Portrait of the Desperate
You can stab me with the paint brush
With your initial impressions
Condemning me as a cliché
In the gulag Guggenheim
Posting travesty appraisals
Like fishing hat khaki tourist
Whose idea of high culture
Is a Big Mac at MacDonald's
Enjoy reducing my existence
To sacrosanct banalities
Pontificating irreverent techniques
Of vindictive enmities
Now just adjust me on the meat hook
In your cauterized exhibit
Posting slaughterhouse celebrations
Where the brain police pollution
Egregious diuretic polemics
Under sanguine lit fluorescence
The skin hides peal the canvas
On the phlegmatic eczema easels
Pour the screams in falling blood
As all your carrion patroness
In their quill hats and berates
Produce their fangs to rape the virgins
Nubile innocence
In the gas chamber galas
Laughing sophists paint impressions
With talk of symbols and allegory
and 'How we are so informed'
and 'how we really care'
about the commen man
and one makes him care'
Its all Surrealistic politics
For your Liberalisms Franco
Without integrity or honor
To be an honest fascist
When your own self importance
Is pure civilized impotence
Judge me where you stand
For I escape the canvas
In the portrait of the desperate
poem by Kevin Patrick
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Paint Me Down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im walking into studio
Consider strange appeal
Paint me in the home
Im brushing up on sketchbook
Designs for love unreal
Paint me in the home
Oil and skin youll need to buy it
Consider what I mean
She sinks beneath thr moving pictures
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im soaking up the surface
Conceaiving new idea
Paint me in the home
Shes oiling up her subject
But all still life is here
Paint me in the home
All the boys with framed dimension
A cover up on lust
Hell take his pain and paint it over
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Life is a painting! !
Coloured hues make up our life,
A role modelling brush shapes up our life,
Pure water mix our sorrows with joys,
A canvas's always there to put on your life,
A stand will always place you high in life,
A person is always beside to guide you in life,
And at last the whole world exists to look at your life....
You first paint your life on a piece of white,
you strive hard to shape your life,
but remember you always enjoy the strife you put in your life,
you first succeed when you sketch your life,
you then succeed when you paint it right,
you last succeed when you frame it bright....
Remenber a small jurk may spoil your thing,
bit of misguidance or excess of showing,
may not seem big when you ae doing,
but finally while looking,
that makes all the spoiling....
Just it is, your mistakes are not big,
when you do it,
but when life gets tougher,
mistakes look as blunders.
so strive as hard as you painted as much in life to succeed...
Good Luck! ! Go paint your life..
poem by Koushik Poolla
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
You Only Paint The Picture Once
(Teddy Gentry/Randy Owen/Ronnie Rogers/Greg Fowler)
Look at those evening shadows
Casting a peaceful light
The sun is disappearing
It's a beautiful sight
Moments caught forever
By the master's touch
A lasting reminder
To us
You only paint the picture once
(And) you only get one chance
Take the time to do your best
While the brush is in your hand
Make sure it's just right
Before the colors dry
You can't change it once it's done
You only paint the picture once
Love is the canvas
That's where it all starts
A lifetime together
Becomes a work of art
Just look what's been created
Between your heart and mine
Oh I believe that we're one of a kind
You only paint the picture once
(And) you only get one chance
Take the time to do your best
While the brush is in your hand
Make sure it's just right
Before the colors dry
You can't change it once it's done
You only paint the picture once
It's a portrait of life
You can't live it twice
You only paint the picture once
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Am I a master
I am the master, master of art
have painted true pictures,
of rising sun, mountain, sea
through jungles flowing rivers,
shining stars, birds, cloudy sky,
can paint anything and everything.
insects, lions, bear and deer.
just like the living things.
I am the master, master of art,
can make my own paint and brush
Alas! but cannot create raw material
of any of paint, brush or canvas.
Oh! can not paint these seven
which are made only in heaven:
smell, touch, look, hear and taste,
emotions, thought and breathe.
No, I am not the master, master of art
can paint uncountable things yet not.
Not possible to paint love and laugh
I have to go again and again to learn
to the supreme master, who painted
the universe, stars, moon and sun
(C) S. D. Tiwari
poem by S.D. Tiwari
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Evolution Of Revolution
i can still taste,
frozen moonlit blood night
dripping from my fangs,
can feel the earth writing pawstruck,
the cool damp loving grasses.
still shudder with the howl,
that opens and spills my soul,
my eyes alive and searching
for the hint of passion.
pour a glass of wine,
we'll speak softly
like civilized men and women...
talk of books, ideals,
the evolution of revolution,
and paint a portrait of god.
still the drums beat,
the wind calls with a lover's need.
the trees mumble with magnetic sweeps,
and the night boils like blood!
pour a glass of wine,
we'll speak softly
like civilized shells
lying empty on the beach.
longing for that old longing,
the evolution of revolution...
but we would be gods!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I'm Not One Of Those Peephole Old People
I'm not a portrait painting on a canvas.
Waiting for a visit to exhibit.
I'm not one of those peephole old people...
Peeking out of keyholes all day,
Hey...
I,
Am much...
Alive.
I'm not a portrait painting on a canvas.
Waiting for a visit to exhibit.
I,
Am much...
Alive.
I,
Am much...
Alive.
I'm not one of those peephole old people,
Peeking out of keyholes all day!
I'm not a portrait painting on a canvas.
Waiting for a visit to exhibit.
I,
Am much...
Alive.
I,
Am much...
Alive.
I'm not a portrait painting on a canvas.
Waiting for a visit to exhibit.
I'm not one of those peephole old people...
Peeking out of keyholes all day,
Hey...
I'm not a portrait painting on a canvas.
Waiting for a visit to exhibit.
I'm not one of those peephole old people...
Peeking out of keyholes all day,
Hey...
I,
Am much...
Alive.
I'm not one of those peephole old people.
I,
Am much...
Alive.
Peeking out of keyholes all day.
I,
Am much...
Alive.
I'm not one of those peephole old people...
Peeking out of keyholes all day,
Hey...
I'm not a portrait painting on a canvas.
Waiting for a visit to exhibit.
I,
Am much...
Alive.
I,
Am much...
Alive.
I,
Am much...
Alive.
I'm not one of those peephole old people...
Peeking out of keyholes all day.
I'm not one of those peephole old people...
Peeking out of keyholes all day,
All day.
All day...
Hey!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It's to paint directly on the canvas without any funny business, as it were, and I use almost pure turpentine to start with, adding oil as I go along until the medium becomes pure oil. I use as little oil as I can possibly help, and that's my method.
quote by Edward Hopper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
If I Were A Painting
If I were a painting
Captured on canvas
Alone in the portriat I would stand
And brush strokes bold
Yet soft as a whisper
The work of a feminine hand.
Caught in a still life
Surrounded by shadows
And lost in a background of blue
If I were a painting
My price would be pain
And the artist would have to be you.
I imagine the colors
Would all run together
If you ever allowed me to cry
So don't paint the tears
Just let me remember me
Without you in my eyes.
It's only the frame
That holds me together
Or else I would be falling apart
If I were a painting
I wouldn't feel
And you wouldnt be breaking my heart...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Has Our Country Changed?
In these United States hundreds of years ago,
when our forefathers began to paint a canvas
of the love of God, of honesty, helping thy
neighbor, morality and family unity. We stand
before that canvas now and we see vast
alterations.
Many among us have replaced
honesty with greed, morality with
immorality, helping thy neighbor, with indifference
and family unity with legions of gypsies to roam
the earth without roots, without purpose, without
a love of country and fellow man...without
a love of God.
Take great care that you do not follow the legions
of lost people; for in their improprieties and in
their rejection of the God within them, they have
forsaken not only Him but themselves.
I really enjoy squeezing out a big lump of paint directly onto the canvas and leaving it; fresh, immediate and sometimes shocking.
~Painting Poetry~
Poetry in thought
words tumble
from my mind
onto the page and screen
like paint dripping
from sable silk brushes
creating new visions
of new realities
in the virtual space
of my Soul
painting a perfect picture
words drip down the canvas
in deep brilliant hues
of purples and reds
and vibrant blues
to soft indigo of
twinkling velvet starlight
yellow tones as warm as sunrize
and golden oranges
of fleeting sunsets
blanket the page and screen
as verse, lyric and rhyme converge
splattering from my tongue
giving form to my dreams
and shape to my fantasies
trailing across
the smooth texture
and terrain of
flesh and muscle
brushes whisper
across the canvas
dance across bodies
images of two entwined
captured boldly
in Nubian hues
of mahogany and mocha
limbs and torsos
move and connect
in a vision of words spoken
caught in the kinetic frenzy
of bodies joined
and poetry painted
across the canvas
of this night’s loving
a masterpiece to behold
for generations to come
culminating in the joining of
pen and brush
words and colors
page and canvas
poetry and paint
poem by Soulful One
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It's the Attention Given That Sells
A showstopping mocker,
Here to dropp impressions?
No.
I'm not into recreations.
They bore!
My direction has my pace on it.
Comparisons made to others,
Is an honor that flatters.
But I've never been able,
To do impressions well.
And if my toes are stepped on,
I will yell.
With a broadcasting done,
Screaming from the painful agony inflicted.
I can not escape the flair for dramatics.
It's the attention given,
That sells a unique performance.
'Work that pout.'
It's here.
'Work that stare.'
It's here.
'Now work that brow over the eye.
Arch it up real high! '
'Work that pout.'
It's here.
'Work that stare.'
It's here.
'Now work that brow over the eye.
Arch it up real high! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Portrait of life...
Awakened to the rough sketch of another morning,
The birth of this new day but a canvass of new creation,
The pallette of life felt in every breath and sense I feel,
My portrait slowly takes shape as the day unfolds,
I am the artist painting life upon another days canvas,
The beauty I preceive has influence on those around me,
For I possess a power within known to all true poets,
The power to paint a beautiful landscape of hope,
Or to darken man's reality with visions of despair,
What picture of eternity shall you paint upon life's journey? ...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
God's Canvas Above
The Artist behind the canvas above, the sky's what I'm speaking of,
Stretched above so wide and blue, every day a painting brand new,
God's painting above for all to see, painted by The Lord of Eternity,
The canvas above God's Creation, visible by every man and nation.
He begins every day with the sun, The Creator's Light for everyone,
Keeping God's touch in mind, sometimes the sun He hides behind,
Those clouds, so white and full, all through The Lord's creative rule,
When the Lord does paint the sky, which is seen through every eye.
God ends each day not the same, although the clouds may remain,
As night begins He paints the sun, well over this earth's far horizon,
Turning the sky to a black canopy, to paint those stars that we see,
With the sun replaced by the moon, along with stars that are strewn.
This is just the sky above my friend, for God's Creation has no end,
It goes beyond what we can see, for God is The Creator of Eternity,
But, what God chooses to display, is a witness to all nations today,
His witness that men come to know, The Lord above all men below.
God's Creation, to all mankind, is The Creators testimony to remind,
There's a Creator beyond the sky, One, Who created both you and I,
Whose witness creates accountability, for every person that can see,
That above man there is a Creator, Who sent Christ to be our Savior.
(Copyright ©06/2012)
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Talent
Have you ever felt like you can't do anything?
Or maybe, more, you can't do anything well?
LIke everything you do is just to par,
No steep above anyone,
And always a step behind the next.
Pen against paper,
Just turns words and thoughts into something expected,
Paint against canvas,
Just turns colors into an elementary picture.
Setting to work with expectations, only to have them broken.
Or maybe even you do something well,
Or are told that you do,
And all of a sudden it, too, becomes par.
A mundane activity that changes no minds, nor lives,
Neither impresses, nor leaves impressions.
This is how I feel,
Torn apart by everything I do,
And the nothing I do well.
Left in a world of talent,
Only to realize I have none if my own.
If one were to ask me,
'what is your talent? '
I would think for a moment,
Then, I would reply,
'My talent is non talent'
I recognize talent in others,
I recognize their deserve of praise,
And it makes me happy,
But then I remember,
I have nothing to show them.
I long for something to show the world,
To open peoples' minds to beauty and art,
Yet, slowly, everyday I begin to see;
I will never be the entertainer,
Just, merely, the entertained.
By: Bethany Maxwell
©2012
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!