"Picturebook" is a poetry exhibit I created exploring the relationship between painting and poetry. I'm proud to present some if it's contents to you here.
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Painting can be the art of illusion, creating depth and shade where there isn’t. Poetry is the notion that less is more, turning rigid words into music as your mind fills the blanks. Both leave us asking grander questions—but put together, they are sure to tell one hell of a story.
Join us for the grand pictures, the small details; it’s the verse of visuals, the colour of soliloquy, this is "Picture-book."
Painting by Mark Krzepis poetry by jett belavin
My Craft
My craft, it is my care.
It’s where I put my focused mind and harmful hands to gentle work,
my eager eyes always looking for words that best yesterdays.
And each line is like a stretching hallway with infinite doors as I write to break free of the amnesia of possibility;
And the words are my swords,
and the words are my shield,
and the words are my helm,
and together we make an army thousands strong
on our voyage through the sea.
My craft, it is my craving.
I write,
with tears and saliva dripping to the page.
My craft, it is my journey—
my destiny, foreseen in prophecy by the lady Oracle.
And of all the things she could have sung, fair lady sang of me,
a humble man, who’d plant his feet deep on the darkest nights
and fly upon the dawn, with stretching wings,
for his craft is his freedom,
and nothing will stop him from kissing the clouds.
Wet hair
Awaiting her mistress of the night,
She stares out the window pain,
Fresh out the shower, it’s been nearly an hour
And still she sees nothing but rain.
She cleaned the house all day,
The sheets are freshly steamed,
She lies in wait, with nervous faith
And still her queen’s unseen.
Her hair waters the plants,
With droplets from each strand,
She pays no notice; maintains her focus
outside—where no one stands.
She waits the hours by,
And soon she starts to cry,
She yearns so hard, her love afar;
Her hair will never dry.
Slow Dance
Slow dance in the living room with handcuffs and convince yourself it's romantic.
No matter how gently you hold her waist your feet are still cement.
You share genuine laughs
cut short
by the unspoken.
You weren’t ready for her hands in yours; you just started grieving their emptiness seconds ago.
She senses it. You move with a lack of readiness.
Choke on the chorus with this lovely woman,
thinking of the pain.
You’ve grown quite fond of her but will it ever be the same?
A scarred heart can be renewed but never like it was,
for some things are only felt within a lifetime once.
She can handle the silence of dancing,
you beg yourself not to speak…
and when the song is finished, you remember the one you saved from drowning
went and pushed you in,
so now you dance with this lovely woman.
We know her as the sea.
Proposing
Her skin — a maze of changing walls, shifting,
glancing, shunning, turning away,
the last light I see is the glistening shine of her turned shoulder;
though she looks cold…
How could she be cold beneath the sunsets warm smile?
And yet she’s so warm when saying goodbye.
“Why’d you come with me?”
Stretch your arms out from your chest and let me in your walls.
I came here to make us ‘two towers,’ a fortress,
so that no stalemate we face could last us forever,
so this battle of attrition called life could bears us everlasting fruit,
So our cups may be full, under a sunsets warm smile,
so we’d be as warm as your goodbye’s;
(goodbye’s which are “thank you’s” and “I’ll see you soon.”)
“But in the warmest moment of my life, you’re cold.”
But it’s not worth losing you;
no amount of diamonds in the ruff will ever make me bend the knee as hard
as I’d for you.
And if God said he’d answer me any one question, I’d say “no thank you,”
for the question I need answered is not one you pop to God,
with you, I could never win bigger
no beauty makes me feel smaller
no shooting star could carry the weight of what I wish for you;
I’m on one knee ‘cause I wish to
marry you.
Your skin of cannot be a maze, for you are found.
So open your changing walls to me, and we’ll be
glancing, shunning, turning away,
from all the doubts we had in mind.
See more on my Medium.