Monday, November 28, 2011

The Painter

If only he could paint what he feels
deep within, and not just what he sees,
his paintings would be transcendent.
But anymore, what he feels is elusive, hidden
somewhere beyond the descriptive,
beyond the stroke of his brush and the
complexities of his paint, beyond his ability
to put emotion and insight to canvas.

He's begun to question himself,
no longer the confident painter but now
far too introspective and unsure of his talent,
a talent that used to reveal itself with flare,
color and a successful style. Melancholy
has set in, frustrating any attempts
to get beyond the feeling of hopelessness.

Someone who would never equate
himself with the great painters, knowing
the limits of his own talent, he
nevertheless wonders, could this
be how Van Gogh felt in his despair?


Monday, November 21, 2011

snow against the window

softness of snow
against the window –
her kiss brushing by


Friday, November 18, 2011

snared by frost

winter morning –
an abandoned spider web
snared by frost


Saturday, November 5, 2011

sparrow's song

even on gloomy
days, the sparrow's song –
warmth of her smile