Quotes about sketch, page 9
Fame
Sculptures of the sky, constellations of light
Paving highways to journeys of the heart
As road maps are absented, to transcend mortality
Hitch-hikers saddled, to the dorsal fins of light
Chasing cosmological dreams, astral fusions
To sketch one's sculpture on celestial floor tiles
To shine forth an endowment of reflection
To be engraved in the manuscripts of space and time
To metamorphose from ashes to heavenly star-dust
To embrace the nirvana of a cosmic legend
poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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Fresh Perceptions
Though formal verse depends in part
upon what flows before, the mind
weaves new waft on old weft to bind
a unique imprint when hand, heart,
through sense decyphered may impart
fresh perceptions to unwind
conundrums which most readers find
to inaccessible to chart.
Love of language tears apart
formality, digs deep behind
the lines to draw conclusions signed
in images which ever start
to sketch horizons infinite.
Quest’s laurels rest with insight bright.
3 December 2007
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Camera vs, Pencil
Exactly same and true
Picture of objects wonderful
The magical instrument
Captures the real image
But real things become still
Logics, camera can't fill
Images, camera only captures
Pencil gives birth to a picture
The sketches drawn by pencil
Speak and make you feel
Not only liveliness of the object
But compels one too, to interpret
Camera can't take image of soul
Pencil draws sketch of in and out
camera and pencil's combination
can fetch reality, feel and imagination
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Unimpressed
Unimpressed,
even though you discuss
and sketch details
of a wedding in Africa,
a honeymoon in Madagascar.
Indifferent,
inspite of the words
flavored to knock
such a cold distance
between us.
Suffused!
Your money is hanging
from my neck;
candle dinners, roses,
classic operas.
If only, dear...
we can be quiet
[...] Read more
poem by Melanie Agua
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A Rough Sketch
I caught, for a second, across the crowd--
Just for a second, and barely that--
A face, pox-pitted and evil-browed,
Hid in the shade of a slouch-rim'd hat--
With small gray eyes, of a look as keen
As the long, sharp nose that grew between.
And I said: 'Tis a sketch of Nature's own,
Drawn i' the dark o' the moon, I swear,
On a tatter of Fate that the winds have blown
Hither and thither and everywhere--
With its keen little sinister eyes of gray,
And nose like the beak of a bird of prey!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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A Water-Color
Low hidden in among the forest trees
An artist's tilted easel, ankle-deep
In tousled ferns and mosses, and in these
A fluffy water-spaniel, half asleep
Beside a sketch-book and a fallen hat--
A little wicker flask tossed into that.
A sense of utter carelessness and grace
Of pure abandon in the slumb'rous scene,--
As if the June, all hoydenish of face,
Had romped herself to sleep there on the green,
And brink and sagging bridge and sliding stream
Were just romantic parcels of her dream.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Storm, Momentary, Forever
Then summer said goodbye
to the station. Lifting its cap,
the thunder took souvenirs,
hundreds of shots on the fly.
The lilac went black. And that
instant, gathering whole armfuls
of lightning, the far clearing lit
the white station-master’s shack.
And when the whole roof ran
with a fierce torrent of malice,
and, like charcoal onto a sketch,
the rain crashed down on the fence,
consciousness started to flash,
here, it seems, flooding in play
even the corners of mind
where it’s always bright as day.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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Sojourn's Story
Some rhyme spar[e] time, numb, lily-liver,
purple prose sketch out, consistence
tantamount to stretch subsistence
insisting others praise deliver,
irrelevancies etch where? whither?
Swallowed soul-sale spent existence
both for dawdlers and persistence,
memories drown in Lethe's river,
harsh taskmaster, fair forgiver
folded tents, short reminiscence,
man's marathon: unfinished distance.
Worthless word worlds spurned, urned, wither.
Sojourn's story scarcely started
Sinks, last gasper final farted.
(22 September 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Let No Colours Run
A poem for Skylar Kendall
young fresh poet radiant
light of future potential
shines through fine words
of your vision expanding
do not be afraid to rework
your vision in a moment
of sudden inspired inspiration
do not force rush your art
observe first two painted stanzas
are applied exceptionally strong
this attests your gift brush strokes
unique insight your own mind song
be patient mix relax words thoughts
will come control let no colours run
your gift is etched in eye imagery lines
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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A Dream 2
A dream that I have found
From in my heart alone
Comes here again around
And feels like weighting stone
It is of all feelings true
And gives as much to tell
But its what it will do
That makes its weighty spell
And I therefore am in dim
Of what this song might be
With full of its acronym
That I cannot thoroughly see
Its wings fly in the night
And gives me dim metaphor
I cannot sketch its light
Nor know what its song is for
[...] Read more
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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