An Understanding

Rarities inscribed with scribbles

Nothing new here,

Nothing to see

Early dusk was the worst time,

To view his work

The same work I could never,

Fully understand

I was accompanied by a lady,

Who wore her blond hair,

Long and straight

She wore sunglasses,

Which were too big,

For such a stunning face

She look at all the works

She gazed in such awe

I saw none of what she did

I was too bored,

In need of a cocktail,

And just overly unamused

She claims to see,

Every bit of the beauty,

Hidden within these pieces

I only see the lines

Line which were not perfectly straight,

Not equally thick,

And with no meaning to me at all

But, it’s all good

Different strokes for different folks

Some like to write,

Useless lines,

Which often only make sense,

To the author

And others like to construct lines,

Lines drawn with shaky hands,

Originally seen through,

Faded eyes

The same eyes I don’t look through,

Somethings are better left unexplained,

Underappreciated,

Or completely ignored

Β© Dicky J Loweman 2015

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12 comments

  1. I too admire and occasionally envy visual artists, painters and photographers but sculptors too. Painters want to write. Writers want to paint. The thing is, I”m reading this poem and I’m thinking: I’ve been with this girl, minus the shades but plus one black turtleneck, in that scene, making artfully light-hearted excuses for my ignorance while looking past the art to an italian joint and a good romp around the futon, If I could go back, I’d tell myself to shut the hell up.

    Liked by 1 person

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