Ordinary Art

[ordinary-art]

[ordinary-art]

[ordinary-art]

[olearypoetry]

[olearypoetry]

[olearypoetry]

[ordinary-art]

I adore little inconsistencies:

How a sunny day throws some rain,

how i could suck out the words,

and feelings,

verses,

through the drain.

[olearypoetry]

[ordinary-art]

[ordinary-art]

[ordinary-art]

Hey little body, fast bird of prey, your colorful feathers amuse me, so much beauty one ought to see. Why you insist on going against the wind, to fly-on static. Dancing on the wings of a wild wind. Fly on.

[ordinary-art]

No reference point. Lost. I am fond of simple talks and pure excitement. I love people who are swept away in the moment, but don't go blindly complying with the movement. I am fond of simple words and deep feelings. Sensations that lack terms to describe, but have rooted meanings. I also enjoy spending time by myself, crafting thoughts about everything else.

[olearypoetry]

[hopespero]

[allofthesevoices]

How beautiful:

the attitude of fierce women

[ordinary-art]

Absorbing and filtering these miscellaneous information.

The foam kissing the sand while the sea sings through the waves.

The calm before the storm, in an expressive literality, there’s no poetic way of saying something so raw.

I could embellish and embroider the words in a colorful frame, with drawn and well-thought letters, but yet, reality can only exist by itself. Where masks are useless to a look that can penetrate the intimate and map the hidden, scrutinizing the being in it’s smallest form.

Tragic to attempt, sad.

It’s sad to find out and see that beneath the towel lies a table worn out by life, tragic to try to hide what could be cut, demolished, remodeled and transformed on something brand new.

[ordinary-art]