You Paint Me Blue
The portraits lying here, they don't even do you justice
You're more beautiful than any canvas could prove
These pale colors will never show your skin so smooth
I touch up your smile with this red and white mix
Once I fought a kiss from these covetous lips
With every swift stroke I grow more and more listless
When I stop to think with tear-filled eyes
I knew I'd make this painting run
So it ran but not as fast as you
and not out of the light of my sun
I don't even care why you led me on but I must admit
If there's one thing I would like
to ask whatever made you quit
Though this painting I'll not complete
you will receive your justice
poem by Nathaniel Aaron Bryant
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Related quotes
Delayed Justice...
(This poem is dedicated to Hollister #22.)
Delayed justice is better than no justice.
The world will always be round.
Facts cannot be altered; prejudice
Is a major impediment to reach sound
Justice. Justice is all we want,
Fairness is what we fight for,
Justice is what we cry for,
Fairness is what we want.
All lives are special.
All God's children are beautiful.
All colors are essential,
To make the rainbow normal.
Justice, Justice is what we want,
Fairness is what we fight for.
Equality under the law is critical.
Equal shade can only make the rainbow
More beautiful and more impartial;
No justice will always be a Big No, No.
Justice is what we cry for,
Fairness is what we want.
The world will always be round.
Finally, we can hear the sound
Of the bells. Justice is around
The corner; she is upward bound.
Delayed justice is better than no justice.
poem by Hebert Logerie
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Beyond the Art
Dad only had a month to live.
I peeked in to tell them goodnight.
Mom was painting. She stopped to give
Me a kiss. 'Your Dad will be all right.'
Next morning, both my folks were gone.
Perhaps they went out for some air.
Mom's new painting was sitting on
Its easel. Mom's class touch was there.
Mom's grace, Dad's strength - what a combo,
For forty years, husband and wife.
I touched the canvas. Where'd they go?
And then the painting came to life.
A couple walked along the sea.
Mom and Dad smiled and waved to me.
On the Innate Drive For What is Right
As life bled, martyrdom flared its buds.
Repression, red from irritation,
Rendered chinks and cracks; but thuds of
Armament - in cowardice - accomplice of the
Dictatorial blight thro' countless years -
Wreaked its retribution:
Yet hope began to bloom a coloured carapace
Enshrining their allegiance ‘gainst the
Terror in their tears.
And on! Splits yawned - breaches in the junta:
Flesh fought fanatical minds -
Bullets welcomed into open hands
And blessed with yearnings for morality:
Chiselled man-toys of death and mutilation
Couldn't repel the might of freedom
Surging at the bright horizon.
Crepuscular rays of purpose, body,
Flooded pandemonium with
Overwhelming clarity, direction -
Burdened clouds drifting wayward as the
Light channelled out a vision,
Intensifying focus on tomorrow -
Deepen their stride
As they home in to
What is theirs,
Rightfully theirs!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The reign of justice and freedom
justice justice justice justice justice justice justice justice
justice justice justice justice justice justice justice justice
justice justice justice justice justice justice justice justice
freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom
freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom
justice justice justice justice justice justice justice justice
justice justice justice justice justice justice justice justice
freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom
freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom
freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom
freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom
freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom
justice justice justice justice justice justice justice justice
justice justice justice justice justice justice justice justice
freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom freedom
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Rape
(ian hunter)
He searched through his love like a thief on the run
He searched through his face - to see the guilt water run
But hes fresh out of tears and nobody has come
And justice has got to be done
Oh moon in the city stay open and clear
For his vision aint good and his minds disappeared
Get along mother nature they spat at your son
So justice has got to be done
And beauty is lying alone in the park
Her friend has gone bowling in the alleys so dark
Wheres her knight in white armour who rides a chrome ford
Justice would seem to be bored
Justice would seem to be bored
A knife full of life penetrated the bait
While he thinks o the sister and the mother that he hates
And he thinks hell get off cos hes sick, and stoned
And justice was made to be honed
And justice was made to be honed
And his lawyer is smiling one hell of a smile
n hes lying all the lies - of the lies in exile
While shes dying of grief hes defending his brief
And justice would seem to be cheap
And justice would seem to be cheap
Well Ive searched through the falling, and I searched through the failed
Ive searched through the jury - the judge and the jailed
But sleeping beauty is dead no use pricking her thumb
And justice has got to be done
Justice just is - justice just is - justice just is - not!
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Justice
'Justice is the one thing you should always find'**-
It needs find all who seek its aegis, e'en though it is blind;
Justice chooses one side, that of verity;
There exists no convolution, only a resplendent clarity
When true justice is rendered, to those in need
Of the curative powers that only it may heed;
Justice denied to one, is justice denied to all, the same-
To those responsible for its denial, goes all the shame!
Justice is not just a decision, its a means of thought-
For its very guard, many a war has been fought,
Many a man has given his very life, as would I-
And no man should be asked to live without it-nor should I;
My justice shan't come, until I may look them in the eyes, and say:
'Though I am not with you, I've kept you in my heart, and there you'll stay! '
poem by Maurice Harris
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The Gallery
I fell in love in the gallery
where every painting
had a story still to tell
the portraits of nature
every hue of wild beauty
caught my soul breathless
I wandered through worlds
those places of such scenery
which caught, held my eye
I imagined the feel of the air
the scent which filled each picture
touching my skin, filling my nose
my eyes wide open feasted upon
such beauty the likes of which
I had hardly every seen
nether less thought to imagine
I walked almost listless
in no hurry to leave this place
I fell in love in the gallery
where portraits of nature
told me their story
poem by Matthew Holloway
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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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If I Were A Painting
If I were a painting
Captured on canvas
Alone in the portriat I would stand
And brush strokes bold
Yet soft as a whisper
The work of a feminine hand.
Caught in a still life
Surrounded by shadows
And lost in a background of blue
If I were a painting
My price would be pain
And the artist would have to be you.
I imagine the colors
Would all run together
If you ever allowed me to cry
So don't paint the tears
Just let me remember me
Without you in my eyes.
It's only the frame
That holds me together
Or else I would be falling apart
If I were a painting
I wouldn't feel
And you wouldnt be breaking my heart...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Today I Watched You Sleep
Today I watched you sleep
You looked so peaceful, a beautiful picture for my mind to keep
I wondered what heavenly dream you were having
For you had on a sweet easy smile; endearing
Watching you made my heart sing
I could almost feel it dancing
I caught myself smiling
Taylor Swift's Tim McGraw playing
I thought to myself, what a creature to behold
Always thought you a god, truth be told
Perfect brows, a well carved jaw
Lips of pure honey, God, I loved what I saw
Beautiful body, arms so strong
I could never go wrong
You felt so warm beside me, like a bottle of gin
To wake you would be a mortal sin
Like you read my mind
Your eyes slowly opened so deep and kind
I couldn't help but smile again
The look you gave me was like sunshine through the rain
I wish I had my paint, brush and canvas
Just imagine a moment so beautiful on canvas
Would send the Mona Lisa into oblivion
Instead, I sighed and closed my eyes
Carefully painting the picture in my mind, kinda like a golden sunrise
poem by Esperanza Chilupula
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We have fought for social justice. We have fought for economic justice. We have fought for environmental justice. We have fought for criminal justice. Now we must add a new fight - the fight for electoral justice.
quote by Barbara Boxer
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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Madonna portrait
I saw you painting,
not a sideways glance
of a elephant head
with deep creases showing,
or the neck of a giraffe,
not a Tuscan scene
with tables with white table clothes,
neither an abstract scene
in blue, green and gold.
A portrait unfolded before my eyes,
not a half naked nymph,
or wood fairy
but a Madonna without child
pregnant and serene
looking utterly holy
with olive skin
and great big innocent eyes
against dark colours
in a ruby red cloak.
Your fingers mixed colours expertly
on the palette
to the right exact hue
and blazing lights
lit the canvas
on the easel
and the painting
became an old world masterpiece
with stroke after little stroke
adding depth and meaning
and somewhere in the distance
a midnight-black dragon appeared
with a open mouth
as if drawing nearer
truly alive
detailed to the smallest respect
and evil in every way.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Painting Jealousy
Her lips spell his name...
her cheeks, his smile.
Her tender glance reflects his soul,
as though his shadow made her whole.
I tried to paint her silent lips
till it clamored out his name.
And when I tried to sketch her cheeks...
I saw his smile, it's all the same.
Yet when I tried to paint her eyes,
in my canvas it's his face.
And so I stopped painting her,
and stopped loving her as well.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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When is a Painting Finished?
I paint.
On my easel
pictures in oil and acrylic grow
like stalagmites in limestone caves.
I think that painting is a magical act
that transforms invisible thoughts
and feelings into visible colors
and forms.
But I never can tell
when is the work finished.
After all it is always possible
to change a line, a hue, or a color
or even the whole composition.
Painters have different opinions
about this.
Some say that when the artist
successfully planted
all the details onto the canvas
the image expresses itself
as a severed autonomous entity,
which frees the painter from
the task of continuing to paint.
From then on the painting gains
an independent inner life of its own.
However, abandoning a work of art
involves a moral decision
ripened by the stiffening tension
between skill, creativity and integrity.
At what point does the polished image
meet the artist’s expectations?
And then, even if it does,
no single image can express
all that an artist wants to show,
and consequently his muses
compel him to carry on with his work
and create more paintings.
Hence the oeuvre of the artist
evolves as a set of different images
of the same single thrust and grind.
Many years ago I was wandering
through the countryside
of southern France in Provence.
Once I stopped to look at the road
where the village met the meadow.
A sturdy artist stood there
in front of his easel
painting the landscape
with skilful brushstrokes
on a well-stretched canvas.
I stared for a while
at the burgeoning picture
and then asked him:
“How do you know
when is the composition complete? ”
He gave me a piercing glance.
“Well”, he said,
“if you take a hammer
and hit me on the head
I know that the painting is finished.”
poem by Paul Hartal
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Painting
The world you painted was new
The colors were so alive
Took a lie and made it true
A final touch and then right into the painting you dive
It's ok if you break
You'll see colors again
This is more than you can take
You'll see colors again
It's your life that's at stake
You'll see colors again
Don't you think it's my time
song performed by by Blindside from Silence
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There’s a big painting
There’s a big painting of a girl
with a light pink skin
that lies on a white skin cloak
in front of a dark pool,
where snow white water lilies drifts
and I can see into her soul.
I have felt like taking the fan
next to her
and to wave her cool
yet she looks fragile
and self-possessed and calm,
where she lies with her peach pink dress
looking at me
and I wonder for whom she is waiting
and why the door behind her
of which the steps goes into the pool
are always locked?
[Reference: Painting of a girl at a pool by Mandi. See the painting at my webpage: http: //www.mabooki.com/poems/display/1412_There_is_a_b ig_painting.htm]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Kiss Kiss Kiss
Kiss kiss kiss
Even if she does not posses
Angelina Jolie's luscious lips
Take her imagination to ecstasy
A place where flowers dance tango
A garden full of red and white roses
Your chapped strong lips her ticket
To the city where waterfalls sing
Kiss Kiss Kiss and make up
Make all her troubles go away
Light up your beautiful home gentleman.
Kiss Kiss Kiss
The only way to keep him
Close to your fire of passion
Put a lip gloss on your body
By the time you approach him
His eyes will be kissing and kissing
All over your smooth fine body
Be the lady of the smoking home
Kiss Kiss Kiss and make up
Take his imagination out of hardships
Worthy to be your partner kiss him.
Kiss Kiss Kiss
Respect your loving husband
Love your respectful wife.
poem by Young Church
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Justice Of The Peace
(ian hunter)
Its such a terrible shame it was only a game
Then her brothers found out seven johnny be goodes
We was only pretending at mummys and daddys
They totally misunderstood
Oh what a terrible plight what a terrible fight
It was too much to bear her father said ere
I think you better sign its a letter designed
To have you married by the first of the year
Get the justice of the peace
Get the justice get the justice of the peace
Oh get the justice of the peace
Get the justice get the justice of the peace
If you want to play with fire
Youll get yourself burned
I was messing with the ashes
But look at how it turned out
Get the justice of the peace
Get the justice get the justice of the peace
Oh what a terrible waste such a shocking disgrace
To give me away Im too young to die
A shotgun wedding heading straight for the sky
And Im shy mary ellen Im shy y y y
Get the justice of the peace
Get the justice Ill get the justice of the peace
Come on!
Get the justice of the peace
Get the justice Ill get the justice of the peace
When your chips go down
You came on the dice
Forget the mississippi
Take some friendly advice
Get the justice of the peace
Ill get the justice Ill get the justice of the peace
(give it to me old chum)
Get the justice of the peace
Get the justice Ill get the justice of the peace
Get the justice of the peace
Get the justice Ill get the justice of the peace
If you want to play with fire
Youll get yourself burned
And I was messing with the ashes
And look at how it turned out
Ill get the justice get the justice of the peace
Ill get the justice Ill get the justice of the peace
Ill get the justice get the justice of the peace
Ill get the justice Ill get the justice of the peace
Ill get the justice get the justice of the peace
Ill get the justice Ill get the justice of the peace
Ill get the justice get the justice of the peace
Ill get the justice Ill get the justice of the peace
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Quit
i quit trying to save the world...
and just offered my hand,
and walked beside it.
i quit trying to find the truth,
for it was already within me.
i quit trying to tell anyone anything,
and just listened in perfect stillness.
i quit trying to be religious,
and found the sacred in the common.
i quit trying to stop the wars,
and let the wars within me end!
i quit trying to find god,
and just looked in the mirror.
i quit fighting for freedom,
and found a freedom they couldnt take.
i quit shouting out for justice,
and walked in a way that was just.
i quit wanting to own anything,
and so broke the final bonds.
i quit trying to be what they wanted,
and decided to be myself.
i quit blaming, condemning, and accusing,
and took the responsibility on myself.
i quit trying to make myself a name,
and walked in nobody's shoes.
i quit staring from behind the bars,
that were never really there.
i quit seeking to define and hold,
and just let go and lived.
i quit hiding from death, and opened the door,
and found the light from which darkness
is made!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Mask
When I needed a healing touch,
I found no one around,
I knew to grow what got was much.
I fought to prove me sound.
But now I am a budding tree,
I have some masks around;
They praise, they smile, they come to see
They raise me to a mound.
I keep false smile, put on a gracious mask,
I know, they know the thing, but they do never ask! !
poem by Nilakshi Das
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