
That tuft of brown grass is his home--
And now, a brown speck, he is rising
Against the clear windy sky-dome;
And he sings--how I know? Love instructs me
To know all his notes, what they mean--
That it isn't the colour I care for,
But yourself, oh, my gipsy, my queen!
Ah! the lark knows my heart--I his language;
It's my heart he sings out to the skies;
It is you that I love, and what matter
The colour of hair or of eyes?
No doubt I should love you as dearly
Were your hair like an apricot's down,
And your eyes like the grey of the morning;
But I'm glad, all the same, that they're brown.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Children Are Colour Blind
They cannot see
What adults always see?
They cannot understand
That black and white
Is not to be mixed in life
They cannot see
The redness of hate
That spews upon
The ground of life
They cannot see
How green is often
Used to described
A person's jealous pride
They cannot see
How purple hides
The pink shades
Of a gay lovers life
They cannot see
How the colours of life
Stain the hands of grey
They can only ever see
A rainbow in the sky
They can only ever see
The love in their parent's eyes
They can only ever see
The joys in all our lives
They can only ever see
God's creation of light
They can only ever be
What God created them to be?
Our own little angles
In all of our lives.
poem by Kaila George
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Dream Chasing
When I was little
I would often run
Far and wide
Chasing the horizon,
Where
The dirty brown of earth
Meets
The beautiful blue of sky.
My run,
Never ended
I am still running,
May be,
One day
I will reach
Where
The dirty brown of earth
Meets
The beautiful blue of sky
And let my thumping heart
Rest
A little while.
When I was little
I would often leap
High and hard
To catch the rainbow.
Its seven colors,
So dazzling and bright.
My hands
Are still empty
I am still jumping,
May be
One day
I will touch the rainbow
And color my hands
All the seven colors,
And possibly paint
the canvas of my world
Dazzling and bright.
When I was little
I would often ape
Madly and badly
The whirlwind,
Dancing in fast circles
The fine dance of vigor,
Energy and love.
I have not yet mastered
I am still aping
May be
One day
I might just catch up
Like the whirlwind
Dance in fast circles
The fine dance of vigor,
Energy and love
Celebrating the thing
Called “LIFE”.
poem by Anjali Kakati
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The Artists
you are the best artists
You hang my skin on the wall and drew me with ulna dip into my blood
You are great
You drew my face on your heart and paint it with love
You sew my name on your lip and pin it to the cloud
You background me with you in the distant future
Holding our seeds with smile of euphoria
You are my artist
You drew my mistakes on my chest and erase
It with your hand wrapping me softly
You blend our soul and mind and mount it as a kite flying the banner of bliss
You are beautiful
I've paint your heart with musk, your lip with honey and you skin with amber
We are both an artist
We carved ourselve with due
You clipped my eyes to the moon
I clipped the stars to you hair with galaxies of flower decorating our world
You my artist
You drew me with the world gazing at your statue hanging on the sky with flying nymphs sing songs of our artistic shadow
poem by Kemurl Fofanah
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Colours Of Life
Sunny morning, golden noon, rose pink twilight, silver moon.
Grey black cloud, creamy sea, lightning bright, green brown tree.
Yellow with age, white with fright, red with rage, black as night.
Green with envy, rainbow hue, in the pink, sky of blue.
Countless colours running rife. These are the colours of our life.
poem by Rod Morris
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The Dead To The Living
Work while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.
IN the childhood of April, while purple woods
With the young year's blood in them smiled,
I passed through the lanes and the wakened fields,
And stood by the grave of the child.
And the pain awoke that is never dead
Though it sometimes sleeps, and again
It set its teeth in this heart of mine,
And fastened its claws in my brain:
For it seemed so hard that the little hands
And the little well-loved head
Should be out of reach of my living lips,
And be side by side with the dead--
Not side by side with us who had loved,
But with these who had never seen
The grace of the smile, the gold of the hair,
And the eyes of my baby-queen.
Yet with trees about where the brown birds build,
And with long green grass above,
She lies in the cold sweet breast of earth
Beyond the reach of our love;
Whatever befalls in the coarse loud world,
We know she will never wake.
When I thought of the sorrow she might have known,
I was almost glad for her sake. . . .
Tears might have tired those kiss-closed eyes,
Grief hardened the mouth I kissed;
I was almost glad that my dear was dead
Because of the pain she had missed.
Oh, if I could but have died a child
With a white child-soul like hers,
As pure as the wind-flowers down in the copse,
Where the soul of the spring's self stirs;
Or if I had only done with it all,
And might lie by her side unmoved!
I envied the very clods of earth
Their place near the child I loved!
And my soul rose up in revolt at life,
As I stood dry-eyed by her grave,
When sudden the grass of the churchyard sod
Rolled back like a green smooth wave;
The brown earth looked like the brown sea rocks,
The tombstones were white like spray,
And white like surf were the curling folds
Of the shrouds where the dead men lay;
For each in his place with his quiet face
I saw the dead lie low,
Who had worked and suffered and found life sad,
So many sad years ago.
Unchanged by time I saw them lie
As when first they were laid to rest,
The tired eyes closed, the sad lips still,
And the work-worn hands on the breast.
There were some who had found the green world so grey,
They had left it before their time,
And some were little ones like my dear,
And some had died in their prime;
And some were old, they had had their fill
Of bitter unfruitful hours,
And knew that none of them, none, had known
A flower of a hope like ours!
Through their shut eyelids the dead looked up,
And without a voice they said:
'We lived without hope, without hope we died,
And hopeless we lie here dead;
And death is better than life that draws
Pain in, as it draws in breath,
If life never dreams of a coming day
When life shall not envy death.
Through the dark of our hours and our times we lived,
Uncheered by a single ray
Of such hope as lightens the lives of you
Who are finding life hard to-day;
With our little lanterns of human love
We lighted our dark warm night--
But you in the chill of the dawn are set
With your face to the eastern light.
Freedom is waiting with hands held out
Till you tear the veil from her face--
And when once men have seen the light of her eyes,
And felt her divine embrace,
The light of the world will be risen indeed,
And will shine in the eyes of men,
And those who come after will find life fair,
And their lives worth living then!
Will you strive to the light in your loud rough world,
That these things may come to pass,
Or lie in the shadow beside the child,
And strive to the sun through the grass?'
'My world while I may,' I cried; 'but you
Whose lives were as dark as your grave?'
'We too are a part of the coming light,'
They called through the smooth green wave.
Their white shrouds gleamed as the flood of green
Rolled over and hid them from me--
Hid all but the little hands and the hair,
And the face that I always see.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Kiss Me Everything! ! !
Kiss me heart and said i'love you.
Kiss me from warm your eyes rays and said all better.
Kiss me from your sweet lips i'was everything.
Kiss me from your desire was embrace by you.i'was passing yearning fogs.
Kiss me with your soft face the angel gave peace on my heart.
Kiss me the rainbow gave the colour to illustrate my dreams.
Kiss me my blue clouds will lie down all tired i'to you.
Kiss me the green leaves penetrating freshness bellows of the heart and mind.
Kiss me the wind-the blowing wind continued the long breath in the life.
Kiss me the wave of the birds wings in the branch, stamped the love and the spirit.
Kiss me the flower and was kissed by me again went through the sun and the rain.
Kiss me the river gave my warm regards to the ocean.
Kiss me the nature said to my heart sweetheart.
I kissed him through all
the life breath in the world.
Life Is Like Rainbow!
Life is like a rainbow,
you need both
sun and rain to make it appear,
and one who observe,
Life is that rainbow appearing
with Energy and matter, Self is the observer!
Life is like rainbow needs both Sun and rain to spread it colours,
Walk along the garden path,
Or trek along mountain forest paths,
Life spreads its colours,
In flowers and butterflies,
Flora and fauna!
Life spread its colours like rainbow in every ecosystem,
May green mountains,
Shining beneath surface of lake,
May be in hot deserts,
or in cold polar continents!
Life is like rainbow need Life and habitat are two things to spreads its colours!
Life is like rainbow needs food and love to spread its colours!
Life is like rainbow needs love and compassion to spread it colours!
life is like Rainbow spreads colours need lover and beloved in their eyes!
Life is like rainbow that needs desires an ambitions to spread it colours!
Life is like rainbow need feelings and thoughts to spread its colours!
Life is like rainbow that needs children and parents to spread colours,
Life is like rainbow that needs kids and their innocent thoughts to spread it colours,
Life is like rainbow that needs wisdom and patience in elders to spread its colours!
Life is like rainbow that needs two things in teenagers energy and dreams to spread its colours!
Life is like rainbow that needs sky and observer,
Some feel rainbow
is illusion like mirage,
But some manage to bridge between life and soul!
Rainbow colours found in every soap bubble,
bubbles grow and shine,
spread colours before they burst and die, .
Strange feeling they create,
Spread their message,
Just like colours spread on their face!
For a scientist life is like rain bow that needs rain and sun,
For a philosopher,
Life is like rainbow needs illusion and misidentification,
Rainbow is illusion created by elements and light,
just like life and world!
It is natural and nature's MAYA,
Nonexisting thing showup,
hiding existing things,
object is hidden in subject
Just like a mirage in desert or fragrance in a flower!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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The Gathering of the Brown-Eyed
The brown eyes came from Asia, where all mystery is true,
Ere the masters of Soul Secrets dreamed of hazel, grey, and blue;
And the Brown Eyes came to Egypt, which is called the gypsies’ home,
And the Brown Eyes went from Egypt and Jerusalem to Rome.
There was strife amongst the Brown Eyes for the false things and the true;
There was war amongst the Brown Eyes for the old gods and the new;
But the old gods live for ever, and their goddesses are bright
In the temples of Old Passions with the Brown Eyes of the White.
The Brown Eyes east, by Africa, they saw and conquered Spain,
And the Brown Eyes marched as Christians till a Brown Eye met a Dane,
The Dane had Brown-Eyed children who in blue eyes took delight—
And a son of blue-eyed sailors, brown-eyed, reads the stars to-night.
Oh, Knowledge from Old Deserts, where the great stars rocked the world!
Oh, courage from grim seaboards, where the Viking ships were hurled!
The clear skin of the Norseman, and the desert strength and sight,
The power to fathom mankind, and the glorious gift to write!
We can look in souls of women, aye! and let them know we do;
We can fix the false eyes earthward; we can meet and match the true;
We can startle Voice from Silence, and from Darkness flash the Light—
And the eyes to fathom Asia are the Brown Eyes of the White.
There’s a legend in the nations that all Brown Eyes once were true,
But were taught in love and warfare by the sinful shades of blue;
There’s a story amongst sinners that all Brown Eyes once were kind,
Till the Steel-Blue struck the Red-Fire in a hatred that was blind.
But the Brown Eyes are the saddest at the death of Love and Truth.
And the Brown Eyes are the grandest and the dreamiest of Youth.
They have risen in rebellion unto leadership sublime—
And the grey-eyed queens of women loved, and love them for all time!
Brown Eyes never married Brown Eyes but unhappiness held sway,
For the real mates of the Brown Eyes have for ever been the grey.
But though Brown Eyes quarrel hotly, though their very souls be wrenched,
Never Blue-Eye wronged a Brown-Eye but the Brown-Eye was avenged!
Through the breadth of wide Australia, waiting desert-like and vast,
We have sent our Brown-Eyed children, who are multiplying fast.
Patriots, picture-writers, sages, fill the Brown-Eyed rolls to-night—
’Tis the gathering from all ages of the Brown-Eyed of the White.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Janine
JANINE
Joy's Janine, sovereign Queen,
is sitting unwittingly, caught between
time and timelessness, sans spleen.
Softness shines from silent scene
such as, had I true artist been,
from canvas onto online screen,
all might glimpse peerlessness serene.
She'd e'en cause pristine saints to dream
on paragon, fair figurine,
on team-theme evergreen.
13 April 1975 revised 23 April 2010
robi03_0078_robi03_0000 XXX_LOX
for previous version see below
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Janine
E’en
Janine
sov’reign Queen,
in beige, brown, green
in silence is seen
sitting. Such a soft scene
as, had I an artist been,
from palette to fair picturene
I would, I ween, cause e’en the saints to dream.
13 April 1975
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Artist
The Artist and his Luckless Wife
They lead a horrid haunted life,
Surrounded by the things he's made
That are not wanted by the trade.
The world is very fair to see;
The Artist will not let it be;
He fiddles with the works of God,
And makes them look uncommon odd.
The Artist is an awful man,
He does not do the things he can;
He does the things he cannot do,
And we attend the private view.
The Artist uses honest paint
To represent things as they ain't,
He then asks money for the time
It took to perpetrate the crime.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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Paint
Don't paint me red,
Red is for bold women that use cheap scent
Don't paint me blue
Blue is for sadness and regret
Don't paint me green
Green is for envy and not to be seen
Don't paint me black
black is for the night and I love the light
Don't paint me white
White is for virgins and me, I love a flirtin'
Don't paint me orange
Orange is vile and I have some style
Don't paint me brown or grey or cream
these colours are boring and really not me.
Paint me in silver, platinum or gold
so I remain precious as I grow old.
poem by Ruth Walters
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The Elfin Artist
In a glade of an elfin forest
When Sussex was Eden-new,
I came on an elvish painter
And watched as his picture grew,
A harebell nodded beside him.
He dipt his brush in the dew.
And it might be the wild thyme round him
That shone in the dark strange ring;
But his brushes were bees' antennae,
His knife was a wasp's blue sting;
And his gorgeous exquisite palette
Was a butterfly's fan-shaped wing.
And he mingled its powdery colours,
And painted the lights that pass,
On a delicate cobweb canvas
That gleamed like a magic glass,
And bloomed like a banner of elf-land,
Between two stalks of grass;
Till it shone like an angel's feather
With sky-born opal and rose,
And gold from the foot of the rainbow,
And colours that no man knows;
And I laughed in the sweet May weather,
Because of the themes he chose.
For he painted the things that matter,
The tints that we all pass by,
Like the little blue wreaths of incense
That the wild thyme breathes to the sky;
Or the first white bud of the hawthorn,
And the light in a blackbird's eye;
And the shadows on soft white cloud-peaks
That carolling skylarks throw,--
Dark dots on the slumbering splendours
That under the wild wings flow,
Wee shadows like violets trembling
On the unseen breasts of snow;
With petals too lovely for colour
That shake to the rapturous wings,
And grow as the bird draws near them,
And die as he mounts and sings,--
Ah, only those exquisite brushes
Could paint these marvellous things.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Brown Skin
Brown skin, you know I love your brown skin
I cant tell where yours begins, I cant tell where mine ends
Brown skin, up against my brown skin
Need some every now and thenoh hey
Where are your people from? maybe mississippi or an island
Apparently your skin has been kissed by the sun
You make me want a hersheys kiss, your licorice
Every time I see your lips, it makes me think of honey-coated chocolate
Your kisses are worth more than gold to me
Ill be your almond joy, youll be my sugar daddy
Brown skin, you know I love your brown skin
I cant tell where yours begins, I cant tell where mine ends
Brown skin, up against my brown skin
Need some every now and thenoh hey
Every time you come around, something magnetic pulls me and I cant get out
Disoriented, I cant tell my up from down
All I know is that I wanna lay you down
Every time I let you in, abracadabra magic happens as we swim
Higher and higher finally we reach heaven
Come back to earth and then we do it all again
Yeah..
Brown skin, you know I love your brown skin
I cant tell where yours begins, I cant tell where mine ends
Brown skin, up against my brown skin
Need some every now and thenoh hey
Skin so brown, lips so round
Baby how can I be down?
Beautiful mahogany, you make me feel like a queen
Tell me whats that thing you do that makes me wanna get next to you, yeah
Brown skin, you know I love your brown skin
I cant tell where yours begins, I cant tell where mine ends
Brown skin, up against my brown skin
Need some every now and thenoh hey
Brown skin, you know I love your brown skin
I cant tell where yours begins, I cant tell where mine ends
Brown skin, up against my brown skin
Need some every now and thenoh hey
song performed by by India Arie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A morning canvas
A morning canvas
~
The clarity of a clear blue morning sky
like the emptiness of a blank canvas
invites the mind to wander on the day
what will be writ, what shall be seen
the serenade of birdsong in the breeze
softly, sweetly awakens the world
here a resolute beauty is found
and a heart invited to sing of love
let the day be won with hope and faith
let friends, family and lovers know
that this is a day to be owned
how thoughts come to a forefront
in the light the rising dawn
expressed without reluctance
upon the waiting canvas
in the clarity of a blue morning sky
this is a day to be alive
poem by Matthew Holloway
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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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Heavy On My Heart
try to fly away but its impossible
and every breath i take gives birth to deeper sighs
and fo a moment i am weak
so its hard for me to speak
even though we're underneath the same blue sky
if i could paint a picture of this melody
there would be a violin without its strings
and the canvas in my mind sings the songs i left behind
like pretty flowers and a sunset
chorus:
its heavy on my heart
i cant make it alone
heavy on my heart
i cant find my way home
heavy on my heart
so come and free me
its so heavy on my heart
ive had my share of pleasure and ive tasted pain
i never thought that i would touch an angels wings
theres a journey in my eyes
its getting hard for me to hide
like the ocean at the sunrise
chorus:x1
love
can you find me in the darkness?
and love
dont let me down
theres a journey in my eyes
its getting hard for me to hide
and i never thought that id touch an angels wing
ohhh...
chorus
song performed by by Anastacia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Green Eyes Blue
Green Eyes Blue
Waking with warmth in my heart and your golden body next to me
A smile on my face morning upon morning
Minds eye scanning memory of every touch, sound, sight of you
The feel of your arms around me, the sweet smell of your breath
And from above…searching me, are your Green Eyes Blue
Eager new flavors, smells and touches brings new joy
Desire for love and hunger for flesh bring these gloves off to touch you
Lips wet and breathes quiver and our legs tangled tight
I want for nothing but your Green Eyes Blue
This woman is awakened by your touch and inspired by your goodness
The fire once thought dead now stoked by your careful hands
Beautiful man of mine holding my heart as we are afloat in this life
I am safe with you beside me as we become lost in each other
My heart is lost in your Green Eyes Blue
poem by Ellie Cook
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