How Bizarre Picasso's Guernica
had a strange bizarre idea
an explosive expression of force
a kind of Kung Fu high ya
to write split images
slicing Picasso's Guernica
are ambitious goals
‘Counting Skeletons
Maze Masterpiece War' cannon fodders
expendable human wave attacks
counting skeletons
military civilians animals
far too complex figures
for mind dumb numb critics
expecting classical critiques
lacking Geneva Conventions
tone deaf paint strokes
powerfully counting skeletons
symbolist blood cubism's
splitting images
is poetic cubism slices
shifting images
lenses
original concepts
shifts
heightened are purifications
lenses through looking glass
quality intensity frequencies
window frame shattered glass
reflects no light dust disembowels
nail polish veneer shade layers
behold I am the light sparks
cast upon yonder wall outpourings
what colours abuses decays?
images screaming ghosts
paper mache bull's horns
tearing apart peace dreams
bits of newspapers
blue shadings
ripe purple bruises
a red tear streams
from screaming eye woman's
nightmare deletes
colours
so must Picasso's
images
final phases
defeat reeks
flesh decays
monochrome metal monsters
political black white gray tones
felt impact descent bomb blasts
evokes deaths
flesh sufferings
war insanities
lick wounds
impaled oozing sacrifices
histories pages
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Related quotes
Symbolist Blood Cubism's
tone deaf paint strokes
powerfully counting skeletons
symbolist blood cubism's
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetic Cubism Slices
splitting images
is poetic cubism slices
shifting images
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paper Mache Bull's Horns
images screaming ghosts
paper mache bull's horns
tearing apart peace dreams
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Frame Shattered Glass
window frame shattered glass
reflects no light dust disembowels
nail polish veneer shade layers
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Light Sparks
behold I am the light sparks
cast upon yonder wall outpourings
what colours abuses decays?
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Effacement War Machines
monochrome metal monsters
political black white gray tones
felt impact descent bomb blasts
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Images
I think images are worth repeating
Images repeated from a painting
Images taken from a painting
From a photo worth re-seeing
I love images worth repeating
Project them upon the ceiling
Multiply them with silk screening
See them with a different feeling
Images, oh, images
Images, oh, images
Some say images have no feeling
I think theres a deeper meaning
Mechanical precision or so its seeming
Instigates a cooler feeling
I love multiplicity of screenings
Things born anew display new meanings
I think images are worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, oh, images
Images, images
Im no urban idiot savant
Spewing paint without any order
Im no sphinx, no mystery enigma
What I paint is very ordinary
I dont think Im old or modern
I dont think I think Im thinking
It doesnt matter what Im thinking
Its the images that are worth repeating
And repeating, oh, images
Images
If youre looking for a deeper meaning
Im as deep as this high ceiling
If you think technique is meaning
You might find me very simple
You might think that images boring
Cars and cans and chairs and flowers
You might find me personally boring
Hammer, sickle, mao tse tong
Mao tse tong
Ooohhh, images, images
Images
I think that it bears repeating
The images upon the ceiling
I love images worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, images
Oh, images, oh, images
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heightened Purifications
heightened are purifications
lenses through looking glass
quality intensity frequencies
poem by Terence George Craddock
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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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Counting Guernica Skeletons
are mind dumb numb critics
expecting classical critiques
lacking Geneva Conventions
poem by Terence George Craddock
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‘Cubism’ Picasso
‘cubism’ picasso
‘cubism’ unique
‘cubism’ genius
‘cubism’ creativity
‘cubism’ individuality
‘cubism’ spontaneity
generating
provoking
ani mating
impulses
internalizes
influen ces
it is us?
or it is trying too hard?
or a mind merges?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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I write scripts to serve as skeletons awaiting the flesh and sinew of images.
quote by Ingmar Bergman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Indelible Images
Idelible Images
That first day of school
That first friend
Indelible Images
That first play
That first fight
Idelible Images
That first graduation
That first car
Idelible Images
That first drunk
That first sober
Idelible Images
That first love
That first forget
Idelible Images
That first death
That first realization
Indelible Images
poem by Scott Tetreault
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I Against I
I-ya,
I against I,
Flesh of my flesh,
And mind of my mind,
Two of a kind but one won't survive,
My images reflect in the enemies eye,
And his images reflect in mine the same time,
I-ya, I-ya,
I against I,
Flesh of my flesh,
And mind of my mind,
Two of a kind but one won't survive,
Right here is where the end gon' start at,
Conflict, contact 'n' combat,
Fighters stand where the land is marked at,
Settle the dispute about who the livest,
3 word answer,
Whoever survive this,
Only one of us can ride forever,
So you and I cant ride together,
Can't live or cant die together,
All we can do is collide together,
So I skillfully apply the pressure,
Won't stop until I'm forever... One!
A door step where death never come,
Spread across time til my time never done,
And I'm never done,
Walk tall, why ever run?
When they move if I ever come?
Bad man never fret the war, tell'em come
General we have the stock, the mad fire burn
I-ya,
I against I,
Flesh of my flesh,
And mind of my mind,
Two of a kind but one won't survive,
My images reflect in the enemies eye,
And his images reflect in mine the same time,
I-ya, I-ya,
I against I,
Flesh of my flesh,
And mind of my mind,
Two of a kind but one won't survive,
Survive (x16)
Reign supreme in your U-N-I,
V-E-R-S-E with the sharpness,
Narrow row building no space for partners,
No space for drivers, no space for walkers,
No space regardless,
Your on my path then get off it,
Hardheaded and unresponsive,
Get they lives put on target with harshness,
Come wit
song performed by by Massive Attack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Images Presented
The image that's presented,
Determines how impressive...
Those pretentious rush to protect.
And the image that's presented,
Has less to do with intellect.
Or competence and its effect,
Upon those expecting...
Much more than an image projected to accept.
Images old have molded.
Although repeatedly they have been sold!
Those images presented,
Represent times gone.
Those images presented,
Have been rusted so long.
Those images presented,
Do not feed!
Those images presented,
No one needs now!
Those images presented represent a decadence.
And they represent with evidence pretentions that are meant.
Those images presented do not feed.
Those images presented no one needs,
Now.
Those images presented represent a decadence.
And they represent with evidence pretentions that are meant.
Those images presented do not feed.
Those images presented no one needs,
Now.
Those images presented,
Represent times gone.
Those images presented,
Have been rusted so long.
Those images presented do not feed.
Those images presented no one needs,
Now.
Those images presented represent a decadence.
And they represent with evidence pretentions that are meant.
Images old have molded.
Although repeatedly they have been sold!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The desired one is not desired.
Those days’ actresses whose images once
Captivated you, will fail to do now.
The frame in the brain holding those images
Had changed to hold the images of new ones.’.
25.02.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Media Independent Versus Mammon Tabloids
similar poetic goals
we write spectral images
images radiant in light
social scope comment
on scenes America fulfills
great contemporary
need is media independent
great comfort necessary
for all citizens who cannot
help defend themselves
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Images
Images.
Images invented.
Images invented to cement.
Images invented to cement and limit,
To give images purpose and intent.
A reason to solidify limitations that prevent,
A bombardment of unrestricted imaginations.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Perfect Perfect Poem
Imagine that God asked you to write the perfect poem.
You sat down at the table, pen and paper at the ready.
You let your mind drift, as if in gentle wholesome prayer.
You wait for some guidance as to the main theme.
Into your mind came the title. How? You could not say.
Yet there it was, as if it were your destiny... your duty...
You write the title down and pause to think about it...
Into your mind come images, unbidden, unrehearsed.
Images unfolding, as from some midnight dream.
You think you should write down the first line.
You force the first verse to fit your new desire.
The words work well and you are warmly pleased.
With a faithful heart, you press on with joy.
The images continue and more words flow...
Who is the writer now? Who is leading the pen?
You are puzzled as the images stop suddenly.
You are given time to catch up, so all is well.
The words become eloquent, bold and fanciful.
The story becomes more than what is first known.
A hidden meaning has yet to be revealed.
You sense it is on its way and you strain to know it.
What can it be? Is it a secret from the Lord?
Is it a precious prophecy, is it a holy revelation?
And you tremble, with eyes closed tight, waiting.
'Tell me! ' you plead with God... 'Tell me! '
Then the secret comes and all you see is light.
White hot burning light, the essence of God's glory.
It is fitting to kneel in the presence of Christ.
Behold the Son of the Most High, the risen Lord...
And all that was written before means nothing.
Now is the time for revelation, for the Lord speaks.
And you are truly ready, for now is the time to write.
poem by Denis Martindale
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I Start Counting
(basil kirchin / jack nathan / james coleman / patrick ryan)
This year, next year
Sometime never
Paper dreams tied up
With bits of string
Darkness comes
Flowers grow
No-one knows
I start counting
I start counting
Sitting by myself in a secret
Chasing thoughts through rainbows in my mind, yeah
Changing time
Tomorrows dream
In between
I start counting
Counting, yes I do
Counting, counting, counting, counting, counting
Ooh-hoo-oo, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve etc.
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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