Bridgework - 1396 - Variant of As Artist Poet 0986 and Creative Perceptions 1306
Artists palette, paints, prepare,
poets channel insight rare.
One canvas fills, one paper inks,
imagination interlinks.
Each respective stream compares
perceptions, self-respecting, thinks
perspectives sensitively, shares
intuitive fruition, links
symphonic patterns, well aware
individuals everywhere
sense beauty way beyond time's brink,
horizons widen, never shrink.
Images accompany
free originality.
(7 May 2008)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
Creative Perceptions
Artist appropriate palette prepares
as poet intuitive channels and shares -
perceptions highlighted in paint or in rhyme,
on screen, paper, canvas, [b]rushed, touched outside Time.
Each reaches out writing, foresighting, prepares
stalls [f]rigid for music of spirit sublime.
But few can interpret the talent they praise
in the style of an artist in true paraphrase.
(24 September 2005 robi03_1306)
Bridgework
Artists palette, paints, prepare,
poets channel insight rare.
One canvas fills, one paper inks,
imagination interlinks.
Each respective stream compares
perceptions, self-respecting, thinks
perspectives sensitively, shares
intuitive fruition, links
symphonic patterns, well aware
individuals everywhere
sense beauty way beyond time's brink -
horizons widen, never shrink.
Images accompany
free originality.
(7 May 2008 variant of As Artist, Poet robi03_1396_robi03_0986 16 February 2002 robi03_0986 and also variant of Creative Perceptions
24 September 2005 robi03_1306_robi03_0986)
As Artist, Poet
As artists palette, paints, prepare
so poets channel insight rare.
One canvas fills, one paper inks,
the foremost and the least of links.
Both tune respective streams, compare
perspective, sensitively share
where, true to self there neither sinks
as each through intuitions thinks
the way to harmony, aware
that perfect strangers anywhere
may beauty sense beyond time's brink -
horizons widen, never shrink.
Both pictures form, accompany
creative thrust with spirit free.
(16 February 2002 robi03_0986)
for previous version see below
As Artist, Poet
As artists palette, paints, prepare
so poets insight channel, air: -
one canvas fills, one paper inks,
the foremost and the least of links.
Both tune respective streams with rare
sensitive perspective, care.
When true to self then neither sinks
as each through intuitions thinks
the way to harmony, to share
with perfect strangers anywhere
how beauty may beyond the brink
horizons widen, never shrink.
Both pictures form, accompany
creative thrust with spirit free...
(16 February 2002)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As Artist Poet 0986 Current Variant of Bridgework and of Creative Perceptions
As artists palette, paints, prepare
so poets channel insight rare.
One canvas fills, one paper inks,
the foremost and the least of links.
Both tune respective streams, compare
perspective, sensitively share
where, true to self there neither sinks
as each through intuitions thinks
the way to harmony, aware
that perfect strangers anywhere
may beauty sense beyond time's brink,
horizons widen, never shrink.
Both pictures form, accompany
creative thrust with spirit free.
(7 May 2008)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As Artist Poet 0986 Initial Version Variant of Bridgework - 1396 and Creative Perceptions 1306
As artists palette, paints, prepare
so poets insight channel, air:
one canvas fills, one paper inks,
the foremost and the least of links.
Both tune respective streams with rare
sensitive perspective, care.
When true to self then neither sinks
as each through intuitions thinks
the way to harmony, to share
with perfect strangers anywhere
how beauty may beyond the brink
horizons widen, never shrink.
Both pictures form, accompany
creative thrust with spirit free.
(16 July 2002)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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World Word Canvas
Artists palette, paints, prepare
poets channel insight rare,
canvas filling, paper inking,
imagination's magic thinking
linking their respective streams
compared perspectives, shared agleam,
imagination catalyzed,
creativity uncompromised.
(16 June 2012)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Eternal Golden Braid - Escher, Gödel, Bach
Escher, Gödel, Bach, together
make mind's music tempo weather
form to storm blocks, light as feather
turn constraints most, far less clever,
see as strictures which tight tether,
not as pictures hell-for-leather
spirit lead to question whether
constancy's illusion ever.
Patterns into patterns weaving
both deceiving, undeceiving,
here perception sees stairs leaving
there inspection stares, seize cleaving.
Somehow someone reconciling
forwards, back, and time a-whiling,
motion into more compiling,
starts ball rolling inwards smiling
outwards treadmills single-filing
round in circles never riling,
ever onwards as the aisle in
fact or fiction sets key styling.
As impressions artist wording
so the poet, insight girding
paints life's canvas sixth sense herding
into bridge for future wording.
Mind unwinding never minding
dizzy blinding reels from binding
backwards grinding, from behinding,
springs forth for a fourth time binding
far horizons, nearness, finding
that perceptions interwinding
vision skew to keep reminding
constantly of traces grinding.
Keeping tabs on locomotion
through a tableau that commotion
seems, in turmoil, senseless ocean,
stems from structure's subtle potion.
Thus confusion into fusion
tracks intact design solution
ends, means melds without intrusion
'spite apparent convolution,
inks links' thinklings in profusion
to coherency's conclusion
in a trice as revolution
follows former revolution.
As on canvas, outing, inning,
every level underpinning
exits, entrances rolls spinning
out with no precise beginning.
Pattern's blueprint formulation
seen from every angle, station,
heightened by anticipation,
tunes soul-song to and through elation.
Thus, thereby, emancipation
spins from, through, strict forms - sensation
self-sustaining, graduation
from starting point to revelation.
Thus the page is soon a-filling
and attention draws which, willing,
keys to context, content, spilling
from poetic pen fulfilling.
Images retinal reeling
showing much, as much concealing,
flowing touch in touch revealing,
knowing such from time time's stealing,
offer insights into feeling
through dimensions thus unsealing
variations on themes peeling
from perceptions cycles wheeling
round and round with no chance-dancing
as each level all enhancing
contributes to each entrancing
wave with exit, entrance, glancing.
Rendering impressions sending
bending into further bending
humour with perspective lending,
leading where uncondescending?
Fencing words then fences mending
up, down, sideways, first ascending,
then descending ending, ending
in horizons more appending.
Why continue rhyming chiming,
rapid rhythmic tempo climbing,
further options subtle priming
til atrophy a trophy timing...?
(c) Jonathan Robin 25 January 2007 and 6 April 2008 robi3_1590_robi3_0000 XXX_MXX - see below for previous version
See Douglas Hofstadter...
Eternal Golden Braid... Escher, Gödel, Bach
___________
Patterns into patterns weaving
both deceiving, undeceiving,
here perception sees stairs leaving
there inspection stares, seize cleaving.
Mind unwinding never minding
dizzy blinding reels from binding
backwards grinding, from behinding,
springs forth for a fourth time binding.
Images retinal reeling
showing much, as much concealing,
flowing touch in touch revealing,
knowing such from time time's stealing.
We'd continue rhyming chiming
Atrophy a trophy timing
into rhythmic swift beat climbing,
then descending ending ending...
(c) Jonathan Robin 25 January 2007
See Douglas Hofstadter...
Eternal Golden Braid... Escher, Gödel, Bach
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Master Painter
The master painter unfolds his palette
Strokes generously with his brush,
The sky explodes with images of delight,
An inspiration, for the mind, and heart.
Turner would be envious of such a canvas.
But all too soon the inspiration fades
The light extinguishes and darkness comes
For just moments you painted with your mind
Flew with the eagles into the soaring beauty
Escaped the everyday for the world of imagination
poem by James Tipp
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From Ink to Inklings
FROM INK TO INKLINGS
From ink to inklings visions flow
to stitch life's tapestry and sow
seeds which obscurity reject
as search for light owes slight respect
to monochromes which seldom show
more than man thinks he needs to know
or throw as viewpoint to reject
the inklings others' inks project.
So when one writes on rags to glow
upon a screen ensure thoughts throw
no jealous shadow yet protect
true principles few should forget.
Concluding couplet signs a smile
to mystic storm's intense sense style.
© Jonathan Robin sonnet written 27 December 2006
robi03_1533_robi03_0000 SXX_IXX
See also:
Ink Links Inklings robi03_1831_robi03_0000 SXX_IXX 20081228
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Ink Links Inklings
Ink from inklings flows
weaving tapestry,
understanding grows,
rejecting falsity.
Monochromatic glow’s
innate harmony
kaleidoscopic shows
serendipity.
Image imago
instantaneously
enlightenment bestows,
imagination free.
Impressions’ unity
scorns ambiguity.
See also:
From Ink to Inklings 20061227
robi03_1533_robi03_0000 SXX_IXX
© Jonathan Robin sonnet written 28 December 2008
robi03_1831_robi03_0000 SXX_IXX
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ink Links Inklings
INK LINKS INKLINGS
Ink from inklings flows
weaving tapestry,
understanding grows,
rejecting falsity.
Monochromatic glow’s
innate harmony
kaleidoscopic shows
serendipity.
Image imago
instantaneously
enlightenment bestows,
imagination free.
Impressions’ unity
scorns ambiguity.
See also:
From Ink to Inklings 20061227
robi03_1533_robi03_0000 SXX_IXX
© Jonathan Robin sonnet written 28 December 2008
robi03_1831_robi03_0000 SXX_IXX
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
FROM INK TO INKLINGS
From ink to inklings visions flow
to stitch life's tapestry and sow
seeds which obscurity reject
as search for light owes slight respect
to monochromes which seldom show
more than man thinks he needs to know
or throw as viewpoint to reject
the inklings others' inks project.
So when one writes on rags to glow
upon a screen ensure thoughts throw
no jealous shadow yet protect
true principles few should forget.
Concluding couplet signs a smile
to mystic storm's intense sense style.
© Jonathan Robin sonnet written 27 December 2006
robi03_1533_robi03_0000 SXX_IXX
See also:
Ink Links Inklings robi03_1831_robi03_0000 SXX_IXX 20081228
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fresh Perceptions
Though formal verse depends in part
upon what flows before, the mind
weaves new waft on old weft to bind
a unique imprint when hand, heart,
through sense decyphered may impart
fresh perceptions to unwind
conundrums which most readers find
to inaccessible to chart.
Love of language tears apart
formality, digs deep behind
the lines to draw conclusions signed
in images which ever start
to sketch horizons infinite.
Quest’s laurels rest with insight bright.
3 December 2007
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Garbage Vendor
No love to lose.
Out to use and abuse,
'Fools', she says.
Patterns watched she got from mom?
Or perhaps past actions from dad,
That caught on?
'Love is just in fantasy books.
I don't have attractiveness,
Like a princess with looks! '
Framed to think she's just a piece of meat,
A broken hearted rose that's rare...
On fast filthy streets.
And no one is there to say,
Just how beautiful she is!
She believes this is the only way...
She can feed herself and her three kids!
And across the street on the corner,
Is one who paints...
City scenes for visitors
Who purchase these sites,
Called 'Street Saints'.
And not one dime goes to the one,
Titled 'Madame LaWhore'!
She seems not care...
'No one else did! When I was there! '
She shares this...ignored.
This circle of bad habits...
Stroked in hues on canvas,
Delight those who sightsee
Feeding those 'unseen'
But who are well established.
Like the artist who captures
And sells these 'views',
At the expense of those giving,
Free daily exhibitions...
To whomever they choose.
So that others may sit,
To pocket 'handsomely' off their blues!
'Garbage Vendor'
That's what I call this one!
That will be $200!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The eyes of impressionism
Saints.
Like swans, gliding untroubled so it seems
to us, lazing on the river bank
of a Seurat summer Sunday afternoon,
gliding over the surface of the waters
as love perhaps, on that first day;
they as floating symbols
of the beauty beyond beauty;
their work, invisible to us who watch
Painters.
Like waterlilies, resting in perfection
on the surface of the waters
as love rests, sure of their own beauty;
painting just the sunlight
falling on things, moving on
more slowly than we see;
the depth of the waters
in the painter’s mind and heart;
his work invisible to us who watch
his dabbing at the canvas
as a dabchick bobs in the water, his mind
moving as time moves;
for him, sitting at the canvas,
always time present,
in the water-garden already on his palette
Cataracts.
How far a word from
the stillness around him as he sits,
his beard a little yellow from the nicotine,
seeing the waterlilies as if for the first time,
but each year the water seems to tell
more about time itself… like Proust;
where is time going in this painting?
Eyes.
Cataracts, yes; but perhaps over time
they too have sought to serve him,
become themselves, impressionists,
presenting him with images
prepared like canvasses are prepared;
gently watering inner gardens
between the eyes and mind
yes, that’s Monsieur Monet over there;
don’t disturb him; but if you stand
a little way behind him, you just may
enter the stillness around him,
enter the stillness of his mind,
see with his eyes, that work
invisible to those of us who watch
which swans and saints and artists know.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Speed Read
Quick response serves not if message dim,
Unclear or out of kilter prove to be.
Importance lies retaining verity
Combined with style, - still keeping in the swim -
Knowing, sowing, owing naught to whim.
Links form, melt what appeared disparity,
Yet pulses patterns which provide true key -
Questions met when innovative vim
Unshackles chains to spirit free, or limb,
Incorporates sense hid as harmony
Crumbles Chinese walls with energy.
Keen mind on Time waits not to patterns trim,
Links signals swift, leaves noise behind, to piece
Years future, past, together, gains release...
11 June 2005
poem by Jonathan Robin
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I tried to stir the imagination and enthusiasms of students to take risks, to do what they were most afraid of doing, to widen their horizons of action.
quote by James Broughton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The 'budding' Poets
The 'budding' poets in early teens
Pen down here lyrics on love!
They write lines on ravishing beauty and craving eyes!
The 'budding' poets here flee from care
And embrace the images silhouetted
On the canvas of their dime-heroines of infatuations!
My past asks me, ' What about your lines in my times? '
I keep my eyes closed for some time and answer him,
' I was innocent of course, but a coward too then'.
I see the budding poets marching ahead
Enchanting the magic of sweet love and nectar
And I applaud them for their courage.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Channels
Channel 1's no fun.
Channel 2's just news.
Channel 3's hard to see.
Channel 4 is just a bore.
Channel 5 is all jive.
Channel 6 needs to be fixed.
Channel 7 and Channel 8-
Just old movies, not so great.
Channel 9's a waste of time.
Channel 10 is off, my child.
Wouldn't you like to talk a while?
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Music Is Breath Of Life For Life Artists
those in music for the long haul
are chime web symphony enchanted
because music is an inseparable
part of their intrinsic soul giving being
music is a timeless passion when you feel
reference kiwi artists Tim Finn, Dave Dobbyn
music is breath of life for life artists
music is timeless music which addresses
scale entrapment felt human conditions...
who we are where we are our societies
perceptions of our societies our realities
thinking mind does not outgrow curiosities
interactive sing gifted perceptions
music transforms through generations
insight life quickened mind survives
gift love artistically giving survives
survives immortal ravage time tests
music is breath of life for life artists...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Canvas (Part 2)
We last left off with such the fright,
She paints—but gasp! —that's not quite right,
For every story has a twist,
And every painting is done on her wrist.
She paints with—sorry? —with little regard,
To what may bleed and what may scar,
But oh, she paints a lovely spar,
Despite the way that most things are.
Some find it funny and watch as she flees,
Others feel sick the moment they see,
Because a painter, she can't have much of a life,
If all of her painting is done with a knife.
This painter—in fact—she thinks she's alone,
Because of the burden of problems at home,
And then there's her mind, a nasty old place,
It's mostly the cause of the paintings she makes.
But one can be trapped, or one can be freed,
Though most painters like her find this hard to believe,
Yet this very painter broke free of her sadness,
And if she ever wonders 'why? ' she can look at her canvas.
poem by Dayna Mortimore
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Value Fever Pitch: An Artist’s Time
Bhoman F Jamhari said
'I am an artist - This does not
mean I will work for free.
I have bills just like you.
Thank you for understanding.'
Polite and to the problematic point.
Anyone who thinks believes
an artist’s time is worthless,
is definitely a person an artist
should avoid; such individuals
cannot comprehend
or remotely understand
aesthetic value of art.
Art takes time to produce.
Vision and artistic skill takes
even longer to realize to attain
expanding horizons. Time costs.
Artists of differing genre value
appreciate each other and art
which suits their temperament.
To create art
is the life blood
of an artist.
The air we breathe
is the home of art.
Creativity is our fevered mind songs
we sing in a legacy of image visions.
What kind of a con artist wants
to steal bread from an artist’s mouth;
therefore limiting the quality quantity
of future works of art, to be produced
by that artist. Answer an enemy of art.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Juggler
Eyes recollect facts, won't forget,
store, integrate, restore on cue,
respond beyond horizons flecked
with amber, honey, turquoise, blue,
can juggle concepts pole to pole.
From fears unmet to hopes as yet
unanswered [s]he advances through
fields full of feelings most neglect,
or, worse, reject as threat unto
their omnipresent self-control.
The optic nerve, cone, baton decked,
free from Bell's Palsy, signals to
the brain correcting each defect,
synapses jumped as kangaroo,
help understand life's parabole.
Free to connect to cause/effect,
eyes catalyze, pursue, review,
insight may fancy's flights project
anticipate inventions new
strange spun to change fun future's role.
Where most fears fret, impatient bet
on overlooked, uncertain clue,
there joy elects to intersect
causal rainbows few see through,
connecting halves to make true whole.
Beyond appearances sights set,
explore new interactions to
key into every side effect
induced by links or pattern flow
which show dimensions which may role
reverse as juggler can collect
multi-coloured palette. Who
decodes expects to recollect.
the ways life's [t]issues link into
weird causal web which rigmarole
appears to most who swift forget
truths taught, who, vain, vain dreams pursue.
Experience learns to expect
perspectives, twists and insights new,
surrenders search for strict control.
Strife, blunders, debt, aside set, whet
the appetite for wonders too
diverse to mention, silhouette
may by mind's eye be conjured to
image sublime, life's cherry bowl.
(19 December 2008)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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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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