L. V., I Found This Poem Left Forgotten By A Stranger At The Local Café

In the paintings, you are the onlooker. The passerby. The blurred figure in the corner that’s almost concealed beneath the shadow cast by the ornate gold frame. Centuries later, art students pore over this shadowy figure, trying to give meaning to it. Like what does this represent to the painter? What symbolism does this shred of darkness holds? Of course they do this right after analysing the colours and the light. They do this after they have gotten bored and tired of analysing the hands of the main figure around which the landscape was created. Because none of this vibrant world would have been created without the muse. But there will come a time to look at the shadows, and wonder why they’re there. Why are you here?
- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem left forgotten by a stranger at the local café

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9 months ago

"Bal du moulin de la Galette"
("Dance at Le Moulin de la Galette")
Pierre-Auguste Renoir, 1876

Words by L. V.:

there is comfort in being alone
and being sad
not a lot of people around you understand this
not a lot of people understand you
look for the people who do

L. V., i found this poem alone in the middle of a crowd

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3 years ago

L. V., i found this poem when i wanted to be so awfully happy that i never need to write poetry again

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1 year ago

BLACKBERRY WINTER

I like the simple pleasures of life:
The first bite into a ripe fruit, freshly plucked
from an overhanging branch
that was almost out of reach.
All you had to do was stand on the tip of your toes.

I like looking at the moon
through photographs you took.
How the angles tilt differently
from how I normally would see it.
How you artistically include the silhouette
of leaves from an unseen tree to frame each shot,
knowing I would mention it
and we’d have something new
to talk about in the next couple of minutes.
How I wish we could stretch this moment to an eternity.

- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem collecting dust in one of your old photographs

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literaryvein

10 months ago

Sleeping Woman (Detail)
by: Oskar Kokoschka, 1917

you will become awfully tired of weeping, and so unfortunately,

L. V., i found this poem in its attempt to conquer the skies

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literaryvein

10 months ago

L. V., He’s Not The Right Person If You Have To Lie To Him Like This, Your Friends Tell You. But I'm

L. V., He’s not the right person if you have to lie to him like this, your friends tell you. But I'm not lying. But he's not the right person. But I want him to be the right person. He has to be the right person. I’m going to make him the right person. I’m tired. He’s not the right person. But why does he smile like that.

[i found this poem in my drafts, where it should have remained (pt. 5)]

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literaryvein

11 months ago

Hello LV, I can't find the words to thank you for the prose piece you wrote about my story. All I can say is I love it truly. I'll hold on to that piece of writing for the rest of my life like your other followers. I think I will be coming back to it when life isn't treating me well. Keep on writing..

And I hope I remember these kind words when life isn't treating me well. Thank you, dear stranger.

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literaryvein

10 months ago

How do you overcome the terror of your art being known?

Knowing that I am unknown.

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ask

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literaryvein

10 months ago

Midnight Blue (detail)
Eyvind Earle, 1983

Somewhere, a universe exists without you.

No matter how badly scarred this one becomes,

I’d choose it over any heaven that knows nothing of you.

L. V., i found this poem tracing constellations on your back

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literaryvein

1 year ago

Detail of "Oude vrouw bij een kaars" ("Old woman with a candle") by Gerrit Dou, 1661

You
are alive.
No longer in
the same way that
people are alive but you
are alive to me in the same
way fire is alive. How it mesmerizes
with its light. Its warmth. How it
mesmerizes with its dance
with the gentlest
breeze.

- L. V.

L. V., i found this poem at the tip of your lit cigarette

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literaryvein

11 months ago

Wooded Path in Autumn (Detail)
Hans Andersen Brendekilde, 1902

because I’m so close to the end, I can see the light from here.

And you can’t blame me for thinking that along this winding road,

L. V., i found this poem wandering around a ghost town

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