Artwork
Artwork is particular, general works are about,
The scrutiny of an artistic work is immense;
The world profoundly elucidates me as an artist,
The big methods employed are far beyond mere thought.
What layers of thought have enriched us and all?
The layers of justice reside in the palettes of the masters;
Demonstrations of peace are derived from the work of art,
We must lunge forward into the dark and make benefit.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Island Fever
Island fever
I think Ive got a touch of island fever
I do believe I feel a bit sauteed
This morning I was just some nonbeliever
Tonight I feel Ive joing a wild crusade
I never thought of life as being breezy
I never thought of time as time to play
I never thought that I could take it easy
But all those feelings changed for me today
Layers and layers of spices and flavors
Are finding their way to my brain
Layers and layers of costumes and players
That make my whole life look insane
Palm trees and views I cant believe
Why would I ever want to leave?
I think Ill take my shoes off and go walking
Down beside the caribbean sea.
I like the funny sounds of parrots squawking
I think I hear a hammock calling me.
Layers and layers of spices and flavors
Could this be some kind of charade?
Layers and layers of costumes and players
I think I will join the parade
Layers and layers of spices and flavors
Could this be some kind of charade?
Layers and layers of costumes and players
I think I will join the parade
I think Ive got a touch of island fever...
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Layers
Above are layers of atmosphere, stratosphere,
Below layers of topsoil, rock and clay,
People in layers rich and poor,
Cities built on top of cities, on top of cities.
Layers of thought conscious to unconscious,
Felt in layers asleep to awake,
In a dream of a dream, of a dream in a dream,
In a dream of a dream, in a dream.
poem by Richard Jarboe
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So many layers
every poem
i wrote
a part of me
taken off
a butterfly
leaving behind
its larvae
to take on wings
and colours
to explore the world
to give world
another layer
to fascinate over
van gogh
that shed
so many layers
to bring out
those layers
on his canvas
to our hearts
layers of pains,
tears, and......
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Layers Of Wet Paint Applied
wet on wet paint on paint
layers of wet paint applied
to previous layered layers
technique requires rapid working
fevered fast compulsive genius painting
art in realms born in new mind expressions
art in realms born in space time multiversity visions
art work fever finished before first layers have dried
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Layers And Layers
we meet i only have one layer
we talk and i added another layer
we discuss and i added more layers
we dive to a certain depth and of course
i have to add more and more layers
so i may not drown
so i may not be too vulnerable to pressure
and when we come out of the water
our faces surfacing you do not recognize me anymore
i have layers and layers of myself
that even me
i cannot anymore recognize
the violence within
this turbulence of the self
this storm inside us
this layers and layers of selves
covering the truth
how can i ever uncover
what my depths cover from time to time
when you utter my name?
when you tell me that
i am myself.
there is no self.
There is no us.
There is no future.
I have only the past
and My now
Like a fruit basket
all naked on top of your table.
Just take one
The apple perhaps.
And fill yourself.
For the moment.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Take A Pick For The Moment
we meet i only have one layer
we talk and i added another layer
we discuss and i added more layers
we dive to a certain depth and of course
i have to add more and more layers
so i may not drown
so i may not be too vulnerable to pressure
and when we come out of the water
our faces surfacing you do not recognize me anymore
i have layers and layers of myself
that even me
i cannot anymore recognize
the violence within
this turbulence of the self
this storm inside us
this layers and layers of selves
covering the truth
how can i ever uncover
what my depths cover from time to time
when you utter my name?
when you tell me that
i am myself.
there is no self.
There is no us.
There is no future.
I have only the past
and My now
Like a fruit basket
all fresh on top of your table.
Just take one
The apple perhaps.
And fill yourself.
For the moment.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Looking Back To The Mountains Strong
when things go wrong
we struggle with so much
silence
sometimes a whistle can make
a good pretension
a slight tap on the back
a hug can make a good compliment
with us
there must be more to this struggle in silence
the years have been adding up
like layers of soil upon a hill
we dig into all these layers
to find roots
they are not dead yet
the trees may have no leaves and
all the twigs may have dried up
and when you cut it
each shall give up its hollowness
too easily in a snap of your finger
the layers are pictures of what we are
what kindness we extended to our shortcomings
we look back to see mountains still strong with their peaks
we look forward to the endless horizon of the seas
there are two suns now
you and I.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What for is money?
I thought on how could be the life
Without having to work for money.
After all this is the money which we work for.
Had we only have enough money to spend
We won’t have to toil our body or brain.
Solution also seemed very easy to me.
Just have a lot of mints to mint money.
Make as much money as may people need
Give them as much as may people want.
All problems are seemingly soon gone.
The root of all evils I thought could be
the root of happiness of all kind instead.
“How could this easy way out be overlooked? ”
Thinking furthermore I thought.
We need mints and we need paper and ink.
We need banks and a lot of ATMs.
People will get money and go for shopping
So we need ample shops. In shops we need products.
We need make shops and we need make products.
but we also need people to run them.
So some people will make paper and some ink.
Some other will work in mints and banks.
Some will work in shops and making products.
Rest all the people will only happily buy things.
Thinking up to here my thought jumbled.
People needed money so they worked.
If money was available for doing no work
Then why should there be anyone to work?
If no one works then where from comes paper and ink?
Where from comes money, banksand ATMs?
Where from then comes products?
Without products how could then we live and enjoy?
So we need products and for products we need to work,
to get people into the works we need money.
So it was that money could not be made free.
I thought 'People have already thought it before me.'
poem by Palas kumar Ray
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Petroleum for the Mind
sometimes, i feel getting to your poetic self
is like prospecting for petroleum?
you dig through layers and layers of years
before you could get to the subtle aspects
of your pscyhe, where you either find black
gold or just echoes of disappointments
the morass of black, if you work hard enough
can be refined to run minds like posh cars on the streets
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Painted House Is Like A Poem.
In a way-A house painter is like a poet...
The house painter or average person just might not know it.
A lot of cleaning, sanding and preparation of the surface takes care and time...
Compositions, editing and thought polishes the rhyme.
When finished, they both are a work of art...
A lot of sweat and work is done by the artist's own part.
In the end, a finished polished piece...
Makes the artist, happy and at peace.
The work is finally done...
What hard work, finished-Now
feelings of enjoyed fun.
poem by Michael Gale
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Seven Layers of Heaven
touch,
sight,
taste,
hear,
smell
....
....
seven layers
of heaven
set in me
two more
layers
lost in
myself
clouded
in the views
cast by the world
heaven
comes in
seven
layers
so say hindus,
chinese,
buddhists,
even the muslims
and hell?
between
all
the senses
the heart
that torments
the doers
for
his misdeeds
the fugitive
who manages
to run away from
everybody
but not
the burning hell
of conscience
that pokes
at his top
making him bleed
at the heart
day and night
hell and heaven
bound in this
frame of
heart, soul
and mind
a living hell?
the heaven
in seven layers
the other two layers?
sixth sense?
seventh sense?
two puzzles
that wait
for an answer
hidden
in the realms
that circle
around me
i look into the sky
and journey
to the
eternal sphere
that joins me
to the moons, stars
try taking me
out of this world
and it sure looks different
feel different
a whole new world
the seventh sense
seventh heaven
the sixth?
the woman
who digs
deep into
layers of her own mind
to find the dates
of her own death
and exciting upcoming events
of the world, the tsunami
third world war,
end of the world
a nostradamus
a hell in between all these?
the scorn
from bigots
two layers
of heaven that got lost
in me
covered by
the clouds
five is perhaps
a more lucky number
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Work, Sleep, Work, Sleep, Work
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work:
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work.
Oh free me please with gentle ease
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work!
This odium, pounding tedium
Of my work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
Just whisk me off to lands afar
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
That grinding train of rhythmic pain
Called ‘Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.’
Poor neural circuits fizzle and pop
In work, sleep, work, sleep, work,
In trying to make some sense of all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
But Hark! I see a golden gleam -
A saving spirit of hope:
‘You’re fired! ’ He screams. What news to bear,
This wondrous hangman’s rope!
So now I’m free, released from all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
Eternal peace and rest for me, no
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Payment
A tortuous path of neurons arced a call: ‘Awake! ’
I did; in rising, peering, stretching, bearing,
Pained anticipation saw it all:
Foretold, another filthy day.
I drew the drape: diluvian lay the ground
Beneath a lazy leaden cloud – apissing out
The puddles; irksome on the roof –
The drumming drops of bitter glee
Were hounding out a hapless me –
Reinforcing doubt that I am sound.
I left the house
to go to work
to earn a crust
without a perk
then on to bust
another straining vessel.
Trudging on thro’ mud and clay, I pondered:
‘Why a drought of happy times?
Auspicious climes were
Old and fusty books
Atop a dusty shelf
Inside a morgue-of-a-room,
Somewhere in a long-forgotten library
Down a lane without a way.’
I thought again: ‘And still I pay.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
O how I
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Images Birth Wet Paint Born
wet on wet paint on paint
layers of wet paint applied
to previous layered layers
images birth wet paint born
images born in liquid imagination
images born in landscape infinity
images born in individual creativity
images born in artistic genius ability
images born in limitless multiplicity
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
See also the poems ‘Layers Of Wet Paint Applied’ and ‘Interactions Invoke Imagination Entrances’.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Much Deeper Than What Is Shown
There are layers of living one's life,
Complex.
That will not be easy to peel away to reveal...
What has been lived as one might suspect!
To scratch beneath a crust thought thin,
With a hope to match,
A few moments given...
To a belief thought easy to satisfy,
A curiosity to probe and pry...
Can not be applied!
Not to this specimen...
Thought to be light,
Of a wind...
One can stand against and defend.
There are layers of living one's life,
Complex.
That will not be easy to peel away to reveal...
What has been lived as one might suspect!
That which appears to sit alone as stone...
May show what's on a surface,
Something much deeper.
Much deeper...
Than what is shown!
Deeper, deeper still...
Than what is believed to be known!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sonnet -Indelible Art?
How far an artist takes his art forward?
If labour hard is continued for long,
It dedication has not disappeared,
And Pride has not polluted his art’s song.
One's art improves if Will of God is there;
If Luck and Pluck come timely to his aid;
If vices poison not his mind to err;
And love enters his art when it is made.
For art lives longer than the artist's age;
And brings alive the beauty it derived;
All life, the artist must truly manage;
To perfect works of art in which he’d strived.
Such art alone will stand the test of time,
For it has made the Artist's life sublime.
poem by John Celes
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Survivor
Now that you're out of my life
I'm so much better
You thought that I'd be weak without you
But I'm stronger
You thought that I'd be broke without you
But I'm richer
You thought that I'd be sad without you
I laugh harder
You thought I wouldn't grow without you
Now I'm wiser
Though that I'd be helpless without you
But I'm smarter
You thought that I'd be stressed without you
But I'm chillin'
You thought I wouldn't sell without you
Sold 9 million
I'm a survivor (What?)
I'm not gon give up (What?)
I'm not gon stop (What?)
I'm gon work harder (What?)
I'm a survivor (What?)
I'm gonna make it (What?)
I will survive (What?)
Keep on survivin' (What?)
I'm a survivor (What?)
I'm not gon give up (What?)
I'm not gon stop (What?)
I'm gon work harder (What?)
I'm a survivor (What?)
I'm gonna make it (What?)
I will survive (What?)
Keep on survivin' (What?)
Thought I couldn't breathe without
I'm inhaling
You thought I couldn't see without you
Perfect vision
You thought I couldn't last without you
But I'm lastin'
You thought that I would die without you
But I'm livin'
Thought that I would fail without you
But I'm on top
Thought it would be over by now
But it won't stop
Thought that I would self destruct
But I'm still here
Even in my years to come
I'm still gon be here
I'm a survivor (What?)
I'm not gon give up (What?)
I'm not gon stop (What?)
I'm gon work harder (What?)
I'm a survivor (What?)
I'm gonna make it (What?)
I will survive (What?)
Keep on survivin' (What?)
I'm a survivor (What?)
I'm not gon give up (What?)
I'm not gon stop (What?)
I'm gon work harder (What?)
I'm a survivor (What?)
I'm gonna make it (What?)
I will survive (What?)
Keep on survivin' (What?)
I'm wishin' you the best
Pray that you are blessed
Bring much success
song performed by by Destiny's Child from Survivor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Amos Sibley
Not character, not fortitude, not patience
Were mine, the which the village thought I had
In bearing with my wife, while preaching on,
Doing the work God chose for me.
I loathed her as a termagant, as a wanton.
I knew of her adulteries, every one.
But even so, if I divorced the woman
I must forsake the ministry.
Therefore to do God's work and have it crop,
I bore with her!
So lied I to myself!
So lied I to Spoon River!
Yet I tried lecturing, ran for the legislature,
Canvassed for books, with just the thought in mind:
If I make money thus, I will divorce her.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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My Way
Dreams with no home, no roots leading towards world peace
collaboration with layers of intellectual freedom
no war, only combination of diversified unity of peaceful art-making
humanity-focused roads to selfless plan
body machine for developing artistic consciousness
call for ways of making art on every day basis
tomorrow is always with wisdom and loving kindness
quantum mechanics of emerging humanities
identity/identities of combining diversities
world peace
Share, Comment, Learn
Artist Daily, we daily gather.
Sharing work like no other,
Your work gives immense pleasure,
Comments make me want to do better.
Thank you fellow talented Artists.
Am still learning, 'Senior Apprentice.'