A poor artist who wants to hide
He wants to express his grievances and inner feelings
on a torn canvas piece.
He owns a hairless brush and few stuck paint tubes with him
and he mix them with sweat and tears.
This incomplete abstract painting
(A toothless man cries and a ballistic missile enters to his opened mouth) .
he named as 'Poverty stricken'.
He search for a place to hide on the exhibition day.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
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
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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
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With the smell of turpentine
With the smell of turpentine
and paint in front of the fireplace
you paint magical lines
with blue, green and gold
and I look at you
while brush strokes
like magic make abstract images appear.
The Creator must have looked like this
while He looked at the world
while building it
and I see your golden eyes
looking carefully at the painting
and at times you frown
while you try to draw perfect lines
and light and colour
create magical feelings
and flow into each other
and you build shade and depth.
Gasping for breath lovely are you
while your fingers play with the brush
and there are more than curves and lines
from which your beauty comes.
poem by Gert Strydom
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It's one of his radical paintings
They refused to take his painting for the Exhibition.
The reason they explained; ' It's a blank canvas.'
Then the painter argued; ' It's titled as Blank life.'
'At least there should be a brush mark then we can accept.' the director of the Art Gallery said.
With his ball point pen he kept a dot in the middle of the canvas
And added to the title as 'Full stop to the blank life.'
The director was really appreciated and taken the painting back.
* To my friend Denis.Joe who threw a torch into my little dark World and I saw this strange sign shines in the darkness.
'If the door is locked, someone is inside? '
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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My Poor King In His Shanties Who Applies For A Coffin Maker?
No need a scaffolding, a studio
for my new painting and a paint brush
paint or a big canvas?
I use my thumb for shading,
on a throw away news paper
with few pastels that belongs to my grandson
I draw my new king with a big moustache
and a dead fly on his chin as a birth mark?
A cigarette butt fitted to his mouth
tittled as 'My poor King in his shanties
who applies for a coffin maker? '
He reads of Picasso, George Braque
Modiglianni & Van Gogh?
I was not influenced by Cubism or Surrealism
Capitalism or Socialism
But only Humanism with a mug of cheap Milwaukee bitter Beer?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Canvas
I painted all my life...
just to be praised by the world.
Till you came - like the heat of the flame,
you stayed with me to hold.
My brush had a little more strength,
when i saw your heavenly smile.
Oh, how i wanted to steal those moments away...
and paint them all for awhile.
My heart had a little more art...
when I saw your gracious curves.
Oh, how i wanted to immortalize your eyes,
that speaks to me like a dove.
But the world still kept his praises away...
till i almost gave it up.
But then you gave me courage
and you always filled me up.
And then the world took you away from me-
till my soul has slowly died.
I stole your memories away...
and painted you by night.
Oh, how your eyes reflect the things
I never saw before.
How I can see my very soul
just by looking there for more.
Oh, how your smiles revived my heart...
but filled my heart with tears;
How perfect they were on my canvas,
how they hideth all my fears.
And then the world gave me the praise
I wanted so before...
He gave to me my past prayers
just after he took you so.
If I could only tell the world
how mean he was to me...
and curse the stars, and curse the moons...
and heavens constantly.
I felt like painting all my life
just to end up painting you.
Giving you life on my canvas...
stealing you from death by my brush.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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I Want To Live On An Abstract Plain
Ive had it with this town
I never saw those shifting skies
I never saw the ground
Or the sunset rise
I want to live on an abstract plane
Im building a frame
A place to put my ten-yard stare
Thinking of that paint
Painted in plein-air
I want to live on an abstract plane
I need a new adress
I want some new terrain
Is it north or south?
I want to live on an abstract plain
I could sit on the roof
On top of that abstract house
See my abstract view
An abstract mouse
I want to live on an abstract plane
I need a new adress
Tell me Im not insane
Is it up or down?
I want to live on an abstract plane
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Complete With You
i am incomplete without you
i am incomplete without your smiles
i am incomplete without your love
i am incomplete without your felling
i am incomplete without your teaching
i am incomplete without your touching
i am incomplete without your soul
i am incomplete without your dreams
i am incomplete without your body
i am incomplete without your happiness
i am incomplete without your heart
i am incomplete without your bed
i am incomplete without your tonight
i am incomplete without your sorrow and sadness
poem by Khushi throne
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Sonnet: Artists
A lifeless bamboo-reed with holes few drilled;
And fingers deft those close or open them,
With air that’s blown by mouth to have it filled,
Producing music enthralling, ahem!
A piece of clay that’s molded by finesse,
And shaped in accordance to sculptor’s mind,
And worked into something that none can guess-
A magic feat that earthlings always find.
Few strokes by brush that spreads some hues across
A canvas specially prepared for it,
That finally lessens or adds more gloss,
Resulting in a painting that‘s a hit!
Our hearty tears of joy to artists skilled;
Our admiration to their works God-willed.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 9-17-2005
poem by John Celes
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When is a Painting Finished?
I paint.
On my easel
pictures in oil and acrylic grow
like stalagmites in limestone caves.
I think that painting is a magical act
that transforms invisible thoughts
and feelings into visible colors
and forms.
But I never can tell
when is the work finished.
After all it is always possible
to change a line, a hue, or a color
or even the whole composition.
Painters have different opinions
about this.
Some say that when the artist
successfully planted
all the details onto the canvas
the image expresses itself
as a severed autonomous entity,
which frees the painter from
the task of continuing to paint.
From then on the painting gains
an independent inner life of its own.
However, abandoning a work of art
involves a moral decision
ripened by the stiffening tension
between skill, creativity and integrity.
At what point does the polished image
meet the artist’s expectations?
And then, even if it does,
no single image can express
all that an artist wants to show,
and consequently his muses
compel him to carry on with his work
and create more paintings.
Hence the oeuvre of the artist
evolves as a set of different images
of the same single thrust and grind.
Many years ago I was wandering
through the countryside
of southern France in Provence.
Once I stopped to look at the road
where the village met the meadow.
A sturdy artist stood there
in front of his easel
painting the landscape
with skilful brushstrokes
on a well-stretched canvas.
I stared for a while
at the burgeoning picture
and then asked him:
“How do you know
when is the composition complete? ”
He gave me a piercing glance.
“Well”, he said,
“if you take a hammer
and hit me on the head
I know that the painting is finished.”
poem by Paul Hartal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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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
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Tears are tears
Tears are tears
When the heart is torn
They flow without any fear
They come in pain
Doesn’t matter
Emotional or physical
In meeting or departing
What the mouth cannot speak
The tears say
What the heart cannot express
The tears express
A precious gift of god
To humans
Never hold them
Let them flow
They clean the eyes
And heart alike
A man without tears
Is a human without soul?
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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An Abstract painting
My eyes fall on an abstract painting
of which my girlfriend,
wants to paint a series
that may hang in board halls
and offices.
There’s something hot and alive
in the background
that changes from golden yellow,
to flame orange
and flows into black red
and a green line
runs from the foreground
into the horizon.
With strong straight lines wood,
and sink plate shacks appear
with horizontal and vertical lines
and it looks like a squatter camp,
or the houses of a headman
in the country.
To me it looks like drums and large tin cans
that lies around in the front
and a big old TV set
with sitting places round it
and at the back,
there are two wooden pens
to keep in sheep and goats.
Maybe there’s red sand
on the one side
and yellow and green grass
for grazing on the other side,
but honestly I do not want to stay
in such a place.
[Reference: Abstract painting by Mandi. Look at the painting on my mabooki webpage: http: //www.mabooki.com/poems/display/1416_An_Abstract_ painting.htm]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Who takes my watercolour painting to the Amateur's Art Exhibition?
O the poor hairless brush secretly informs me
That the Horse wants to run away.
I beg you to stay until the Exhibition finishes
And I promise you to make a better stable
If I win the first prize!
Let stay together for sometimes
And I am sure that you have a bright future.
Still if your intension is to run away?
Then I am sorry as I cannot stop
And I give you wings!
[To the poets Pranab K Chakraborty and Yoonoos Peerbocus.]
*Arrange whatever pieces come your way.
-Woolf
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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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
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untitled abstract painting of Custer's Last Stand
Untitled abstract painting of Custer’s last stand
an abstract painting of custer’s last stand
Hangs in the Montana Museum of Modern Art
A fish with a halo and many Indians mating
And no name tag makes this painting, stand apart
Montanans know the title of this portrait
Although no name tag is shown
Yet, as the gaze falls upon it
the title is intuitively known,
the last words that were spoken
from this famous man’s mouth
As the battle of the Big horn
Began to go south
Oddly enough, as in the painting
his last words were not prayer
Though the words; “copulation and Indians, “
“Fish And Holy, “ were there.
The title of the painting and Custer’s last words
Weren’t from Romans or Corinthians.
They were simply “Holy Mackerel
Look at all the F#@*in’ Indians
poem by David Whalen
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I Am Who I Am
I am who I am.
I am not that piece of clay you could mold into the being-
So like the model statue you purchased to decorate your life.
I am who I am., your one and only.
You wanted three others to
Complete the painting of your ideal life.
I am a tree alone in the woods
That for some unknown reason stopped growing and
Was blown to pieces of bark by a hurricane-
But I am who I am and
You were the hurricane that shattered
Your own dream of the person you wanted me to be-
After my first fall you cried every night,
I was told, and my tears were dry but copious.
Restrained and locked in a room called seclusion, where
Floors were urine stained and paint peeling off the walls-
This place where crazy people were confined,
Alone to scream, cry and pound upon the walls.
My screams, blood curdling as a car smashing into another.
My tears, I wept –could you hear?
Pounding upon the walls-they could have shattered while
More paint chips fell upon the filthy, dusty floors.
I am who I am. A lone person with no facial expression painted
And in a reclining position-in the midst of an incomplete picture
Where three other people were never drawn, because they were never born.
I am who I am- your one and only- and you have been gone for twenty years.
I am a tree alone in the woods that had fallen but was somehow replanted and
Grew to touch the sky. If you could see me now, perhaps
I would more resemble that ideal statue and you may be proud
To see the person I have become. But I shall never know for certain and neither shall you.
I am who I am- a lone figure standing against a plain piece of paper, though
With an expression of thoughtfulness and perhaps even a smile and
Now my tears can be seen because it may not matter that I am your one and only
Because I have grown to be somebody you may be proud to see.
I weep plentiful tears of dismay because you are too far away for me to reach-
I am who I am and there are no paint chips falling and I can see my reflection
Upon the clean and polished floors and some place in the back of my mind
I am hoping you can in your own way, see it also-
I am who I am- not a failure but a strong brave person who is like
A tree in the woods that shall never stop growing until I touch the sky,
Where you are in heaven and there we will meet and you would be proud
Of the person I have grown to become and that I am who I am- your daughter.
poem by Claudia Krizay
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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
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He's Nobody
When you pass him a broken string guitar
And want him to play,
He tells; ' I love music but I cannot play.'
When you want him to sing,
He says; 'I love songs but I cannot sing.'
When you give him a brush and you want him to do a painting,
He mutters; 'I love painting but I cannot paint.'
I am certain on one thing a marvel,
Give him a piece of charcoal and see;
He draws a white Elephant on the blackboard.
* I submit this poem while watching the movie 'August Rush' in the T.V.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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