Nothing Natural About It At All
That portrait painted,
Hangs much too low,
The light from it appears to be shaded.
Where did the gleeming smiles,
And the brightness go?
Those sloping lush hills,
Seemed so green just yesterday.
Even when the clouds and rain came near...
None of it on this portrait showed.
The rays of the Sun,
Were then so clear.
Wasn't the Sunrise on the horizon,
Full of vivid promises free of duels?
And who came to smear a tinge of darkness upon it?
That had to have been just after noon.
The peaks of mountains,
Snowcapped and strong?
There is something about it,
That will not be prolonged.
The melting of snow,
Seems to have gone.
What 'is' this?
Something about it,
Has to be stopped.
I can see in its future,
This portrait is going to be forgotten.
Snatched off the wall.
And its presence remembered...
From memories dropped.
That can not be the same portrait!
Seen now to hang so pitifully.
Tilted, in a lopsidedness.
That brings not a hint of joy to me.
Is this someone's idea,
Of a joke to provoke?
My atmosphere...
Is not a place to invite tears?
The sweeping of the strokes...
Has abandoned its meaning.
To another scene in a secret elope.
That portrait painted,
Hangs much too low,
The light from it appears to be shaded.
Where did the smiles,
And the brightness go?
HELLO!
...hello...hello...hello...
Even the echos once heard from the valleys,
Aren't responding with a clarity.
Rich and reflective.
This is not an original.
This one is absolutely faked.
Who is trying to exhibit this image?
To pass it as something great?
Take it away from this place.
Get rid of it.
And tear down that wall.
It makes me sick.
It has become too common.
It blocks out all that's right.
There's nothing natural about it at all.
It conflicts with the ambiance.
And this ambiance...
Does not invite blight!
Get rid of it now!
More light is what I wish.
Take that piece of trash and burn it.
After its been dumped,
To cover the fumes...
In a dirt covered ditch!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.
Oscar Wilde in The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Portrait of a heart
Portrait of a heart
~
A portrait piece by piece
built through the heart
presents a romantic world
memories tell a moving tale
the full beauty of a loving heart
where the artist knows no end
and feels the strain of pride
still the picture takes its shape
to present a landscape of a life
touched by the words of love
scarred by the losses felt
the heart speaks and draws
from the uncharted depths
there in the eye of its picture
a romance reveals
a portrait of a world
built through the heart
poem by Matthew Holloway
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A Portrait of Aspiring Perfection
A portrait of aspiring perfection hath been painted
Through the creation of evolutions tidings.
A portrait of respiring reflections lay untainted.
Leaving my thought in meditation hiding.
They cry, the muses of my soul how they cry,
Forever sighing as I am forever wishing to be whole
And in so doing I am assuming myself to be but half.
poem by David Lacey
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Round & Round
I just can't help thinking
What you've done to me
You built a wall of love and tore it right down
In front of me
And you think you know what's going on
You keep telling me that i am wrong
I don't care about what you do
'cause if you mess with me i'll get rid of you
The picture you see is no portrait of me
It's too real to be shown to someone i don't know
And it's driving me wild
It makes me act like a child
You think i am crazy, but what can i do
You waste your time, like my money
It ain't so funny, but it's true
(don't waste my money, baby)
Now you can't tell me what's going on
And that i am weak while you are strong
What is it you need, that makes your heart bleed
Do you really know? 'cause it doesn't show
The picture you see is no portrait of me
It's too real to be shown to someone i don't know
And it's driving me wild
It makes me act like a child
The picture you see is no portrait of me
It's too real to be shown to someone i don't know
And it's driving me wild
It makes me act like a child
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In A Different Light
(v. peterson/s. hoffs)
Vicki
I see you in a different light
I see you in a different light
I wanna make a movie
I wanna put you on the silver screen
Sit in a darkened room and look at you from a distance
Wanna write a novel
Freeze all your expressions into words
Come back later and read about what I should have heard
I see you in a different light
I see you in a different light
I want to paint your portrait
Hang your colors on my wall
Discussing form and content with my friends and drinks
And no one thinks at all
I see you in a different light
I see you in a different light
song performed by by Bangles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When you start with a portrait and search for a pure form, a clear volume, through successive eliminations, you arrive inevitably at the egg. Likewise, starting with the egg and following the same process in reverse, one finishes with the portrait.
quote by Pablo Picasso
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Portrait
As I gaze blink-less
At the bare beauty of your persona
Behind the thin satin coat
Your portrait steps out alive
Out of the golden frame.
Your portrait generates
A multitude of elemental emotions,
Some romantically elusive like fluttering butterflies,
Others tangible like love-making,
Yet some others audible like the dying cadence
Of a stringed music played on my lyre.
Am churned by the immaculate portrait
Like the ocean
And I deliver nectar and parijat
From the dark womb of my private secrecy.
I owe it to your portrait timeless,
As I take the yet-to-be christened
Eleventh incarnation of Indian pantheon
Embodying love and truth
With an assured confidence.
I do not paint a portrait to look like the subject, rather does the person grow to look like his portrait.
quote by Salvador Dali
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The reason that I'm an actor, or an artist, is ultimately because I'm trying to paint a self-portrait, and the most complete and beautiful self-portrait that you can.
quote by Terrence Howard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Horatio
His portrait hung upon the wall.
Oh how at us he used to stare.
Each Sunday when I made my call! --
And when one day it wasn't there,
Quite quick I seemed to understand
The light was green to hold her hand.
Her eyes were amorously lit;
I knew she wouldn't mind at all.
Yet what I did was sit and sit
Seeing that blankness on the wall . . .
Horatio had a gentle face,--
How would my mug look in his place?
That oblong of wall-paper wan!
And while she prattled prettily
I sensed the red light going on,
So I refused a cup of tea,
And took my gold-topped cane and hat--
My going seemed to leave her flat.
Horatio was a decent guy,
And when she ravished from her heart
A damsite better man than I,
She seemed to me,--well, just a tart:
Her lack of tact I can't explain.
His picture,--is it hung again?
poem by Robert William Service
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Tomb of Lanis
The Lanis you loved, Markos, isn't here
in this tomb you come to weep by, lingering hours on end.
The Lanis you loved is closer to you
when you're in your room at home and you look at his portrait—
the portrait that still keeps something of what was valuable in him,
something of what it was you used to love.
Remember, Markos, that time you brought in
the famous Kyrenian painter from the Proconsul's palace?
What artistic subtlety he used trying to persuade you both,
the minute he saw your friend,
that he absolutely must do him as Hyacinth.
In that way his portrait would come to be better known.
But your Lanis didn't hire out his beauty like that:
reacting strongly, he told him to portray
neither Hyacinth nor anyone else,
but Lanis, son of Rametichos, an Alexandrian.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Toward Sky
my eyes always see
toward sky
always i have
in my mind
await for clouds
when black and thunder clouds
acquire entire sky
it is a vamp scene
when black coverlet
covered sun light
the same trend repeated
in my mind
when a dust storm
from desert of mind
blow with velocity
a puff rise from
my willing
and covers whole sky
of mind
my eyes starting on raining
a lukewarm water begin to fall
this water wash your obscure portrait
and i can see you properly
face to face
for some minutes
in this holy time
i exchange some dialect with you
through your portrait
when i want to meet with you
i rise my head toward sky
poem by Jatinder Singh Aulakh
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Round Round
I just cant help thinking
What youve done to me
You built a wall of love and tore it right down
In front of me
And you think you know whats going on
You keep telling me that I am wrong
I dont care about what you do
cause if you mess with me Ill get rid of you
The picture you see is no portrait of me
Its too real to be shown to someone I dont know
And its driving me wild
It makes me act like a child
You think I am crazy, but what can I do
You waste your time, like my money
It aint so funny, but its true
(dont waste my money, baby)
Now you cant tell me whats going on
And that I am weak while you are strong
What is it you need, that makes your heart bleed
Do you really know? cause it doesnt show
The picture you see is no portrait of me
Its too real to be shown to someone I dont know
And its driving me wild
It makes me act like a child
The picture you see is no portrait of me
Its too real to be shown to someone I dont know
And its driving me wild
It makes me act like a child
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is not likely that posterity will fall in love with us, but not impossible that it may respect or sympathize; so a man would rather leave behind him the portrait of his spirit than a portrait of his face.
quote by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To the Portrait of
Well, Miss, I wonder where you live,
I wonder what’s your name,
I wonder how you came to be
In such a stylish frame;
Perhaps you were a favorite child,
Perhaps an only one;
Perhaps your friends were not aware
You had your portrait done.
Yet you must be a harmless soul;
I cannot think that Sin
Would care to throw his loaded dice,
With such a stake to win;
I cannot think you would provoke
The poet’s wicked pen,
Or make young women bite their lips,
Or ruin fine young men.
Pray, did you ever hear, my love,
Of boys that go about,
Who, for a very trifling sum,
Will snip one’s picture out?
I’m not averse to red and white,
But all things have their place,
I think a profile cut in black
Would suit your style of face!
I love sweet features; I will own
That I should like myself
To see my portrait on a wall,
Or bust upon a shelf;
But nature sometimes makes one up
Of such sad odds and ends,
It really might be quite as well
Hushed up among one’s friends!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Pleasure is an assumption
There hangs on a wall in a class room,
A portrait of a royal lady, who would look
At you from whichever angle you sit.
Each one fancies she only at him looks.
A lot of moths revolve a single lamp.
21.10.2000
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Leonardo
The one on portrait hanging on the wall
Perhaps the best that history can recall
He lived and worked five hundred years ago
And still the legend of Leonardo grow.
A Poet, a Scientist and an Engineer
An Inventor and an Artist without peer
From near poverty to fame at a time
When to be poor was looked on as a crime.
Leonardo the greatest son of Italy
Opened the gate to modern technology
No stranger to the book of history
In five hundred years no greater one than he.
Five centuries back he said that man would fly
And the legend live his fame will never die
His dusty portrait in old frame hang on wall
Perhaps the best that history can recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Welcome To My Hometown
Has anyone ever tried,
To tell you the kind of childhood you had?
Or the environment you spent,
Your yourthful days in...
As if you were on on tour,
And they were explaining it?
Has anyone ever told you,
About those grade schools you attended.
With an embelishment done,
As if you were on the sidelines...
Looking on for fun.
And they attempted to tell you,
About those teachers who taught...
And you seldom saw them in a classroom at all?
Welcome to my hometown.
Where any visitor who comes,
Would think what took place...
Was straight from a portrait painted,
By Normon Rockwell.
Welcome to my hometown.
Where actual events can be erased,
With a replacing of the truth...
To conveniently be mentally innovated,
For the sake of giving it a different face.
I had been often told how my parents were,
When they were raising me.
What they did and how I responded.
As if I had lost all memory.
I even had been told what I did with friends.
And what apartments they lived in.
While as a child growing up in the projects...
I would listen to these tales,
And wondered where I was when the teller of this...
Spent most their time locked up in jail.
Welcome to my hometown.
Where actual events can be erased,
With a replacing of the truth...
To conveniently be mentally innovated,
For the sake of giving it a different face.
Welcome to my hometown.
Where any visitor who comes,
Would think what took place...
Was straight from a portrait painted,
By Normon Rockwell.
And back then...
Anyone looking like Normon,
Would have been chased out of the neighborhood...
I lived in!
With no time to sit, sketch...
Or paint a portrait from a 'hand-me-down' myth.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A reflective portrait
A reflective portrait
~
I’m a real piece of work
A Machiavellian self portrait
I could be the living abstract
Of my over complicated mind
While others try to work me out
Finding who or what I am
Beggars belief why they even try
I look away blindly into nothing
Trying to conjure some imagery
That I may weave in words
A poem of some or any worth
That’s what I do in my line of work
I crave emotions, explore them
I find sensations to abuse
I hurt myself to keep on living
I make little sense to anyone
Pride is complicated to understand
And comes at a high rate of interest
Interest I have little to share
Looking at my reflection, honestly
I’m a real piece of work
And yeah, I’m still me
poem by Matthew Holloway
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The gallery of my heart
The gallery of my heart
~
Like a portrait hung
In the gallery of my heart
A girl of undoubted beauty
Breathtaking and full of wonder
Holds my gaze completely
I find my words flowing
In a river of adoration
I dedicate her my soul
There is a girl of beauty
Beyond which none compare
Painted to a memory
In the gallery of my heart
The softness of her eyes
A warmth to her lips
Fair skin and cascading hair
What love may imagine
When looking upon
A girl in portrait hung
In the gallery of my heart
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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