#gallery
She never comments.
Never signs her name on my board.
She just sits quietly in my silence,
gathering something that once gathered me.
Now I find myself
hanging in her gallery of words—
a whisper, reposted,
a breeze tucked between stanzas.
Each hush she curates
feels like a fragment of heartbreak,
a delicate recollection
made sacred in its echo.
Jul 8, 2025
Jul 8, 2025 at 4:55 PM UTC
a picture
of people
standing next to
each other
with blank
expressions
a painting
of people
laying down
on a park bench
a sculpture
of people
facing
each other
a
picture
of you
May 21, 2025
May 21, 2025 at 2:07 PM UTC
Great luck, I must have
For your gallery came in view.
There laid a similar face
That at dawn, my mirror drew.
I looked at every nook and cranny,
Even zoomed in the pitted dust.
By hook or crook, as they say
With every measure I must.
I saw no pictures there,
No proof of your presence at all.
Only your name echoed
In antique cups and dusty hall.
Yet I knew it was yours,
My devotion wasn't merely a cue.
Here I gloss at just your name
In this Gallery made for You
May 9, 2025
May 9, 2025 at 12:05 PM UTC
Words melt in the walls
Covered in paintings
Made of you
Made of me
Yours are beautiful
Careful strokes
Each of such precise yet casual calmness
The motion of your hands
They swing and move in such ways of a ballerina
Ones of a mother easing her child to a deep sleep
They recreate a sky that took so many billions
To become one of which it is now
You bring it into your own reality within moments
The lovely lights glow on a cotton canvas
Making music with the latex
darkening what's surrounding it
But me?
Mine are ugly
I leave rotting flesh in the daylight
Spred the shine of blood and paste the teeth of past fighters, veterans
They form the sight of ****** tires leaving streaks on asphalt
The animals that peel off roads, screaming with one last breath
in through your nose, out through your mouth
I'll hold you close and speak
"Let it melt in your mind"
"spit it out and light it up"
lets do it
together
we can burn the truth
Then we can take the melted remains
And make a balanced gallery
A museum made for 2
Dec 12, 2024
Dec 12, 2024 at 9:03 AM UTC
as the foghorn blows for the third time
i ask the question once again …
where lies the hands of power
and bringing consciousness back into my material being
i find two hands that look very much
like my own
nomind, i don’t mind
i thought i was a thinker
but Rodin proved me wrong
he bronzed the thinker
after pondering on that
while observing the foot traffic
at the gallery for a long moment …
i wondered:
as an observer of the observers
am i hunter or prey?
Jul 15, 2024
Jul 15, 2024 at 3:08 AM UTC
daughters of pageant queens
like them you
want
me
to
be
i come from a broken gallery
on display for
no
one
to
see
Nov 13, 2020
Nov 13, 2020 at 10:57 AM UTC
A sky of painted rain from custard yellow clouds, fell beyond my gallery window glass.
The grass a silken thread of cinnamon fire, vermillion and orange tea brewed strong and hot, which ran to choppy rivers damson plum and vintage flowing wine, stretched far beyond my own imagining
to boiling seas of unknown hue.
Did a morning ever dawn which held such colour and such light, If so it isn’t one I ever knew!
Oct 8, 2020
Oct 8, 2020 at 7:12 AM UTC
Wineglass
An hour to midnight
low lit lights
gentle undertones
stained clouds of moisture
in a glass of wine
as thick
as ripe layers of fog.
hums of symphonies,
swells of low pitched voices,
crescendos of conversation.
murmurs, whispers of fine China
and the newest editions of
oil paintings from Italy
Midnight at the gallery
Once
clear glass, stained with
lipstick and breath --
Laughter, light and
undertones of ripe berry
lingered on the tip of glass.
eyes wandering
over canvases of
lavish art
While stained clouds
of moisture
are as thick as
ripe layers of fog.
Aug 25, 2020
Aug 25, 2020 at 1:10 AM UTC
Seen it all
My face is the wall
And life is the frame
No picture the same
Jul 21, 2020
Jul 21, 2020 at 7:35 AM UTC
Imagine the bombed-out fields of Japan,
Wandering families with no food.
A little girl soothes her brother,
Who is so hungry, he must cry.
“Let’s imagine a menu,” she tells him
And the tears stop for a while.
Many years later, her son will say,
Of a balloon without a skin,
“There’s no point if you don’t imagine it.”
Imagine Britain after the Blitz,
Young man roaming the streets
Mind craving, surviving on 45 records
From the USA. How could he help
But become an artist and rebel?
Picture the canyons of New York City,
Where galleries peek like jewels in the dust.
The girl from Japan and the British boy,
Both imagining something more.
She sets up a ladder to the sky,
He wanders in and climbs it
And to all his questions, especially “Why?”
She has imagined a small and simple “Yes.”
Jul 7, 2020
Jul 7, 2020 at 2:07 PM UTC
You drew her in
Like the last breath you'd ever take
Drowning in her eyes
Hitting the blue and silver wakes
She reached for your hand
Shaking you from your slow descent
Her touch like a velvet rose
A warmth without an end
She laughs and you close your eyes
Hanging her smile in your mind
A gallery of your favorite pieces
Her portrait a one of a kind
Jun 28, 2020
Jun 28, 2020 at 10:57 AM UTC
Sometimes the vast window opens
Fractured
But forgiving
Knowing everyone else does it too
Empathy for the shared shadow of all else who
Desperately fell
There is a dusty harmony
A musty and dark air
Tainted with the protruding strength of her infinite suns
And they all can hardly breathe
As her flowers suffocate them
Because they were trying for her
Not them.
She wondered whether the beginning was all a trap,
Covered in the illusion that true light was outlandish,
Leaving her in the dark.
Feb 4, 2020
Feb 4, 2020 at 12:00 PM UTC
_Dream your life in watercolours,
Live your life in oils,
Frame your canvases with time and distance;
Hang each by a silver thread,
In a windowed gallery of memories,
Exhibit often and without discrimination;
Celebrate the beauty in your clumsiest brushwork,
Accept the imperfections in your mastery,
Reshape your truths, as light plays and colour transforms._
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 10:31 PM UTC
The gallery is closing soon,
hurry up,
don't say you will come
another time.
I bet you want to see "Sunflowers".
You say you can wait.
You can? Okay, but
what if they can't?
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 4:09 PM UTC
What a sound mind that lies on his own
On hand
On top of shyness
Is this a primitive method or just a political issue?
Welcome to my prison gallery...
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 10:49 AM UTC
I burned our
old photographs,
it fell down
like dried leaves
in the autumn
The classic
gallery of our
love that was
once fascinating
became a
tedious one
The once white
walls and
clean corners
Are now dusty
and dark
The perfectly
carved frames,
and perfect
shots
became dull
and lifeless
You left me
knowing that
I won't survive
alone inside this
***** walls
Picture me
in your mind
And you'll see
the saddest photo
there will ever be
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 7:29 PM UTC