Vase of Flowers-
A beautiful painting-Monet-
Hangs upon walls of yesterday
haiku by Theodora Onken
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Related quotes
Why Is Repin Painting Monet?
why is repin
painting monet
why is not repin
painting repin
or why is not monet
painting monet
or they're just
making a team
in this day
very sunny day
in the south
south of beauty
oh beauty
beauty named france
france of that field
the sunflower field
oh making
making for a painting
a painting for price
a price for bread
bread for respect
respect for van gogh
van gogh for a day
a day for painting
painting for words
words for us
and us for them
and them are only
only and just
just se7en words
'we all are brothers
brothers
in love'
poem by Ahmed Khaled
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A vase of flowers
I saw a vase of purple-pink roses
lying on your dark brown buffet
and simply had to have it.
“Who painted this, ” I immediately enquired
loving the picture more with each look
that I took of it
as it’s not your thing
to paint still life’s with flowers.
“I painted it. It’s like painting pillow slips, ”
you replied and astonished
I looked at it again
and this was on board
and not in water colours
but done with oil paint.
The folds of the cups were edged
in ridges along their lines
using the techniques
of your abstract paintings
and one smaller unopened bud
laid next to the bowl
almost running into your name.
Little pink flowers was in the background
where the transparent vase with green stems
was against the wall on a tiled floor.
[Reference: Vase with roses by Mandi Engelbrecht. (This painting belongs to me.) ]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Flowers In A Vase
A bunch of flowers
Sat in a vase
Colourful and lonely
A mind looks at them
Wondering
What is it they have to say
Are they a thank you
Or a gift of love
Are they an apology
Or given in remorse
Perhaps they are for nothing
Given to bring a smile
The mind looks on
Wondering for a while
The flowers sit in their vase
Unmoved by thought
Or the reason given to them
A little water at their base
To keep them fresh for a while
They are the end of the day
Just flowers in a vase
poem by Matthew Holloway
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A sombre romance
A sombre romance
~
Dying flowers in a vase
Mindless routines becoming motions
Without a thought of feeling
Carrying on for the sake of it all
A kiss cold to the lips
What this house has seen in our time
Were these walls to talk
How they would speak about
A sombre romance
The bottles of wine shared
Over a film and Chinese
The tiring pretence
That things are as they were
That nothings changed
New flowers daily, smaller bunches
Forced into a crowded vase
Nothings new anymore
Even this old pretence
Why we keep denying the inevitable
That even the walls know
This sombre romance
Has seen its day
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Zen and the art of plastic flower maintenance
From time to time, when
I’ve been meditating, and
these things matter, I pick respectfully
the plastic flowers from their vase,
wash the vase, wipe the dust
off the leaves with a moist cloth,
dip the flower-heads in water
as one would give someone
a holy bath
and then replace them in
a slightly new position in the vase,
a slightly new position on the table.
absurdity and
something beautiful
have met and got along together rather well.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Painting The Walls
painting the walls,
rolling over handprints,
cobwebs, and smoke stains....
over splashes of color,
over peels of time.
painting over the sounds
of voices whispering, laughing....
painting over tears hidden
from the world, from each other.
painting over running, and working,
working all day and half the night.
painting over children, and dreams,
folded like old clothes, and put away.
painting over notes from God,
that were often barely noticed...
painting over the nail that held
up the clock, hands moving slowly,
turning the seasons of living....
painting over the final words,
the last breath held in the hands,
of lives written in the grain....
the testimony of each feeling....
painting the walls,
and brushing the corners,
as if we never lived!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Blossoms of Summer
The blossoms of
summer
once so young
and vibrant
beautiful flowers
of youth.
Fade quickly
one by one
gently dropping
their petals
floating to the
ground.
Painting picture
patterns of
yesterday
now just an image
lying somewhere in
the corners of my
mind.
poem by Heather Burns
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No one is an artist unless he carries his picture in his head before painting it, and is sure of his method and composition.
quote by Claude Monet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Yesterday, When I Was Mad
Yesterday (yesterday yesterday)
Yesterday (yesterday yesterday)
Yesterday (yesterday yesterday) when i was mad
Yesterday (yesterday yesterday) when i was mad
Darling, you were wonderful, you really were quite good
I enjoyed it, though, of course, no one understood
A word of what was going on, they didn't have a clue
They couldn't understand your sense of humour like i do
You're much too kind
I smiled with murder on my mind
Yesterday, when i was mad
And quite prepared to give up everything
Admitting, i don't believe
In anyone's sincerity, and that's what's really got to me
Yesterday (yesterday yesterday)
Yesterday (yesterday yesterday) when i was mad
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode To A Crystal Vase
Oh the sparkle
from the cuts so clean
make by yourself
an exquisite scene.
But when you are holding
the flowers I choose
It's then that your charm
can then confuse
the onlookers who must make their choice
and exclaim aloud
with their voice.
Ah! the beautiful
flowers I see
or that vase
is really extraordinary.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.
quote by Claude Monet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet
Whenever you feel melancholic and low,
Just cut some beautiful dainty flowers,
And add tall stems of lemon green foliage.
Mindfully put them in a clear crystal vase.
With patience see how to bring out the best,
From these gifts of God, in such a way,
That whosoever walks in feels blessed
To see them on the table on display.
Before you know clouds of sorrow depart,
And you wonder why you felt so sad.
All it takes is flowers to feel light hearted,
And you feel joyous and your heart expands.
Doing up flowers is like meditation,
It takes you out of your ruminations.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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I am following Nature without being able to grasp her, I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.
quote by Claude Monet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Art'life
At the Oslo art museum we went to see Edvard Munck’s
“The Scream.” Yeah I know that feeling.
I bought a print it cost about twenty Euros, it now hangs
on the wall in front of me and it screams for me.
But his painting “The Kiss” absorbed me the most, it
is one of the greatest sensual, painting I have ever seen.
There were many other paintings of great masters, but
I didn’t see them as “the kiss” blurred my sight.
There was a reverent whispering in the room, I didn’t
cared for, like being in a church where even a cough is
frown upon. When my wife went to the loo I told a female
security guard she looked like the woman in the “kiss.”
Her stern, blue eyes softened, she giggled and said:
“But you can’t see the woman’s face in the painting.” No dear,
but if I could it would be a face as beautiful as yours.”
More guards came and I was escorted out of the building.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Its Ok
Its ok
Love is only meant for some
Im the rock
The shoulder you can cry on
I keep the walls from falling down
I keep the walls from falling down
I keep the walls from falling down
Ill play it straight
While you laugh and drink and party all night long
Ill designate myself
To be the driver who takes you home
I keep the walls from falling down
I keep the walls from falling down
You can be pretty and tragic
Ill try to keep the walls from falling down
You can be beautiful and fabulous
Ill try to keep the walls from falling down
I cant reach the pain you feel
But Ill try to keep the walls from falling down
If you can hold on
Lose your fear
Ill try to keep the walls from falling down
Falling down
Falling down
Where is your saint
To let you know youre not alone
To bring you peace
Help me be your friend your confidante
And keep the walls from falling down
Keep the walls from falling down
Keep the walls from falling down
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunflowers After Sex.
After the sex she stood
In front of the Van Gogh
Painting and gazed. Never
Saw that last night, she said.
It was dark, Max replied.
She touched the painting
With her fingers. Why have
A painting of flowers when
You can go out and buy some?
She asked. They last longer this
Way, he replied. So did you
Paint this? She asked in a state
Of semi undress, her eyes sleepy,
Her hair in a mess. No, Van Gogh
Did, he replied. Is he a friend of
Yours? She asked rubbing her breasts.
He sighed and shook his head. No,
Van Gogh painted that many years
Ago, now he’s dead. It’s a bit yellow,
She said, looking at the painting
Closer, what are those yellow flowers
Supposed to be? Sunflowers, he said,
They’re big flowers; people grow them
For real. She raised her eyebrows and
Pulled a face. What about that drink?
She asked. Sure, Max replied pouring
Her gin in a tall glass. She took, sipped
And winked an eye. What about more
Sex? She sighed. Sure, Max, looking at
Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, boringly replied.
poem by Terry Collett
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Cut Flowers
If you love me - please never bring me cut flowers
Because I know that they will die soon after a few hours
I would feel that whatever the flowers represent
Would be equal to the time we have left to spend
Straight stems, soft petals and a lush green leaf
The hours and minutes are numbered - you better believe
Picking a flower is like a sure sentence to death
Like taking a fish out of water watching his last breath
Cut down their life brutally shortened with a sharp knife
All hope diminished knowing that they will not survive
Sure the flowers may get nourishment from the water in the vase
But their life is over as they know it in just a few days
So do not buy any cut flowers for me pretty please
I rather watch them outside visited by many bees
It is so beautiful to see them sway softly outside
And so sad to see them slowly die and lose their pride
© 2011
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Is there anything more beautiful than a beautiful, beautiful flamingo, flying across in front of a beautiful sunset And he's carrying a beautiful rose in his beak, and also he's carrying a very beautiful painting with his feet. And also, you're drunk.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Pose
He looked at the painting,
his lover in the nude.
And as he stared
it always changed his mood.
Young and frail
but still a delight.
He looked at the painting
on every night.
He remembered the pose
as if yesterday,
provocative it was,
her eyes far away.
Were they remembering
the brush strokes used
or the feel of his hand
and how they fused
together as one
when the pose was over.
Now all that was left
was the painting,
not the lover.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Anonymous Flowers
someone anonymous sends the flowers
all white
and we who receive them are all
in guesses
for whom?
and since we do not know for whom for sure
we leave the flowers
a bouquet of flowers on the table
and no one puts it inside a vase
they all wilt for no one cared
to put water on the leaves
it is like love that you give to everyone
and none in particular
when that love goes away
no one weeps.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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