A painter
A painter on study
sketched two nudes
In canvass, a nude
Man & woman
The man in hard
Solid lines his torso
His thighs his legs
Well chiseled by
The dark colors
Of his brush, and
The woman in
Smooth lines, her
Fragile hands, her
Soft breasts, her
Thin lines in light
Feminine colors,
He so admired
His nude creations,
And he stared
At the magic
He just painted,
And tired for
Hours, he just
Blinked a while
Wanting a little
Slip, he faltered,
He blinked and
Winked for a second,
Surprised, only to
Find out that the two
Are suddenly missing
not looking for food
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
An Art Is Dead
Colors and ideas just rush in
As has been observed and seen
It is one of the tricky jobs
Inspiration is nature from where he has to rob
If not then any object
People can't reject
As his brush and color
May soon find great honor
Painter can brush the lines
They may appear as happy lines
Someone may read it as an art
Others may find it sales object in mart
His heart bleeds in brush
It finds great rush
Through his eyes and on canvass
The shape appears at last
Who may sing in praise?
Who may love it and chase?
No one except bidders
Or genuine art readers
That is his worth
Real asset and wealth
He has contentment
With lots of praise and comments
It may adore anybody's wall
Receive attention and call
Painter may be lost
As it has been sold at cost
It is an art piece
With lovely message of peace
That is worth to understand and read
Before anyone says 'an art is dead'
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Signals
No sooner
Light changes color
Why do you take off?
Red light awaits ahead
Why such a hurry?
Green light's signal to go
Red light's signal to stop
To control man's movement
A light stands at every step
Look ahead and drive
It's dangerous otherwise
Harm awaits
At every intersection.
On the road
All the way
Many lines we see
Solid and dashed
White and yellow
And lo behold
Signs and numbers
That set the limits.
Colors of lights
Stretches of lines
Symbols and numbers
Our creations
Are all there
To guide us
For our own safety
Observe we must
Signals they send
And to follow them
Is our duty.
poem by Tirupathi Chandrupatla
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About Her (Villanelle)
She having filthy finger nails like that of a workingman
She being found down by the shore, of Ice Lake
She being the frozen nude woman
She being the apparent victim of a madman
She being pretty like a one of a kind snowflake
She having filthy finger nails like that of a workingman
She, being frozen solid! Said the newsman
She being, negative 33 degrees below zero for God’s sake!
She being the frozen nude woman
She, must be vindicated by the hangman
She must be accounted for, never to forsake
She having filthy finger nails like that of a workingman
She must have a name? Asked the police man
She must have had some identification for heaven’s sake
She being the frozen nude woman
She was a beautiful woman
She is now but a-heartache
She having filthy finger nails like that of a workingman
She being the frozen nude woman
poem by William Cavanagh
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Thin Red Lines
Thin Red Lines
running down her
arm
Thin Red Lines
deepening by the
day
Thin Red Lines
make me want to
cry
Thin Red Lines
means she might
die
poem by Charlotte Riddle
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Reclining Nude
How fruitful the rounded limbs of the reclining nude
Soft contours long to be caressed by the eye
In all feminine holds robust strength
Fragility insults the perception of woman.
In this form sensual solidity and sweetened slopes of eb and flow
A womb of seeds transcribes life's intriguing form
Breasts propped, from which warm heart of desire appears to beat
Thighs that lay unified with the gravity of the Mother Earth.
poem by Stevie Taite
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Solidarity In Lines
unemployment lines
lines of books
Lines of cocaine
Food stamp lines
Theater lines
Grocery store
car wash
school children
Soup kitchen
club
abortion clinic
Delicatessen
traffic lines
crosswalks
Traffic Jam
Lines on a map
Jules gets home and un-loads his rucksack
Gods laziness
Because of the machines and computers we will all end up lonely human beings
poem by Jerome Moore
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A Nude Artist
A Nude Artist
he says he is a nude artist
because he is naked when he paints
such nakedness has
nothing to do with being a nude artist
a naked artist who paints a cat or a chicken
is not a nude artist
there is no nude cat
thyere is no nude chicken
just paint a naked woman
and he will be called a nude artist
an artist is not an art
he must know that
- Frog Mantra, Accents Publishing,2012 -
poem by Suchoon Mo_
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A Painter In You!
who has painted your picture in my thoughts,
without a brush, the paints and the pallet,
not even sketched using a pencil and a knife,
the picture is perfect with the colors mixed,
your smiling is great with a thin line at the edges,
your eyes are wide open, sprinkling the cheerful messages,
every time the happy visuals of you pop out in the mind,
I couldn't have drawn such a beautiful portrait,
of you in my heart, who has done this painting?
You are the one who posed and painted on your own,
you are a great painter who can paint your pictures,
on everyone's heart whom you know, love and respect.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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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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Lilly's Lines
THE LILLY'S LINES
You lay down naked
I search you with my lips
I am hungry for
our sensual places
between your torso
and your thighs
whiter than any alabaster
so delicate and so thin.
I kiss you left
I kiss you right
I kiss you firmly
I kiss you softly
I lick you often
more, she sighed
always wanting
We deny tomorrow.
No scents and no perfume
yet I smell you strongly
and so sweet,
I will taste your sapid skin
and cherish your savor
our whispers are stirring
more, I sighed
always wanting.
poem by Clive Thompson
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Nimbus
Thousands of miles are not inside a mile
Souls are not in a soul
Standing alone
I is not are to you
I’m not a shark of deep Blue Ocean
I’m not an eagle of highest sky
Call me as a deserter
Escaping from the nude
Towards the beyond of the freedom
Mamma please stops staring
Our history was a painted woman.
New dews are our new history
Never ever call me as an infant
I’m the herald
With our new clothes
Mamma please stops staring
Our history was a painted woman.
The nimbus is singing our anthem
Trust me mamma
We are nude anymore today.
poem by Kenebo Rajkumar
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Who You Are To Me
if you read these lines this morning
these lines that miss you
these lines that say i love you
these lines are dying to touch you
to hug and kiss you
these lines that know every inch of you
if you read these lines well enough
then you know who i am
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If You Read These Lines This Morning
if you read these lines this morning
these lines that miss you
these lines that say i love you
these lines that are dying to touch you
to hug and kiss you
these lines that know every inch of you
if you read these lines well enough
then you know who i am
i, who is nothing to you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In Our Silence....
for nude images
we may put some words
for further flesh
for the nudes before us
the beauty of the curves and bold colors
shades of dim and pale and twilight
whispers of the unrequited longings of dawn
gasps of the possibility of fulfillment
no words are ever enough
let the hands do it for the body
let the body free
do not restrain the use of words
lick whatever silence offers.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Battered Doll
A red dress for blood spilt,
Torn blouse for flesh rent;
Ladders in the stockings –
A rung for every callous blow landed.
Scuffed shoes winked about the kicks –
After all, bruise-gorged eyes can’t –
Just permanently closed.
Burning tears were scant warmth
Against a chill from ugly cries.
Lipstick smudges on the chin to
Nullify all vestiges of beauty –
Those that constituted rare patches
Of purest cream skin, from
Days of feminine joy, telling once
Upon a time there was an angel…
But now, a battered doll.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman
woman woman
Woman
No more...
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Kahlo
She ran the school hand-in-hand with this boy
Creating mischief and mystery hand-in-hand with this boy
Together, fooling and tricking this man who painted his courage
She gleefully watched this man who painted his courage
She came to school each morning with this boy
Just to watch this mysterious painter man
She left school each night, with this boy
With the trickster boy, left the man
She ran into a block she couldn’t ignore
She was damaged beyond healthy repair
Carrying her as she bled, this boy
Saved her from the wreckage
Then left her to write him time and time again
Never once did he look at her letters, or care
She gave up, gave up on this boy
What could she have loved in this boy?
She picked up a brush and was like the man
She painted her pain and courage, like the man
She adored her paints
Admired her brush
Marveled at the creations
Fell in love with the canvas
Some time later, she again met the painter man
She adored the man
Admired the man
Marveled at the man
Fell in love with the man
poem by Allison Pardieck
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But The Artist...
But the artist sat the nude model on the table and moved her legs apart. The girl hardly resisted and merely covered her face with her hands.
Amonova and Strakhova said that first the girl should have been taken off to the bathroom and washed between her legs, as any whiff of such an aroma was simply repulsive.
The girl wanted to jump up but the artist held her back and asked her to take no notice and sit there, just as he had placed her. The girl, not knowing what she was supposed to do, sat back down again.
The artist and his female colleagues took their respective seats and began sketching the nude model. Petrova said that the nude model was a very seductive woman, but Strakhova and Amonova said that she was rather plump and indecent.
Zolotogromov said that this was what made her seductive, but Strakhova said that this was simply repulsive, and not at all seductive.
-- Look -- said Strakhova -- ugh! It's pouring out of her on to the table cloth. What is there seductive about that, when I can sniff the smell off her from here.
Petrova said that this only showed her feminine strength. Abel'far blushed and agreed. Amonova said she had seen nothing like it, that you get to the highest point of arousal and it still wouldn't secrete like this girl did. Petrova said that, faced with that, one could get aroused oneself and that Zolotogromov must already be aroused.
Zolotogromov agreed that the girl was having quite an effect on him. Abel'far sat there red in the face and she was breathing heavily.
-- However, the air in this room is becoming unbearable -- said Strakhova. Abel'far fidgeted on her chair and then leapt up and went out of the room.
-- There -- said Petrova -- you see the result of female seductiveness. It even acts on the ladies. Abel'far has gone off to put herself to rights. I can feel that I will soon have to do the same thing.
-- That -- said Amonova -- only shows the advantage we thin women possess. Everything with us is always as it should be. But both you and Abel'far are splendiferous ladies and you have to keep yourselves very much in check.
-- Yet -- said Zolotogromov -- splendiferousness and a certain lack of bodily hygiene are what is to be particularly valued in a woman.
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
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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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Sculptor
he first sculpted a very shapely body of a woman
thin arms, slender body, soft fingers,
porcelain smooth skin
supple breasts
complete with a face
and other
body parts to the last detail
possible
then he sculpted the man
the usual man with strong arms
gentle eyes and well chiseled
thighs
complete with a face
and other body parts to the last detail
possible
he is so kind enough
to leave the two
in the privacy
of their new found existence
that his chisels
and hammers gave them
despite the fact
that he is gay
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Like No Other Day I Ever Knew
Today I find I am missing you,
Like no other day I ever knew.
I don't even wish to memorize,
All the lines and times...
I apologized,
No.
Today I find that I am missing you.
And all the things together we've been through.
What I miss most is your quick smile.
And holding hands as we walked for miles...
And,
Today I find I am missing you,
Like no other day I ever knew.
I miss the kissing and the innocence.
Then we married and it ended in bitterness.
Today I find I am missing you,
Like no other day I ever knew.
I don't even wish to memorize,
All the lines and times...
I apologized,
No.
I want to keep this feeling real.
Hoping one day you will find me true.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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