Fading Roses
Images captured on film
Saved and frozen in time
Face and frame…
Subject to change
Make of it what you will
The many phases pass
Under the light of the moon
A final pose is stilled in June
Scrutinized under a microscope
Exposed for all to see
Shadowed by troubled empathy
As tears sting with sympathy
Farewell…to images of vibrancy
Reminders of potency
The shutter opens and closes
Capturing an array of fading roses
8/3/09
poem by Theresa Ann Moore
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Related quotes
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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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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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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Our Final Farewell
To say our final farewell it happend not that long ago.
Our final farewell, I remember it so clearly.
Our final farewell, I remember your smile.
Our final farewell, I remember how proud you were
that you got promoted.
Our final farewell, happened like any 'goodbye'.
Our final farewell, you seemed happy.
Our final farewell, you seemed to enjoy life.
Our final farewell, you seemed to enjoy everything,
Our final farewell, I remember the conversation.
Our final farewell, sometimes haunts me.
Our final farewell, happened so quick.
Our final farewell, I didn't know that it was going to
be our last.
Our final farewell, happened more then a year ago
Your final farewell, happened on the 15/11/05 as you
took your own life.
poem by Nikki Hamilton
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Images of Time
The images in my mind is like my thoughts.
Expressing my thoughts is like expressing my feelings.
Words are spoken.All my images are broken.
Broken down into pieces, which can never be made into new dishes.
Those images of past.It takes time to last.
It will last forever for met to take over.
All those images wore my past life.
But it has nothing to do with my past life.
Those images can be forgotten.But not those people.
Those people who are in your images.Can be in a real image.
When you see those people in front of you.
You like to say 'How are you'?
If they say I am fine.Then you will think of those time.
poem by Yash Pradhan
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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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Like The Summer Fruits
Uppermost,
Outermost,
With the same images;
Images of the sun and the moon,
Extortion!
Like a puzzle;
To make an impact,
With gladness,
Like the summer fruits;
However, she really needed someone like you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I Stand Alone
Now I've told you this once before
You can't control me
If you try to take me down you're gonna break
Now I feel your every nothing that you're doing for me
I'm picking you outa me
you run away
I stand alone
Inside
I stand alone
You're always hiding behind your so called goddess
So what you don't think that we can see your face
Resurrected back before the final fallen
now they've arrest utill I can make my own way
I'm not afraid of fading
I stand alone
Feeling your sting down inside of me
I'm not dying for it
I stand alone
Everything that I believe is fading
I stand alone
Inside
I stand alone
And now its my time (now its my time)
It's my time to dream (my time to dream)
Dream of the sky (dream of the sky)
Make me believe that this place is invaded
By the poison in me
Help me decide if my fire will burn out
Before you can breathe
Breathe into me
I stand alone
Inside
I stand alone
Feeling your sting down inside of me
I'm not dying for it
I stand alone
Everything that I believe is fading
I stand alone
Inside
I stand alone
Inside
I stand alone
Inside
I stand alone
Inside
song performed by by Godsmack from Awake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Although images of perfection in people's personal lives can cause unhappiness, images of perfect societies - utopian images - can cause monstrous evil. In fact, forcefully changing society to conform to societal images was the greatest cause of evil in the twentieth century.
quote by Dennis Prager
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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In Light of the Sinking Sun
An empty chair
A quiet room
In light of the moons full glare.
A sleeping man
A cell of stone
In light of the moons full glare.
A dark hall
A silent porch
In light of the moons full glare.
Flickering light
Buzzing flies
In light of the moons full glare.
The man awakes
Stifles a moan
In light of the fading moon.
Shuffling feet
Dangling keys
In light of the fading moon.
The door opens
The man hauled out
In light of the fading moon.
Straps are tightened
Machine turned on
In light of the fading moon.
A button pushed
A scream of pain
In light of the fading moon.
A blackened body
Smoke-filled room
In light of the fading moon.
Six foot hole
Dug in the woods
In light of the fading moon.
The headstone in
The words are said
In light of the rising sun.
The next man sits
Upon that chair
In light of the rising sun.
Poor old man,
Dealt the hand
In light of the rising sun.
Dealt the hand,
The blow of power
In light of the rising sun.
An evil laugh
A blackened body
In light of the rising sun.
The executioner stands
By a silent chair
In light of the sinking sun.
poem by Samantha Jo
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Lost Sun
The sun fading away
The sun ruining the day
Shadow sliding in
Time for night to begin
Lost the suns light
To the darkness of night
Sun light dreaming
To be the moon light beaming
But soon the world will see
When shadows of the night flee
That light is not far from sight
Removed are images of the night
Turned green to white
Snapped over night
Lost soon after none
Here comes the sun
poem by Paul Macharmley
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Empathy And Sympathy.
Love turns to empathy when one sees God in all,
The sharing of the self in life's rise and fall.
Fostered humbleness, blooms the empathy's flower,
And with it God's bliss, spontaneously showers.
While sympathy is Ego’s hubris,
Authority of superiority finds release
Empathy is a cry for other’s suffering,
Sharing oneness with all human beings
Sympathy is worldly and mercy it may trace,
Empathy sees itself in all living face.
.
poem by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
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Que Sera Sera
They content with
the images of themselves
proud of the genetic chain fulfilled
through their children
Yet they are empty too
for sometime
Just like me
Though i entertain not an image
of anybody
NOT even myself or the other self of myself
IT Is the NOw that i embrace
on a door that closes and opens when i step
outside
i sing, que sera sera
whatever will be will be.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Those' Images Made
People love to treasure those images made.
Those images created to help them escape,
From depictions of reality.
And the way the displaying of it is portrayed.
People love to treasure those images made.
People love to treasure those images made.
The ones flowered to sugar without a bitter taste.
Those images glammed up to spotlight,
On a public stage.
But behind the scenes indignities can be mean.
Yet...
People love to treasure those images made.
And their minds are affixed to them to defend...
Every blemish that is openly seen.
Since people who love their images made...
Have not been conditioned on reality to feast.
People love to treasure those images made.
Those images created to help them escape,
From depictions of reality.
And the way the displaying of it is portrayed.
People love to treasure those images made,
With an excusing of detrimental flaws and pain shown.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Essential
I know I am more than qualified.
Every moment of my life,
Has been scrutinized under microscope.
When I used the bathroom...
There were those who gave up hope,
I could do that on my own.
Every step I made has been followed.
And attempts to overcome my weaknesses...
Were spent in public view.
I did not hide behind a desk.
Nor group with a clique...
To mask my defects.
I know I am more than qualified.
Every moment of my life,
Has been scrutinized under microscope.
I had been considered foolish...
Quite lazy and a joke.
And as I realized those who found time to criticize...
I knew then I was more than qualified.
Since I used my time...
Clearing obstacles off my path.
And thanking God along the way...
I had humor left to laugh,
At those who took their valuable time...
Finding fault with what I did.
When all I've done is to use my mind!
And blessed to have teachers,
Who knew how to subdue my ego!
And thanks to them I let that go when it annoyed!
I know I am more than qualified.
I am removed from that which had blinded my eyes!
Which in fact...
Just might make some folks highly dissatisfied,
That I have made my credentials far more essential...
Than I have utilized!
I like to keep that as a surprise!
It's fun to throw around a resumé every now and then.
Not to impress.
But just to get a moment's rest when interviewed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Suddenly Images Change
Too many now bending under heat,
Like drying crops.
Without a drop...
Of reviving fresh water.
Others would rather ignore their pleas,
And let them rot.
Like the weeding,
Of their wicked disorder!
Suddenly images change.
Those now in pain,
Are the ones...
Who chose to inflict it.
Suddenly they all seem insane.
Those who disdained,
Are now the ones...
Mentally conflicted.
Too many now bending under heat,
Like drying crops.
Without a drop...
Of reviving fresh water.
Others would rather ignore their pleas,
And let them rot.
Like the weeding,
Of their wicked disorder!
Suddenly images change.
Those now in pain,
Are the ones...
Who chose to inflict it.
Suddenly they all seem insane.
Those who disdained,
Are now the ones...
Mentally conflicted.
Suddenly images change.
Like drying crops.
Without a drop...
Of reviving fresh water.
Suddenly they all seem insane.
Those who disdained...
Are now the ones,
Out-of-order.
Suddenly images change.
Like rotting crops.
Suddenly they all seem insane.
Their tears now drop.
Suddenly images change.
Like rotting crops.
Suddenly they all seem insane.
Their tears now drop.
Too many now bending under heat,
Like drying crops.
Without a drop...
Of reviving fresh water.
Suddenly images change.
Those now in pain,
Are the ones...
Who chose to inflict it.
Suddenly images change.
Suddenly they all seem insane.
Suddenly images change.
Suddenly they all seem insane.
Suddenly images change.
Those now in pain,
Are the ones...
Who chose to inflict it.
Now the wicked are conflicted.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Uncertain Weather
A day of uncertain weather
Captured in a frame forever
A face in a faded photograph
He must have had a life
Maybe with a family
People who meant everything to him
A sinner, a saint, a soldier
Caught up in a war he never
Had a chance to start or build a life
All gone long ago
Leaving no trace
Disappearing like smoke in the wind
To become just a face without a name
Leaving no trace
Disappearing like smoke in the wind
Hopes and fears important plans
Forgotten memories
Footsteps fading in the sand, ooh
Schemes and dreams small and grand
Nothing left to see
Footsteps fading in the sand, ooh
Someone who cast a shadow
Maybe just a lazy man
Doesnt make much difference now its true
A day of uncertain weather
Captured in a frame forever
A face in a faded photograph
All gone long ago
Leaving no trace
Disappearing like smoke in the wind
To become just a face without a name
One more to add to the total
Of those never heard of again
Yes hes gone
Just a face without a name
Leaving no trace
Disappearing like smoke in the wind
All gone
Just a face without a name
Leaving no trace
Disappearing like smoke in the wind...
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Sleep Soundly Upon A Late Night
there is a promise of enjoyment
about utility
measured in just a few moments
you have to pay for the intimate hours
and then be silent
no images, nothing about love
nothing about memories to share
and remember
we want it to be brief and
explosive
but we never desire that it should
stick to our skins and bones
another fantasy
another longing for something that folds and
unfolds
for something that opens and then closes
without attachment
i could have grabbed that moment with you
but light is too much
and i am not blinded
i let it go and i am weary
so weary when i arrive again in my room
finding nothing but myself
with its dignity intact
i can sleep soundly now though it is late already
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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