Lightning Creation Flash
traditional painting
new layers applied
to various segments
interactive portions
across most
of surface canvas
after air long
dormant delays
allowing
previous
layer to
completely
dry
drying
process
could
delay vary
several days
to several weeks
canvas talent
stasis dormant
depending
on previous
applied
thickness
layer
a process
not conducive
to rapid
genius mind
strokes
bushing
thought
sight felt
touched
in framed
contrast
unleashed
lightning creation flash
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Related quotes
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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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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Faces and layers of faces
At first, this is the face I will show you
Shallow, thin, smooth
Then we feel each other, like some kind of
New found friends, I
Take another layer, and tell you, this is my face,
Some scars, and lines of age, and furrows,
Then we write many emails, and remember
Common things, like a certain familiarity,
Another layer is taken and exposed,
The face of a sick man, with some
Disappointments in his mind,
Some wounds, wrinkles, and so you
Think, are there other layers of faces still
To show,
Deeper, deeper is there another layer to show
Another face of this man?
Yes, there is another layer, more faces
Hidden underneath each layer,
As we go on, learning from ourselves,
And me learning from myself,
I will be digging for more faces,
Because I am never static
I am growing, and for each growth
Like molting
Another face comes out
Soon, I hope, I must come out
With the most beautiful face
The we can be both proud of,
It is just a matter of time
Depending on how well you have loved me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Thirteen
At first, this is the face I will show you
Shallow, thin, smooth
Then we feel each other, like some kind of
New found friends, I
Take another layer, and tell you, this is my face,
Some scars, and lines of age, and furrows,
Then we write many emails, and remember
Common things, like a certain familiarity,
Another layer is taken and exposed,
The face of a sick man, with some
Disappointments in his mind,
Some wounds, wrinkles, and so you
Think, are there other layers of faces still
To show,
Deeper, deeper is there another layer to show
Another face of this man?
Yes, there is another layer, more faces
Hidden underneath each layer,
As we go on, learning from ourselves,
And me learning from myself,
I will be digging for more faces,
Because I am never static
I am growing, and for each growth
Like molting
Another face comes out
Soon, I hope, I must come out
With the most beautiful face
The we can be both proud of,
It is just a matter of time
Depending on how well you have loved me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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
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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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Seeing a Clearer Me
layer by layer
i peel so that
like a glass
you can view me
crystal clear as a virgin river
a polished diamond
decades of
practice for those
seasoned fingers
to strike at her core
to bring out those few
beethoven scores
he tuned up the world for
a great watch maker
filing his cog to tighten time
the precision of mind
to keep a universal lie at bay
verse by verse
layer by layer
i peel to get to
the sheen the almighty
laid hidden in me
layer by layer
i peel off the world
to see a clearer me
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Canvas
Oh how she loves her canvas,
The stories that it tells.
Oh how she loves to paint her thoughts,
And etch a perfect spell.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
The memories that it holds.
Oh how she loves to trace the lines,
And tell if new or old.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
Her stability in an unstable world.
Oh how she loves to fret away,
At all of her unfurled.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
A standstill of art and truth.
Oh how she loves the feel of it,
To reminisce her youth.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
A long work of her life.
Oh how she loves the twisted colors,
Splashes of red upon white.
Oh how she loves her canvas,
She crafts each inch with care.
She hides her canvas well away,
Though she often earns a stare.
Do not tell of her canvas,
Keep the secret- she insists.
But perhaps some time take a second glance,
For her canvas is her wrist.
poem by Dayna Mortimore
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Empty Canvas
the canvas is juxtaposition
images colour movement time
time shifts in thought shifts
empty mind space canvas
is whatever artist declares
canvas is painted to be
empty canvas is whatever
canvas is painted to be
endless pigment possibilities
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Layers
You must consider that everything is layered
The earth has layers of air, water, soil, rock, fire to its
Core
Molten fire
A fruit has layers of an external cover
Something hard, then soft and a
Sometimes a hollow core
A cake has layers too of sugar coating
Moist cake
And chocolate
End layer
My body has layers of skin
Tissue, flesh, bone
And nerves and
Marrow
The core can be hollow
And the mind
The soul has layers of understanding
Layers and layers of consciousness
To sub consciousness
Ego superego
To a layer
Beyond our grasp
Tips of the tongues
Slippages
Déjà vu
Memory gaps
Did we meet somewhere?
Do I remember you?
These sorts of some things
That happen which we know we can explain yet we can’t
Something somewhere
Could be
What if
Was I there somewhere sometime?
She somehow touches me and I feel it
I don’t really remember when
That smile that you wear was the same smile I saw somewhere
Foggy places, opaque faces, vague bodies hugging us in dreams
Murky rivers bathing us hazy rains lazily sizing Zen in showers
Some windows in some house
Remaining close
My heart is light and it is flying like a little light bird on its first wing
There is always a sense of awe and wonder to everything that I do here
An onion peeling, layer by layer, tear by tear
Here. I am. Here I am becoming unfolding to another beginning
No entries and no exits
Off limits, nothing yet allowed.
Meanwhile I am breathing, smelling something somewhere.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Gift Of Sight
Is it a picture? No, it is not,
Your talent is amazing as talent can be,
Vibrant colors, shapes, whole lot,
I am blessed to be able to see.
What I see is a beautiful sight,
What I see is brush strokes might,
Transformation, the canvas white,
Imagination takes to flight.
A wondrous control of colors,
Show your immense labors,
A wondrous sight indeed,
Our eyes enriched, you feed.
Dolce Far Niente
(sweet idleness)
in the near zero visibility
of a winter gaining its momentum
i felt as if i was the only walker
on this winter road
through the thick fog
that insulated me from
the world known and unknown
your desire for me touched me
lifting the fog
layer by layer...
08nov2009
14.44hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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The canvas
The canvas
~
This blank canvas before me
Laid out in pristine white
Where only the illusion of lines
Break the unparalleled possibility
Dare I take my pen to it
To scare forever its page
To pen the impossible thought
In verse and breath captivated
That only the mention of a word
Touches the heart and soul of man
Painted into eternity
Upon the canvas stained
No longer innocent, pristine
But touched by the mind
Whose eyes looked upon
A world as they chose to see it
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Faith and Hope
Some brick walls are easier to penetrate.
And that depends on when they were cemented.
The thickness.
And the chipping done,
Has to be taken into consideration.
Knowing that one's patience,
Still has to be applied.
And there is no going around it.
No matter how hard one tries.
One can choose to flee.
Or proceed to chip away quick.
Or begin this process slowly.
Just do what needs to be done.
There are obstacles to rid.
Faced by everyone.
Those who cope...
Realize the value place in faith and hope.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The colors live a remarkable life of their own after they have been applied to the canvas.
quote by Edvard Munch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Perfect Painting
Perfect painting
An azure, sinless sky
a whisper of white clouds
and a yellow sun.
The canvas was big
but the painter got bored
walked home.
It rained in the night
canvas, dark and ominous
the artist was contented.
Painting, just the way
it was intended,
but he didn´t bother to sign it.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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When I was in art college, I would be painting, and I would create something on a canvas that was actually quite attractive. But if I got frightened and tried to protect that, that canvas would die.
quote by Michael Ironside
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(Writer Poem) Building A Rainbow
Their is the formula.
Their is the glue.
Building a rainbow just for you.
Masking the colors till I'm ready to reveal,
The way I feel.
A soul you can touch.
A complete embodiment of me for all to see.
Portray characters of all kinds.
From the lovable to the deviant I define.
Oh I long to taste that bitter sweet brine.
As much as reaching out to places I have yet too see or be.
A need of fulfillment in this quite empty heart.
A place to start anew and fresh.
A birth upon little known success.
Watch as I undress, layer after layer stripped away.
Unearthing the wholeness I have never felt.
The rawness, the nakedness of it.
It is sometimes amazing what lies beneath.
Raising above the fear that is causing me to grit and grind my teeth.
A double imagination.
A trivial expression of who I am.
A horrifying captivation of my mind.
My stalemate becomes intertwined.
As a man I am sometimes so blind.
As a immortal I create this world.
It twists and swirls.
The creation of my own personal pearl.
A gem like no others,
Fire hot yet cool to the touch.
Yet I still I don't why it means so much.
Is it the desire?
Is it the love?
Is it another one of those just because?
A I can with sincerity.
My own sense of charity.
And my thoughts continue to forever vary.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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God's Canvas Above
The Artist behind the canvas above, the sky's what I'm speaking of,
Stretched above so wide and blue, every day a painting brand new,
God's painting above for all to see, painted by The Lord of Eternity,
The canvas above God's Creation, visible by every man and nation.
He begins every day with the sun, The Creator's Light for everyone,
Keeping God's touch in mind, sometimes the sun He hides behind,
Those clouds, so white and full, all through The Lord's creative rule,
When the Lord does paint the sky, which is seen through every eye.
God ends each day not the same, although the clouds may remain,
As night begins He paints the sun, well over this earth's far horizon,
Turning the sky to a black canopy, to paint those stars that we see,
With the sun replaced by the moon, along with stars that are strewn.
This is just the sky above my friend, for God's Creation has no end,
It goes beyond what we can see, for God is The Creator of Eternity,
But, what God chooses to display, is a witness to all nations today,
His witness that men come to know, The Lord above all men below.
God's Creation, to all mankind, is The Creators testimony to remind,
There's a Creator beyond the sky, One, Who created both you and I,
Whose witness creates accountability, for every person that can see,
That above man there is a Creator, Who sent Christ to be our Savior.
(Copyright ©06/2012)