Portrait
PORTRAIT
A lurid looking impasto indeed
With grisly colors dappled all over
Like puddles of cuddled blood
Daubs of violent reds! Gloomy black patches!
Erotic blues and skinflint browns!
Resigned auspicious yellows,
Ashen virtuous whites and
Paled prosperous greens
He is often slipping his palette
Dripping the hues and tripping the easel
His lines running in zigzag jumble
Drawing He, with his quivering quill
The frazzled veteran Artist of unknown origin
“Your mighty hand must be aging! Oh my Master!
Muster your energies to depict on Earth
Your best ever portrait to reinvigorate
Your original beautiful oeuvre in whole for ever”
Sathya…….
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Related quotes
The Colours Of Autumn
When shades of brown do mingle
With green upon the tree,
The work of G-d's creation
Is there for all to see.
The greens, reds, yellows and browns of Autumn
Are colours upon the trees,
But the colourful leaves are a-changing
When dropping on areas previously clean.
HIS season of Autumn is beautiful
With colours magnificent to view,
The Artist's palette of colours
Each year is displayed anew.
Copyright © Jonathan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 17 October 2003
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Skinflint
The skinflint saved his policies,
The skinflint saved his plugs,
The skinflint saved his first house keys,
The skinflint saved his mugs...
The skinflint saved his chewing gum,
The skinflint saved his rope,
The skinflint saved his small toy drum,
The skinflint saved his soap...
The skinflint saved his worn-out shoes,
The skinflint saved his clothes,
The skinflint saved his tubes of glues,
The skinflint saved his bows...
The skinflint saved his dated files,
The skinflint saved his drapes,
The skinflint saved his airline miles,
The skinflint saved his tapes...
The skinflint saved, yes, on the whole...
The skinflint saved so well?
The skinflint never saved his soul!
So God sent him to Hell...
poem by Denis Martindale
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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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Follow Your Rainbow
Go and follow your rainbow
travel it from end to end.
Go see just what awaits you
in the colors of the beams it sends.
The reds and blues the greens and yellows
purple, orange and pinks.
There is every color God has made
all you could ever envision, or even think!
God's paint brushes dipped in colors
mixed and blended until just right.
Then He places a rainbow after every storm
each one, for mankind's hearts delight.
poem by Linda Winchell
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Where's The Silver?
Colors, colors everywhere
Colors all around
Reds and purples and blues are there
But silver can't be found
I look around, and now I've found some yellows and some greens
I look until my eyes are sore, but silver can't be seen
I look unto the vibrant clouds, but there's no silver lining
Where is all the silver that the miners should be mining?
There are no silver bells a'ringing
The silver songbirds are not singing
The orange sun hangs in the air, but I can't find silver anywhere
I look for hours, look for days, look for silver anyplace
But there always seems to be another color in it's place
I've given up this useless search
There is no silver left to find
I dropp my head and start to cry
When out of my pocket falls a silver dime
poem by Tyler Mason
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Cheering a New Year a New Start
The skies is black
But heart and soul
Brighter than before
Sparking stars on top
of London eye
Reds blues oranges lights
Yellows and greens lights
Colors of the night
the rainbow lights
Brighten the whole skies and life
Celebrating a New Year
A new year a new start
A new chapter a new beginning
Forget the bad, cherish the GOOD
Wishing all happy and living healthy
Loving and Peace
Best wishes
A New Propose a new achievements
Sincerely love you and all
poem by See Fee Lee
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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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The First Artist and Author.
The first artist painted the sky with colors, such beauty,
Look at those sunsets, and the mountains, such reality;
The mountains, have shadows, of splendor that only the Master can do,
Yes! It's God who was the first Artist, and He also taught me too.
The first great artist painted the colors on the sea,
Blues, greens, aquas, Only one could do this you see;
And when there is a storm near, the sea goes so dark blue,
Yes! God is the first great artist, to paint it for me and you.
The first great Artist, loved to teach David to write poetry,
And also king Solomon, writing words of such beauty;
Oh such magnificent works, of color and in each word,
Yes! There is only one who could do this it is the Lord.
Then. We see in every rainbow, and in each shell as well,
Look at the colored sands, and in every bird, it does tell;
Then look at each animal, and also the petals of each flower too
Then as you look at these, , give Thanks for doing it for me and you.
poem by Margaret Haig
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Leafs Of Autumn
As spring fades
Autumn slowy takes hold
Bright greens of every shade
Fade into rich reds, browns, and yellows
Twirling as swirling ever so gently
A delicate leaf gently kisses the ground
As time passes
More and more leafs
Leave the shelter of their home
Carried into the unknown by the wind
All is going to sleep now
All is beginning to lay dormant
Only waking when spring rays
Stirs the spark of life again
poem by Autumn Winds
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Marx Ernst, The Ghost In The Abstractions Of Kandinsky
an old man leaning on a black pole,
a nude plump woman of the renaissance
inside a stomach,
a man with a big fan as face
his hands mere sketches of helplessness
pointing to the culprit on both sides
a black bird flies away
like a comma of a poem
they form a stress of a family portrait.
a hand is cut. the old man has no foot.
i shifted from the eyes of marx ernst
his eyes are shadows his hair clouds
his face a misty mountain
moving on to kandinsky he finished
life with the strokes of bright colors
and he titles it Fugue, a Black Mountain
to an Unknown Voice.
my first time to see them both.
i am stricken with the beautiful colors of happiness.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Racial Conflict
I, Yellow.
No different
Than others.
Whites on Whites...
Blacks on Blacks...
Browns on Browns...
Racism.
How will it be
When the tie
Binds
Diverging colors?
Seascape
Hues of cyanotic blue,
Intermeshing, as
Reds mutate into oranges and yellows,
Deep rose would become a sea of tranquility-
If I could rock myself to an eternal sleep, I could
Listen to the ocean’s waves as they lap against the sand, as
Small diamonds would scintillate in the sunlight.
Variations of greens and yellows would blend with one another, as
Water snakes and anemones would mingle with the
Flora of the sea-
I could hear the roaring of the ocean’s waves on
Moonlit days before sunrise upon awakening, as
I had lost myself within a sea of dreams-
Hues of cyanotic blues,
Deep rose as a tranquil sea could be, coral –red,
Sea grass, viridian in hue,
Sways with the rhythm of the rising tide,
Lost, I am in this myriad of dreams,
Reaching out trying to grasp that moment in reality
That has just slipped through my fingertips,
I would ride bare back upon a sea horse,
Destined to live forever…
The ocean expands parallel to the universe, never ending.
As a storm at sea abates,
I have found some peace of mind in this reflective moment.
Reds mutate to shades of orange to a dusty rose,
Lost in thoughts and reverie, I am
Carried away by the ocean’s waves.
Stardust has settled gently over the horizon- as far as
I can see, and
Upon this very tranquil night,
I see this world through a kaleidoscope;
Chips of broken glass reflecting greens and yellows,
Mauves and violets-
Enveloping all I can for miles and miles where the
Forever expanding ocean would finally meet with the sky-
I would want to live forever on this never abating journey-
Where I have finally escaped reality.
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Drawing Feelings
today i am drawing my feelings
and putting them some colors
for you to clearly see
what is the truth
running inside my veins
i am drawing threads
and spider's webs inside
a dark cave
i limited my choices of colors
only to black and red
blood and darkness and labyrinths
and thread falling from a cliff
and running wildly
in all directions
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rainbow Love...
Spring showers advance with darkened sky,
They don't last long and soon they die.
Puddles of liquid life left upon my lawn,
Mother earth drinks her fill and soon they're gone.
I raise my head to gaze into the sky,
I watch the grey clouds as they float by.
My eyes are drawn to a brilliant arc of coloured light,
A rainbow is always such a wonderous sight.
With yellows and greens, reds and blues,
Indigo, violet and sparkling golden hues.
This brilliant arc stands out against dark skies,
A gift to the soul witnessed through the eye's.
As I watch the rainbow streak across the skies,
I recall a myth that rainbows end holds a prize.
It's a fairytale that has been long told,
That rainbows mark a pot of shining gold.
The moral of this tale is here for all to hold,
The true wealth we seek is not made of gold.
The love and care of those we hold so dear,
Is the treasure we should seek to hold so near...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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Van Gogh Ceilings
The colors of our nights
flow in different hues
blood reds on the satin sheets
deep dark blues of gentle breathing
candle light soothing;
the smells of body scents
and perfume;
August's most heated nights
the sweep of enfolding arms
the over head fan twirls
over gentle writhings
healing tremblings
as we two
spin away into
Perfection's Consumated Dream
where breathless love mates
with sensual overwhelmng
sighs seductive breathings
making it oh so clear
why
we humans were placed here
to make love and children
in the colors of our night
hot pinks
ravishing reds
and deep blues.
I look into your eyes
reflecting back to me
the nights perfection
come real
and if never again
to be seen
this time alone would be enough
to paint Van Gogh
colors and stars
on our bed room ceiling
forever
on this
Starry Starry Night
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Van Gogh Nights
The colors of our nights
flow in different hues
blood reds on the satin sheets
deep dark blues of gentle breathing
candle light soothing;
the smells of body scents
and perfume;
August's most heated nights
the sweep of enfolding arms
the over head fan twirls
over gentle writhings
healing tremblings
as we two
spin away into
Perfection's Consumated Dream
where breathless love mates
with sensual overwhelmng
sighs seductive breathings
making it oh so clear
why
we humans were placed here
to make love and children
in the colors of our night
hot pinks
ravishing reds
and deep blues.
I look into your eyes
reflecting back to me
the nights perfection
come real
and if never again
to be seen
this time alone would be enough
to paint Van Gogh
colors and stars
on our bed room ceiling
forever
on this
Starry Starry Night
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Let Us Speak Of Light And Colors
Let us speak of light and colors
Of ephemeral hues and strident tones
Of luminescence that commands
One's eyes to observe it
Of cobalt blues that morph into ashen grey
That in turn then steals away
Into black…
Soft and sensual as velvet
poem by David Whalen
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The Yellows Of The Flowers
THE YELLOWS OF THE FLOWERS
THE YELLOWS OF THE FLOWERS
The Yellows of the Flowers,
the Greens of the Trees,
God’s Colors-
Comfort me.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Wonderful Painting
A Wonderful Painting
by Alex Lewis
I remember before my mother's art
When I was but an egg.
The painting took color in every part.
One shade is but a leg.
The lavish blues spread across the page like a waving, smiling sea.
The canvas was plain and bare, except the blues, happily set free.
With the blue, I went to play as childish as I may.
The one clam and I sat with ourselves on the whaling bay.
This is me, like a leaf, on my first day at green.
So, all the others spoke; I found that none were mean.
There were dark greens, light ones, and one stuck in the middle.
After math, my friend and I learnt to play the fiddle.
My friend and I continued to play our little tune.
We soon fell in pink to which neither one was immune.
Our pink grew and grew as each day had passed.
Green had ended blue; only pink would last.
We took our pink and ran right through to angry, waiting brown.
Brown was angry for making him wait with a black-white frown.
We explained that blue made us wait for an azure set of eighteen.
He forgave us. My friend, brown, pink, and I live for only one team.
We decided to get the canvas and add a dash of white.
Pink was overwhelmed as white carried on through the love-filled night.
We can add white to family before blue decides to return again.
Red will also join the painting party-Another eighteen before men!
It took a lot of work to make my dear reds come.
I enjoyed the work, but my reds were way more fun.
One red stayed with us, but the other ran away rather young.
Maybe brown kidnapped him early, but strange words travel by tongue.
We turned grey as brown dimmed down, but we swear we've never seen pink more bright!
Brown had completely gone, like both of our reds, but pink still made things light.
I then feared and cried as my pink's grey burned out like a setting sun.
My grey began to fade too, but I was ready. My life was done.
My mother handed me the canvas and the frame,
But I had to add all the colors (none I showed for shame) .
Blue, green, pink, brown, red, grey-my portrait is made of those colors,
But I am just one piece in a gallery, and all of you are the others.
poem by Alex Lewis
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Basically there is no difference between whites and blacks, browns and yellows. I decided to think no more of people as Northerners and Southerners.
quote by Ethel Waters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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