The Pack-Saddle
A FAMOUS painter, jealous of his wife;
Whose charms he valued more than fame or life,
When going on a journey used his art,
To paint an ASS upon a certain part,
(Umbilical, 'tis said) and like a seal:
Impressive token, nothing thence to steal.
A BROTHER brush, enamoured of the dame;
Now took advantage, and declared his flame:
The Ass effaced, but God knows how 'twas done;
Another soon howe'er he had begun,
And finished well, upon the very spot;
In painting, few more praises ever got;
But want of recollection made him place
A saddle, where before he none could trace.
THE husband, when returned, desired to look
At what he drew, when leave he lately took.
Yes, see my dear, the wily wife replied,
The Ass is witness, faithful I abide.
Zounds! said the painter, when he got a sight,--
What!--you'd persuade me ev'ry thing is right?
I wish the witness you display so well,
And him who saddled it, were both in Hell.
poem by La Fontaine
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Related quotes
Painter Man
Went to college, studied arts
To be an artist make a start
Studied hard, gettin my degree
But no one seemed to notice me
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
Tried cartoons and comic books
Dirty postcards could have done
Here was where the money laid
Classic art has had its day
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
Did adverts for t.v.
Household shops and brands of tea
Labels all around the cans
Who wanna be a painter man
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
La...la...la...la...la...la...
La...la...la...la...la...la...la...
Painter man, painter man
Who wanna be a painter man
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cobbler
WE'RE told, that once a cobbler, BLASE by name;
A wife had got, whose charms so high in fame;
But as it happened, that their cash was spent,
The honest couple to a neighbour went,
A corn-factor by trade, not overwise
To whom they stated facts without disguise;
And begged, with falt'ring voice denoting care,
That he, of wheat, would half a measure spare,
Upon their note, which readily he gave,
And all advantages desired to wave.
THE time for payment came; the money used;
The cash our factor would not be refused;
Of writs he talked, attorneys, and distress;
The reason:--heav'n can tell, and you may guess;
In short, 'twas clear our gay gallant desired,
To cheer the wife, whose beauty all admired.
SAID he, what anxiously I wish to get,
You've plenty stored, and never wanted yet;
You surely know my meaning?--Yes, she cried;
I'll turn it in my mind, and we'll decide
How best to act. Away she quickly flew,
And Blase informed, what Ninny had in view.
Zounds! said the cobbler, we must see, my dear,
To hook this little sum:--the way is clear;
No risk I'm confident; for prithee run
And tell him I've a journey just begun;
That he may hither come and have his will;
But 'ere he touch thy lips, demand the bill;
He'll not refuse the boon I'm very sure;
Meantime, myself I'll hide and all secure.
The note obtained, cough loudly, strong, and clear;
Twice let it be, that I may plainly hear;
Then forth I'll sally from my lurking place,
And, spite of folly's frowns, prevent disgrace.
THE, plot succeeded as the pair desired;
The cobbler laughed, and ALL his scheme admired:
A purse-proud cit thereon observed and swore;
'Twere better to have coughed when all was o'er;
Then you, all three, would have enjoyed your wish,
And been in future all as mute as fish.
OH! sir, replied the cobbler's wife at ease,
Do you suppose that use can hope to please,
And like your ladies full of sense appear?
(For two were seated with his wedded dear
Perhaps my lady 'd act as you describe,
But ev'ry one such prudence don't imbibe..
poem by La Fontaine
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The Painter (Ang Pintor)
The Painter...
He colored the sky
He colored the sea
and even the mountains
and the field.
The Painter...
He colored the roses
and even the birds
and animals
in the farm.
The Painter...
even my life...
He colored.
But the Painter,
I guess no one
have seen Him yet.
The Painter...
can anyone paint the colors
of His life?
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Builder Has Finished Build Well
Builder has finished build well
Only the painter to paint good
Wish he paints bright and peace
Builder has finished build well
Who the builder? who the painter?
Light your search to find rather
Builder has finished build well
Only the painter to paint good
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Can I Get A Witness
Can I get a witness
Maybe you got faith
In where this is going
Maybe Ill pull up the stakes
And Ill be letting go
I could not believe
I could not believe
Can I get a witness, witness x3
You know a lot of times I think how big
And I feel lost on the zag zig now
I could not believe
I could not believe
Can I get a witness, witness x3
And some of these people are just so lame
I dont feel like a pupil
Just a loser on a game show
I just cant believe it
No, I cant believe it
Can I get a witness, witness x3
Im rooting for you
And I toasted when I heard about you
And how you got a witness
A citizen maybe in another place
Here comes the wind
Im a chaser
Its time to leave
Here comes
Its time to leave
Can I get a witness, witness (repeat)
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Jealous Husband
A CERTAIN husband who, from jealous fear,
With one eye slept while t'other watched his dear,
Deprived his wife of every social joy,
(Friends oft the jealous character annoy,)
And made a fine collection in a book,
Of tricks with which the sex their wishes hook.
Strange fool! as if their wiles, to speak the truth,
Were not a hydra, both in age and youth.
HIS wife howe'er engaged his constant cares;
He counted e'en the number of her hairs;
And kept a hag who followed every hour,
Where'er she went, each motion to devour;
Duenna like, true semblance of a shade,
That never quits, yet moves as if afraid.
THIS arch collection, like a prayer-book bound;
Was in the blockhead's pocket always found,
The form religious of the work, he thought,
Would prove a charm 'gainst vice whenever sought!
ONE holy day, it happened that our dame,
As from the neighb'ring church she homeward came;
And passed a house, some wight, concealed from view;
A basket full of filth upon her threw.
WITH anxious care apologies were made;
The lady, frightened by the frolick played,
Quite unsuspicious to the mansion went;
Her aged friend for other clothes she sent,
Who hurried home, and ent'ring out of breath;
Informed old hunks--what pained him more than death
ZOUNDS! cried the latter, vainly I may look
To find a case like this within my book;
A dupe I'm made, and nothing can be worse:--
Hell seize the work--'tis thoroughly a curse!
NOT wrong he proved, for, truly to confess;
This throwing dirt upon the lady's dress
Was done to get the hag, with Argus' eyes
Removed a certain distance from the prize.
The gay gallant, who watched the lucky hour,
Felt doubly blessed to have her in his power.
HOW vain our schemes to guard the wily sex!
Oft plots we find, that ev'ry sense perplex.
Go, jealous husbands, books of cases burn;
Caresses lavish, and you'll find return.
poem by La Fontaine
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A Woman Called
A woman called for you today said Max’s wife.
Oh said Max who was she?
She didn’t say Max’s wife replied.
Well dames that don’t leave names
Aren’t worth worry over Max said
Lighting up a cigarette and sitting
In a chair by the window.
She seemed to know you Max’s wife stated stiffly
Seemed quite put out when I told her I was your wife.
Dames are always put out over something or other
Max said noticing his wife’s beauty spot
And how it moved as she spoke.
She was a brunette.
Ah a brunette huh?
Yes a brunette his wife said.
Well? She said after a minute’s pause.
New York’s full of brunettes.
This one came to the apartment and rang our bell
And stood at the door asking for Max.
There are plenty of men called Max in New York Honey he said
Comparing in his mind his wife and the brunette
He’d met at a bar the other night.
She seemed your type his wife said sulkily
The type that sways her hips and sticks out their ass.
Yes I know the type Max said and sighed
They can never leave me alone.
I tell them I am happily married to the best dame in New York
But they seem not to hear Max said
Watching smoke rise upwards.
Best dame in New York huh? His wife said.
Sure you are he said taking in his wife’s plump ass
Hanging over the side of the chair like melted cheese.
She smiled and said must have been a mistake
On her part coming here and asking for Max.
Sure it was Max said dames sometimes make mistakes
They have no sense of direction.
His wife smiled at him sexily hoping.
Max smiled back and hoped for erection.
poem by Terry Collett
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Life, Man, Wife
We all have but one Life,
Man should only have one wife,
Unless should one wife dies,
Find love with another, guys.
Your life is what you make of it,
You create, you make, a shape for it.
Some are bigger, Some are smaller,
Some are longer, Some are wider.
Some succeed, their shapes are higher.
Some who fail, what's their burning desire?
Life shapes can be a rainbow,
No such thing as a sunbow?
Some are brighter, some are duller,
Some sadly, do not have any color.
Be an artist, Be a painter,
Every brush stroke, tells your story,
Be it darker, Be it lighter,
The air you breathe is for free,
Your life's work, Your History,
An open book for all to see.
Celebrate your daily life,
We only have but one life,
Be so loving to your wife,
Be at home by half past five.
My sister-in-law is a painter, and I'll say, how long did it take you to paint that painting. She'll say, It took me maybe three days, but it took me all my life to get the skills to paint that painting.
quote by Anthony Doerr
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Painter Song
If I were a painter
I would paint my reverie
If that's the only way for you to be with me
We'd be there together
Just like we used to be
Undertneath the swirling skies for all to see
And I'm dreaming of a place
Where I could see your face
And I think my brush would tak eme there
But only...
If I were a painter
And could paint a memory
I'd climb inside the swirling skies to be with you
I'd climb inside the skies to be with you
song performed by by Norah Jones from Come Away With Me
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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A Toast To Wilkie Collins
FEBRUARY 16, 1874
THE painter's and the poet's fame
Shed their twinned lustre round his name,
To gild our story-teller's art,
Where each in turn must play his part.
What scenes from Wilkie's pencil sprung,
The minstrel saw but left unsung!
What shapes the pen of Collins drew,
No painter clad in living hue!
But on our artist's shadowy screen
A stranger miracle is seen
Than priest unveils or pilgrim seeks,--
The poem breathes, the picture speaks!
And so his double name comes true,
They christened better than they knew,
And Art proclaims him twice her son,--
Painter and poet, both in one!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Family life
At home
Husband
And wife...
Some time fighting...
Word's to words...
With bad words...
Sometime hit
The husband wife
Mistakes...
Wife was crying...
Husband was woory...
Wife also
Lovingely hit...
Husband also take easy...
At night husband
Wanted wife
For sex...
Wife will say
Backpain acting
Going for
Hear with life
Every day
At familylife...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Art Will Show To Eternity Your Soul
I am a woman, using a mirror everyday,
Like all of you, i'm seeing my reflection into it,
Even i am sad, happy, tired or bored,
What i'm seeing in my mirror it's my physical reality, my own truth.
I combed my hair and looked into my mirror,
I felt so delicate, unique and simple,
Having a smile on my face today,
My mirror will smile me back as feedback in same way.
I am a painter, i adore art,
In everything i'm painting it's life,
In each painting and spot of paint my brush does,
It's a history of great ideas my minds holds.
A painting is a gate to our inner side,
Through it vibrates the universe to our hearts,
A mirror will always show your face reflection to the world,
But art will show to eternity your soul.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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The Faithful Wife
The faithful wife in the Christ
Obeys her husband's word;
Claims her own authority
By calling her husband, lord.
She will love her husband dearly
As she submits unto his hand,
Teaches younger women so
In this her family stands.
The faithful wife perceives in God
Her husband is given rule;
As he submits unto the Lord
But a rebellious wife is a fool.
poem by Richard Merrell
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Imitation Of Lines Written By Roucher
BELOW HIS PICTURE, WHICH
A FELLOW-PRISONER HAD DRAWN, AND WHICH
HE SENT TO HIS WIFE AND CHILDREN THE
DAY BEFORE HIS EXECUTION.-1794.
Lov'd objects! cease to wonder when ye trace
The melancholy air that clouds my face;
Ah! while the Painter's skill this image drew,
They rear'd the Scaffold, and I thought of you!
poem by Helen Maria Williams
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Pregnancy
A meaningful painter painting the walls of love,
And pregnancy dragged the two people into marriage;
The love of the team,
The love of the pair with amorous ideas!
Today, this pregnancy had made them to be married together.
What is in his soul?
What is in her soul?
Like the light at the end of the turnel to keep them going;
But, this pregnancy had dragged them into marriage.
Of an amorous expediction,
Of a name calling;
She was raped in her own bedroom.
Of a meaningful painter painting,
From the brink of things to the wink of the act;
But catapulted like the poles apart from the walls,
With pet names on your only mistake in life.
These are the memories of the past,
And to share a lot of common interest with you;
But it is of gifts without reasons.
This is all about the sweet spot of love,
And the pregnancy is like the pot of love to share;
But, the blood stain on her mattress is the truth of the matter.
AOf a meaningful painter painting the walls of love,
In a wooden kiosk to crown the day;
But today we know where they came from,
Because the pregnancy united them in marriage.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I never consciously said, 'I want to be an actor.' It sounds stupid, but it's kind of like being a painter or something. You don't say, 'From today on I'm going to be a painter.' It's not something conscious - you've just been painting pictures all your life.
quote by Franka Potente
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dying Gamblers Story
In a little secret Gambling house in a city known for fame
There sits a man of tender years his head bowed down in shame
That young man told a story as sad as can be
And if you will but listen this is what he said to me.
A year ago I had a wife but she was called one day
And as she lay so near to death she pressed my hand to say
I'm giving you my wedding ring to cherish all your life
And with these words the reaper called away my loving wife.
Soon I started gambling til I never had a thing
And on a hand I thought would win I bet my dead wife's ring
I drew the card and looked at it, Oh God I cried aloud
I've lost my dead wife's wedding ring to this drunken jeering around.
When he had finished speaking he bowed his head and sighed
And we who heard his story knew that he had died
But that dying gamblers story didn't mean a thing
Too bad they said, dealt the cards, and bet his dear wife's ring.
poem by Kenneth T. Schofield
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A nude pose
The middle aged Woman gatecrashed
Early in the morning.
'I do modelling and how much you pay for a nude pose? '
I looked around and my wife's frying something in the kitchen,
I said; ' It's not me next-door the painter.'
'He said you're the painter & poet.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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