The Artist's Duty
So it is the duty of the artist to discourage all traces of shame
To extend all boundaries
To fog them in right over the plate
To kill only what is ridiculous
To establish problem
To ignore solutions
To listen to no one
To omit nothing
To contradict everything
To generate the free brain
To bear no cross
To take part in no crucifixion
To tinkle a warning when mankind strays
To explode upon all parties
To wound deeper than the soldier
To heal this poor obstinate monkey once and for all
To verify the irrational
To exaggerate all things
To inhibit everyone
To lubricate each proportion
To experience only experience
To set a flame in the high air
To exclaim at the commonplace alone
To cause the unseen eyes to open
To admire only the abrsurd
To be concerned with every profession save his own
To raise a fortuitous stink on the boulevards of truth and beauty
To desire an electrifiable intercourse with a female alligator
To lift the flesh above the suffering
To forgive the beautiful its disconsolate deceit
To flash his vengeful badge at every abyss
To HAPPEN
It is the artist’s duty to be alive
To drag people into glittering occupations
To blush perpetually in gaping innocence
To drift happily through the ruined race-intelligence
To burrow beneath the subconscious
To defend the unreal at the cost of his reason
To obey each outrageous inpulse
To commit his company to all enchantments.
poem by Kenneth Patchen
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Related quotes
Galatea (a riff)
What perfection in eye and cheek,
She shifts her body, I cannot speak,
Her back's soft light of muscled bone
That I would frame in marble stone;
What arrogance in handheld tool
That I could take what's learned in school
And reproduce her subtle beauty
Oh Pygmalion, you fail in duty.
With grace she moves to part the curtain,
In dusky light she stands uncertain
To check the time she has to pose,
What innocence denied of clothes.
Oh Artist here stands your Art
With breathing lips, a beating heart,
She turns to me, head over shoulder,
Complains to me, the room's grown colder.
I take an iron and stoke the coals,
How burns the furnace of my soul,
Oh I would warm her in my arms,
Would violation arouse alarm?
But she resumes her model perch,
Her innocence I would not besmirch,
But I am poor and ill-equipped
To carve the ivory of her hip.
Her perfection stalls my hand
It overcomes my code as man,
I kneel before her radiant beauty
And as an artist forget my duty
poem by David McLansky
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Outrageous
My situation never changes - or very little
My little world -- my little world--is due for a shakeup
Or a shakedown would be acceptable
And I cant understand--cant understand
Why people think Im so respectable
I believe, I believe, I believe
Outrageous, outrageous, outrageous
Outrageous things are gonna happen to me
Theyre gonna happen to the other side
Theyre gonna happen to somebody
Its gonna happen to the kids to the people next door
And it really isnt funny
And I said my situation never changes
But Im not too sure
I believe, I believe, I believe, I believe
That somethings gonna happen real soon (something scary)
I know, I know, I know
Outrageous, outrageous, outrageous
Outrageous things are gonna happen to me
Theyre gonna happen to me.
Everywhere I go--outrageous
Everything I see
Everytime I talk--outrageous
Im gettin into trouble
Open my big mouth--outrageous
Words keep fallin out
Open my big mouth--outrageous
Now Im in trouble
I believe, I believe, I believe
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To the artist is sometimes granted a sudden, transient insight which serves in this matter for experience. A flash, and where previously the brain held a dead fact, the soul grasps a living truth! At moments we are all artists.
quote by Arnold Bennett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love And Beauty
(Mike Pinder)
I look around at other people
I brush their shoulders at the corner of the street
But all they notice is their feet
It wasn't meant this way
Their minds have gone astray
If they could lift their eyes they'd see
There's people smiling just like me and I'll agree
It's not their fault because it's raining
It's all work and no play, it's just another day
(Love) Love and beauty (Love)
(Love) Love and beauty (Love)
(Love) Love and beauty (Love)
Should be everybody's duty
To welcome every man as a friend
I wish that I could change the world
For every boy there'd be a girl for him to know
And maybe people would look up
Then they might realize they're not the only ones alive
(Love) Love and beauty (Love)
(Love) Love and beauty (Love)
(Love) Love and beauty (Love)
Should be everybody's duty
To welcome every man as a friend
(Love) Love and beauty (Love)
(Love) Love and beauty (Love)
*************************************************************
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coming Down Hard On Crime
They're coming down hard on crime.
And this you can believe.
All eyes will open wide.
And deceit and thieves,
Will cease to be.
So hold your head erect!
And know this will happen soon.
And sing a happy song.
Knowing we'll soon be crook free!
Come from behind those bushes,
Children.
Come...
Come sing along with me!
The 'boogeyman' is gone.
They're coming down hard on crime.
Sing...
('Coming down hard on crime...')
And this you can believe.
('This we can believe...')
I think you've got it.
All eyes will open wide
('Our eyes are open wide...
And deceit and thieves have ceased to be.')
Very nice!
Yes...
Deceit and thieves.
('Yes deceit and thieves')
Yes...
Deceit and thieves.
('Yes deceit and thieves')
YES...
DECEIT and THIEVES.
('DECEIT and THIEVES')
Together and raise our voices high!
YES...
DECEIT and THIEVES...
HAVE CEASED
TO
BE!
Marvelous children!
Wasn't that a 'happy tune'?
NOTE:
Doesn't this remind you of 'something' from...
Let's see...
The Sound of Music?
Yes!
When the hills became alive with it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The seeing of things as they really are — the seeing of a proportion veiled from other eyes (together with the power of expression), is what makes a man an artist. What makes him a great artist is a high fervour of spirit, which produces a superlative, instead of a comparative, clarity of vision.
quote by John Galsworthy
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I think every experience you have working with people you admire and respect really enriches you as an artist.
quote by Robert Patrick
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Mind Rich In Innocence
Truth, The Real God
Not that we have made
Does not want a facade
Of the limited and narrow world that we parade
It asks for a mind rich in Innocence
That doesnt have a scratch of experience
A mind free from time
A mind free from grime
It wants a Being whose heart is Full
Rich, clear which does not get pulled
By jaded and petty eyesight
Just capable of intense feeling in all its might
Be sensitive with your nerves
Your eyes, your body, your voice, your ears
See the beauty of the tree, the smile of the child
The agony of the woman without a meal, the animals in wild
Unless you do, there is no intelligence
It doesnt come with knowledge or experience
Comes with sensitivity and observation
A mind rich in Innocence....
poem by Renu Rakheja
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The mother and the artist
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of wonderfully emollient freshness; every
unfurling instant of impregnably magnificent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of spellbindingly undefeated innocence; every
unfurling instant of symbiotically pristine existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of timelessly unconquerable truth; every unfurling
instant of bounteously magnanimous existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unfathomably unfettered creativity; every
unfurling instant of timelessly burgeoning existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of royally triumphant resplendence; every
unfurling instant of unconquerably majestic existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of eternally exhilarating vivaciousness; every
unfurling instant of redolently insuperable existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unbelievably ameliorating optimism; every
unfurling instant of marvelously benign existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of brilliantly liberated camaraderie; every
unfurling instant of iridescently inscrutable existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unshakably virgin righteousness; every
unfurling instant of beautifully untainted existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of uninhibitedly heavenly frolic; every unfurling
instant of tantalizingly sensuous existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of compassionately humanitarian friendship; every
unfurling instant of magically mitigating existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of miraculously everlasting freshness; every
unfurling instant of invincibly coalescing existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of pricelessly ubiquitous oneness; every unfurling
instant of robustly blessed existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unbreakably Omnipotent desire; every unfurling
instant of victoriously effulgent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unceasingly reinvigorating fantasy; every
unfurling minute of poignantly charismatic existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of insurmountably intrepid enchantment; every
unfurling minute of rhapsodically unhindered existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of Omnisciently tranquil serenity; every unfurling
instant of endlessly bestowing existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of perpetually fragrant breath; every unfurling
instant of Omnipresently benevolent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of Immortally ardent love; every unfurling instant
of limitlessly fructifying existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of fantastically alleviating poetry; every
unfurling instant of boundlessly splendid existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of fabulously effervescent tanginess; every
unfurling instant of spiritually uplifting existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of unlimitedly enlightening Sunshine; every
unfurling instant of infallibly luminescent existence,
A mother might bear just a single child in 9 months; but an artist blossoms
into an infinite children of immaculately godly melody; every unfurling
instant of amiably melanging existence,
Because. And Only Because. A Mother is; has and shall for times immemorial
remain the Greatest Sculptor of every organism on this astoundingly
multiplying Universe; A Mother is the Greatest Artist….
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Forgive you
Forgive you
It is not hard to forgive you
Transparent heart, i know who are you
It is okay to forgive you
Need no reason, just forgive you
Pains u gave me, smiles i give you
Hates can stab me, please not to you
You innocent in the eyes of anger
Truth will be seen a bit longer
Never mind how deep you cut my skin
Never mind how bloody heart i felt in
I just can't hate you
Everything u do, forgive you
I need to save you from dark
So just give me all your pain
Cleanse your suffering marks
I'll wipe away your trouble not to stain
Then, when a chance came to me
Finally i have to leave you
Doesn't mean grudge buried me
But no chance to tell you
When truth comes tell everything
Don't feel regret or bad feeling
I told you, i forgive you
But now forgive me for leaving you
Only one thing i want you always do
Smile as sincere u can do
We still friend, promise you, i do..
Forgave you, now Forgive me
: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : Theme: Forgiveness: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :
the inspiration by people and imagination Don't shy to say
sorry, don't feel difficult to forgive..the ego only kill the
beauty of life In everything we do, don't let emotion enclose intuition
................................ ................................................. .......
poem by Unwritten Soul
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When Children Lose Their Innocence
The innocence of childhood it is a marvellous thing
And all children are untainted in their life's early Spring
But by the time they've reached their teens their innocence they've lost
And the experience that we gain from age always comes at a cost.
When children lose their innocence they lose their gift of joy
The joy that comes from innocence in every young girl and boy
Compared to us young children see life quite differently
Of the guilt of corruption they are completely free.
I have such happy memories of when I was a boy
My childhood years were happy years but time just seemed to fly
And the experience that I've gained from life it came at a great cost
For I lost something beautiful when innocence I lost.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Lonesome Refugee's Song (Part Two)
tis not magic, nothing more tragic,
than the works of mankind.
with instant salvation by quick donations,
the blind follow the blind.
while the rich cast bread to the nearly dead,
and kick the dogs as they eat.
with boots of flesh that stink of success,
they grind the bones beneath their feet.
the time clock shouts, undresses doubt,
till the truth is revealed.
dignity cries with unbound eyes,
till the cup of cost is filled.
god removes her mask for those who ask,
who've nothing left to lose.
while pilgrims search the trash and the dirt
for the things that can be used.
the distant shore, beyond the door,
the key won by fire and trial.
the naked stand with battered hands
beneath the cross of man's denial.
to bear the blow because they know
that they have not a home.
and only by heart to light the dark...
hear the lonesome refugee's song!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Truth will kill you (comment any suggestions please! !)
The truth will indeed inevitably kill you.
The scars in my soul all seem too real.
The wound is jus too deep to heal.
The truth will indeed inevitably kill you.
The truth will indeed inevitably kill you.
Ignorance is only bliss
Left in this dark, cold abyss.
The truth will indeed inevitably kill you.
The truth will indeed inevitably kill you.
The pain is too much to bare.
So deeply I long to not care.
The truth will indeed inevitably kill you.
poem by Nikki Chauhan
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Kill Thy Flesh
'Who are you to say
I must take a knife and kill my flesh?
Is this your number one test?
You SAW what happen to my brother,
And I must do the same…. am I bother?
Telling me to kill my flesh,
I thought know what's best? '
'I'm the Lord you're God,
I'm strength, the joy of your life
I can take the pain away, and erase
Any strives.
I can set you free and give you victory,
I'm the one on the inside of you,
One God in the Holy Trinity.
He's an accuser of the saints
Don't choose death no more…you can't'
'My sins are way too drastic Lord
How can forgive me-
I even cursed in crowd,
How can you have mercy? '
'I'm the Lord your God,
Who is able to forgive.
I will open my arms,
Come as you are
Kill thy flesh,
And all things will
Granted unto you.
The enemy is fighting you
Just tell him to prepare to lose.'
'Oh lord have mercy on me,
I've sinned; I want to live for eternity
Oh lord have mercy, feel so guilty.
I refuse to follow you and fail
Not lifting my eyes in no hell'
poem by C.F Francis
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Fifty Cents A Day
I am an humble Soldier
far from my friends and home,
mid scenes of war and hardships
I constantly must roam,
with many officers over me,
and them I must obey,
and do just what they tell me,
for fifty cents a day.
I enlisted in the army
to help my country's cause,
because I loved it dearly,
and would sustain its laws,
I felt a free man's duty,
his country to obey,
I came not as a hireling,
for fifty cents a day
I enlisted as a soldier.
a free man and a man
To do a soldiers duty,
as best a soldier can.
hope to fight the rebels,
and hate this long delay.
I came to help my country,
for fifty cents a day.
I now must yield to hardships
in cold in storm and rain
perchance with scanty rations
not even then complain
the right of seeking comfort
long since I signed away
my life I am slowly losing
for fifty cents a day.
who send the soldiers to the field
to buy his willing hand,
with promises so plentiful,
of treatment like a man?
twas those who, in two days,
received a larger pay
than does the soldiers in a month
at fifty cents a day
who promised to the soldier,
his wrongs should be redressed
if tyanny or officers
should his right oppress?
alas! the sword may smight him,
or kicked around he may be,
he finds his only redress,
is fifty cents a day
who promised to the soldiers,
if sickness should appear,
good doctors and kind nurses
was ready and was near,
to aid him in his feebleness
as quick as though his pay
was ten times as much
as fifty cents a day.
twas those who wear the shoulder straps
with haughty air of grace,
who look upon the soldier
below the negro race,
who thinks a soldier's duty
is only to obey
his lordship, and be content
with fifty cents a day.
how oft I've seen the soldier,
near tottering to the ground,
seek vainly for some friendly aid,
when it could ne'er be found,
when told he was not ailing,
to go and take his way,
one week would end his suffering
and fifty cents a day.
now, how many of these officers
would be here where they are,
if forced to live like soldiers,
and take a soldier's fare?
how few would take the treatment
even with their liberal pay,
let alone the poor pittance
of fifty cents a day
cheer up my gallant soldiers,
be cheerful, gay, and smile,
we'll do the fighting now,
and the voting after awhile,
and then we'll show oppressors
that they may fell dismay,
who treated us as serviles,
at fifty cents a day.
This poem was written by my great, great, great, grandfather when he was a POW in the civil war. He wrote this during the month of December 1863. I wanted to share this with everyone in memory of him.
poem by Shauna Stoltz
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Seamless war
Every soldier is a willing terrorist
Waiting only for the order to come
To pull the trigger on someone
And throw granites at another one.
Every terrorist is a forced soldier
Waiting to annihilates the suppression
And free the people of their love
From the wilderness in the civilization.
What matters here is both kills
One claims to kill to defense
Another claim to kill to free
At the end both become the losers
And innocent people gather tears in their eyes.
Guns and granites is no peace matters
Once they are touched forever follows the fear
Every second each one dies in freezing heat
That boils the heart and soul and conscience.
Rights is what the terrorist is fighting for
Might is what the soldier is given
When the soldier dies, he dies and gains
When a terrorist dies, he dies in vain
Yet each has the essential supports
The soldier’s essence is to defend
While the terrorist break the fence.
Be it in defense
Or a wave in defiance
The earth is wet again and again
With the blood of human agony
And again the people gather tears in their eyes.
That which lives so far
Through the many wars
Are not man and his will
But the guns that kill.
Open the eyes my brothers
The soldier and the terrorist,
We can’t cup the water in both palms
And walk a hundred miles to quench the dying souls
Its next to our feet, we shall bow and lift the humanity.
©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 031207.
poem by cyclopseven Ram
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Generator
We generate heat
We generate emotion
We generate a feeling
That is better left here
Than a memory on a wall
I'd rather cry than forget you
We generate pain
We generate suspicion
We generate a rumour that's sick
But a rumour that is probably true
I'd rather die than forget you
(i won't let my dreams slip away from me)
I'm talking sex motion
I'm talking 'bout fashion
I'm talking 'bout skin games
I'm talking 'bout secrets
(and i won't let my heart run away with me)
I'm talking temptation
I'm talking 'bout memories
I'm talking 'bout feelings
I'm talking 'bout emotion
We generate lies
We generate pictures
We generate a video film
That i couldn't let my best friend see
I'd rather lose than forgive you
We generate shame
We generate secrets
We generate a reason for living
And we generate a reason for not
I'd rather hurt than forget you
I can't believe that i'm here
I can't believe what i've seen
I can't believe what i'm doing to you
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Weary Soldier
Tired eyes watch the weary reflection of the soldier,
who walks without pride or judgment,
and fears none but God.
When he takes up a duty,
he does not run away or hide,
but goes with twice the effort.
The cross that beats upon his chest,
as he runs down the path to victory,
encourages this weary soldier to run with the speed of a cheetah.
The chain that bears the weight of his cross,
as he goes into battle for the weak,
encourages this weary soldier to fight with the power of a lion.
The taunts and jeers that come against the cross,
as he marches in between battles,
remind this weary soldier to take pride in none but God,
and the words of Jesus echo in his mind,
'Father forgive them for they know not what they do...'
poem by Amber Glistener
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Flesh Wound
We flew over miles of ocean--be prepared.
I don't have the faintest notion who'll be there.
You underestimated; nobody sympathized.
I think you'll soon feel better once we get inside.
I see the door is open -- Why don't we walk right in?
Let's put our party hats on and let the fun begin!
We should have called and said that we were on our way;
Who would have ever guessed that you'd be so unreachable?
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in my side
Just another flesh wound--another wonder-cure that you tried
Just another flesh wound--another scratch on your hide
Just another flesh wound--another irritation you abide
You know the rumour's going that he was synthesized.
And if we had to dress, I wouldn't be surprised.
I say -- you're so outrageous -- you'll go to number one!
They'll have us both arrested for having too much fun.
Just another flesh wound--another scratch on your hide.
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in your side.
Just another flesh wound--another bruise on your pride.
Just another flesh wound--another paranoia that you hide.
And when she held her nose, she took an underdose.
It was nice to see her completely comatose.
You go first, you're completely debonair;
Let's go dutch -- it's only fair.
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in your side.
Just another flesh wound--a minor injury you dignified.
Just another flesh wound--another unsuccessful suicide.
Just another flesh wound--another curse that you ride.
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God, Himself, Opines To You...
God, Himself, opines to you, as I pen this;
Your truth, for all inherent, to emerge within this!
Willest thou allow this miscarriage of justice?
Or, rather, willest thou correct, as you must, this?
Your duty, what you were supposed to do, find truth!
Your duty, too, to allow healing of your decision, uncouth!
Not though did you, at the cost of my freedom, my life;
Naught was done, by me, to cause upon you, this strife!
A Father is taken from his Daughters, not is this fair;
A best friend's want to to help heal you, I hope you are now there!
'The love of your life' made to pay for others' crimes;
Nothing can be done though, to silence truth in my rhymes!
Remember you must, how you really 'feel',
That is the only way that you will really heal!
Maurice Harris,16 December 2007
poem by Maurice Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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