Best Mover Poems
He leaves his silent signature on every piece of art
Not seeking worldly profit or acclaim,
Yet touches of perfection often set his work apart
And witness to his honourable name.
He moves his painter’s palette from the east unto the west
From north to south he coats the sweeping land.
His artistry is limitless and stunningly expressed
With every brushstroke marvellously planned.
Assorted textures bring to life the panoramic scenes
Resplendent in their richly varied hues,
From pastel pink to persimmon and dazzling emerald greens
Warm russet browns and iridescent blues.
A masterpiece can sometimes be neglected it is true
And counterfeits delude us at first sight,
So let us keep this perfect canvas in our field of view
And in the artist's workmanship delight.
06/10/18
(British spellings)
N/A :‘The paint mover poetry contest’ : Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen
The Paint Mover - Art-Poetry
The poet paints deep thoughts with words
the artist duplicates with paint;
sometimes described as 'sister arts',
disparities are only faint.
So passionate my need to draw
before my art with words began;
emotions caught with crayons first
and then with flowing paint, they ran.
Great images I longed to seize
to capture nature with a brush,
and with my colors blending life...
within my soul, I felt the rush.
Like meter, rhyme, a paintbrush moves
to balance rhythms of a scene
portrays deep beauty for the eyes...
'art-poetry'...not read, but seen.
November 12, 2016
Contest: Creativity In Visual Arts
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Like the seraphs whose wings unfold,
Christ's light and glory goes not untold;
as the love of his humble grace
moves inside me all time and space,
as the planets orbit heaven's sun
and encircle it one by one--
so, too, am I caught in his sway,
beloved of him from day to day.
Through hosts of astral dimension
God's angels fix their attention
with expectancy and burning pause
around the universe's First Cause.
He, the one true Incarnation
that begets cosmic causation,
resolves the Infinite Regress
from the pre-Socratics' egress
with his omniscient wisdom
and the archives of his kingdom
where all can come and read and know
what miracles he'll yet bestow.
I do not move in time
Time moves in me
Every decision I make
Touches lives of destiny
My greatness is discovered
Hidden in my deepest fears
As I face my demons
I rise above the movement of years
I am eternal
My connections are good and strong
People surround me on every side
They’ve become my part of celestial song
The nature of a mighty warrior
Is to take up a sword and fight
Identifying that the false battle
Is always about right/wrong, black/white
Written by Trudy Schrader 09-09-09
Note: Not one of my better poems, but the concept tweeks my buttons. The idea that there
are time movers that walk amongst us is profound.
Quote:"
"Soul Mover"
(by Glenn Hughes)
I am a soul mover
I came on here to make you groove
I am a soul mover
I'm making you want to move
And I feel it, yeah
And I feel it
Move, move, move, move, yeah."
In the quiet of the midnight air,
I hear the echoes of soul mover,
A whisper deep to my soul,
Calling me back to make me whole.
The road I walk, it twists and turns,
With every step, my spirit learns.
The pain, the love, they intertwine,
Like chords of fate that still align.
The truth is buried, yet it shines,
Through every note, in every line.
A melody of loss and gain,
Of broken wings and healing pain.
So let the rhythm make me groove,
Through skies unknown, no longer alone.
For in the music, I am free,
To be the man I’m meant to be.
Immersed into the cosmic consciousness, the glorious Unmoved Mover, eternally contemplates!
(c) Demetrios Trifiatis
24 May 2016
Toward heavenly standard the Lord propels me wisely
Moving me to paint with words about His greatness
Along worship's awe at His supreme omnipotence
From worldliness' view devoid of biblical regard…
He guards my pen of publication against deceit and lies
So I can present a masterpiece of truth worthy of His commendation!
Toward virtuous ways the Lord ushers me thru His goodness
Moving me to paint with kind deeds my testimony regarding Him
Along gratefulness' praise for His compassion and mercy
From apathy that darkens sharing acts and obscure prayer delight…
He leads my paintbrush of service against selfish interest
So I can represent Him in the best way I can - all by His grace!
Toward eternal triumph* the Lord goes with me for faithful stewardship
Moving me to paint with joy life's essence midst harsh realities
Along serenity's bliss that comes from trusting Him - my Saviour
From hatred's misery caused by despair and discontentment…
He beautifies my faith-performance with colors of His favor
So I can persevere in pleasing Him - my life's ultimate Painter!
*Psalm 92:4 For thou, LORD, hast made me glad through thy work: I will triumph in the works of thy hands.
October 5, 2018
3rd place "The Paint Mover(s)" Premiere Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Anthony Slausin; judged on 10/17/2018.
HOPE, THE PAINT MOVER
The patterned palette clasping the melted rainbow
doesn’t take time to dry as streaks of colored bone
if the amateur painter waits long and doesn’t know
how to choose the colors fast and select their tone.
The blank canvas waiting silent on the slanting easel,
the unpainted bare face wrinkles in creeping wet air
if the unsure moody painter hesitates awhile to tell
the dormant imagination to make the motif in color.
The hued palette, the waiting canvas and the painter
turn into a useless unlinked trio in the pursuit of art
if they can’t find for their purpose prime paint mover,
the camel haired innocuous painting brush to start.
The brush comes alive in the painter’s nimble fingers,
paints from the pliant palette with ardor it captures.
The face of charming canvas glows in collage of colors,
in surreal art form the nebulous imagination appears.
When winds of stormy time abrades life’s canvas bare
how long the painted rainbow will last you’ve no clue.
If all the colors start to melt in the torrents of despair
in color of future dip the mind’s brush hope gives you.
October 9, 2018
Vanishing varnish kindly stood the test of
time in sweet and salty impermanence
A boat shed overgrown and faded into
significance of messages and meaning
of rays and days going by and moving on
And nights of course with moon and
stars abiding wheels of life’s abundance
The window graced with murky shades
of innocence where a young man had written
‘I love you’ into a heartfelt arrowed heart
The frame of recollection held the pane
in fading colours like a rainbow on the wane
Distressed wood weather beaten yet
many layers of green and red and yellow
sing the blues of long forgotten journeys
Flaking pealing retreating and still appealing
to nostalgia and loving longing contemplation
What once was stark from mighty strokes
brushing over knots where branches twisted
have retreated to embrace a new beginning
Holes in the door reveal a vessel still with oars
one holds a violet rose in innocence and love
The seasons have moved the man-made paint
towards new adventures where winds of change
have waited on the surfaces caressed by storms
How much I’m deeply touched by ageing shine only
the boat house knows as I speak to it in sandy whispers
It answers ‘Please don’t cover up my codes of beauty
Do not coat another overlay of glossy lamination
Let the elements take over because they know for sure'
05th October 2018
God, the voice of Scriptures’ command
Moves my service* with love-demand
Along His mercy’s prodding drive
For me to do my best and strive
Along holiness-reprimand.
*Ephesians 6:7 With good will doing service, as to the Lord…
May 30, 2019
Leave a man to him and his words
and telescopic terrains will open,
as splendid as the midwinter constellations
sprayed in a barbarous sublimity across the sky,
with the serene orb of Jupiter hanging unflickering over the land.
They tell us language is but a cruel game,
an endless warren of pinball deflectors
fit for Ariadne but not the sensibilities of mortals.
But it is only when we realize that the greatest Catharsis
is that which exists in the fecund abyss of solitude,
the paradise found in the stamp on our souls,
that we can wrestle and mold our words like primal clay,
Craft cosmos from chaos in the folding mirror of our consciences.
All our words are symbols; pregnant indicators of some untouchable abstraction,
ideas too deep for the anchors of voyagers
and too high for the staffs of mountain climbers;
Let us conquer the earth to salvage the truth;
let us try and snatch it from the sight of God.
Even so, that actual essence which we have always sensed,
which we try to reach through the quest
for the thrice-blessed stylus to write indelible code
upon the chalky slate of our hearts,
is unattainable when we act rather than receive.
True aloneness is openness to purification;
to infusion of the symbol with alabaster plate.
The lighthouse is a greater relief to the wave-whipped sailor
when the shore glistens with freshly-fallen showers,
Throwing the glare into wide-open pupils:
So it is when we allow the loftiest and earthiest of truths
To immerse our thoughts and their verbal accidens
In the baptismal font of infinite regeneration.
Written: January 25, 2024
__________________________________
Amidst this idiocy of guess and hear,
a dulcet note I caught is quite clear.
An epiphany is set to occur tonight,
With melodies playing. What a sight!
Unseen, I'm both weak and strong,
I shall be buoyed by your sight for long.
I have been without a place to unwind,
I crave an emollient haven by your side.
In stark opus to a medieval trackway,
Do you perceive the rhythm of my sway?
The soul nemesis might steal your love,
I am an amorist conveyed from above.
Amongst damsels, squatters, and crooks,
In this life, I kept steadfast, granting clooks.
I'm soul-shifting here to earn your love,
I'm a soul artist descended from above.
Beneath the shelter, mounted above,
I am a soul stray, and I'm here to stay.
Perhaps our paths have crossed once,
Since I stipulated, you took and seconce.
I told you, "I'm in a groovy spot!"
To win your love, I need no plot.
May I speak? Can I be so bold?
No escape from the sound, I'm told.
I glide by the crowd, exuding grace and charm,
A spirit driven by purpose, causing no harm.
I move to a utopian tune, swaying to a mellow beat,
In this secret haven, where spirits entreat.
I mingle with the lost and found,
In this elixir, where love knows no bounds.
I am the ace of motion, a mighty force,
I navigate life's journey without remorse.
I encourage the strong and fuel the weak,
Love is a potent heat that drives us to tweak.
In this hidden haven, where souls intertwine,
I yearn to own your love, so pure and divine.
I recognize comfort and peace,
An idyllic oasis where hindrances cease.
Am I audible to you in this cavernous groove?
Can you grasp the vast burden of my love?
I've been equally giving and receiving,
Souls seek to shine in this ballet of living.
Come on, discover the rhythm,
let the spirit's soft hand lead our isarithm.
I am a soul flex; guide me to your narthex,
I'm coming down, quill feather remex.
Please show me your face,
To assist me regain my passion pace.
Freight trains thunder through the empty station
Hauling a load to a far off destination
Unseen by many an eye, it speeds on it’s way
Making a noisy and smoky proclamation
Sounds resonating off the brickwork
Roosting birds fly scared off into the night sky
Signals set to go, green light illuminated
This mechanical behemoth powers on by
Throttles wide open, a magnificent sight
A vision of presence and power
It’s old and considered by some to be ugly
But the driver’s enthusiasm will not sour-
Hundreds of tons pulled into the night
The cargo of an fearful population
The lifeblood of many an industrial process
Running through the iron veins of the nation
give a call
we move walls
so don't stall
pick up the phone
your not along
we a move
gover
ok do it today
call
MOVER
THE PAINT MOVER Artist
In the brilliants I grasp my brush
Blending color so glorious
THE PAINT MOVER Artist
My tints, shadows, and hues
Transposed such a view
THE PAINT MOVER Artist
And when I’m done with this work
For I am an artist
And I paint with a brush and other objects
My works are stared at…people come go see'em
At book clubs, library's and museums
THE PAINT MOVER Artist
For the paint moves
As I hold my brush
The paint moves
As my loving touch
THE PAINT MOVER Artist
I am the paint mover
A renown artist
I am the paint mover
I paint with a brush
THE PAINT MOVER Artist
10/09/18
For The Paint Mover(s) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausen