Day: July 15, 2015

Meeting

dangerous-wooden-bridge-if-broken-foot-31740048

Stepping onto that fragile bridge

Which swayed in the breeze,
Stepping onto that fragile bridge
Was a difficult moment
Though I could see you far away.
As we traveled,sometimes we walked,
Sometimes we walked too fast,
Or without paying due attention
To the winds that blew across the water.
Sometimes I felt afraid I would fall
As the bridge swayed too much over
The dark sea.Or you might fall or turn back.
Sometimes we stopped walking and stood waiting
As if some portent would appear
To tell us what to do.
Still, we continued, with trust growing
After each difficulty…
All at once, you were near me,
And I recognised your face..
That light in your eyes
And your hands holding the ropes..
So we stood there,over the churning waters,
And all I wanted to do was to smile.
I wanted to smile.

Red maple tree

I lie back in the weather-proofed green chair
To gaze up at the flowering maple tree.
Now, touched by sun,lungs full of scented air
I embrace with joy the beauty I now see.

Old celandine show brightly by my feet
Neglected currant bushes straggle round the path
There is no birdsong yet a silence sweet
Soothes my heart and quietens my wrath.

For my heart’s sore and anguished is my mind
Yet in this little wood I feel deep calm.
My eyes are shadowed and my face is lined.
May this green spring bring me a gentle balm.

For even in depression and deep grief,
The mind makes healing medicine of a leaf

Time of richness

Tomatoes ripen on the stem;
Apples hang down low.
Summer riches now and then.
From seeds that once I sowed.

Plant your seeds with care and grace.
Nurture them with love.
Put them in where you have space,
As rain falls from above.

Slowly, and in their own right time,
They will manifest
The form with which they were endowed.
Richness comes at last.

Time for sowing,time for birth
Time for love of life.
Time to scatter seeds abroad.
Time to end our strife.

Prime Minister.dear

Dear David Cameron
I am a very intelligent ,brilliant and creative woman. Yet I often wonder why your face has no expression on it;I must confess since the vote on Syria you have looked a bit bothered now and then,But blankness seems your favourite look.Watch out or an artist may paint a sign on you

Danger:Please stalk on the grass

Danger:Trespassers will be parsed and executed.

I am writing to complain.There are many magpies,wood pigeons and other such creatures all living for free in the garden here.And think of the ones in the woods.None of them are taxed,yet they get free board and lodging,And moreover we have hundreds of worms here which could surely be made to work.I know it’s hard to tell them apart but all those civil servants who read Modern Greats at Toxicford must have a few ideas.
I think if worms don’t work we should mince them and make meat pies out of them… and wood pigeons… that makes me salivate.
Those who won’t work shall be turned into food.The Chinese eat dogs… you catch my drift.Hard solutions for hard times, to warm an old cliche.
I do feel that all living creatures should pay rent.Birds who live in a garden with more than one tree must be made to see how unfair this is and let beggars into their nests.I am unsure what language they speak… maybe Hebrew as they were in Eden once.Oh,those lazy days,eating fruit and sunbathing.And sinning without guilt.did you know Adam and Eve were unmarried,by the way!
Well,it’s bad for us to be happy so I’m counting on you to pulverize nature in all manifestations.
Why,surely,worms are a total waste of time.Get rid of them.Send them back where they came from.Even as I write worms may be tunnelling under the British Channel from France.We can’t let them dwell in our soil.And in the Spring you must stop birds migrating here.Why some come from the Congo.Surely that’s not morally justifiable,is it?
Hoping my ideas will be balm to your ears.And try to get more of an expression on your face.You are like an empty canvas without Jackson Pollock and his tins of Dulux
Yours truly
Dumbella Dodd [ M.A.Oxen]

P.S.What about cats? They sleep 20 hours

She shuts her eyes

She wrings her hands
Bites her tongue
Grinds her teeth
Chews her nails
Sucks her thumb
Tenses her muscles
Narrows her eyes
Snorts with derision
Laughs like a drain
Crosses her legs
She nods her head
Shakes her fist
Cries like a baby
Screams like a hyena
Shuts her eyes
Lashes with her tongue
Eyes one like a Gorgon
Cracks her knuckles
Rolls her eyes.
Holds in her bladder.
Changes her mind
Torments her soul
Breaks her heart

Then she wonders why she is weary

Does this mutter much

My older brother likes this one.He likes Wagner too.Paint your own confusions

My feet

I love you,oh,my little fox
You are my thump bang
Blang
I love you,oh,my daisy
You are my pome
granate
Glung.
Wang,Sang like the harp
Bong.
You are my own kestrel.
Screeching high
Sky fall down
Earthed again
Thud,stone crows down
You are me,ning nang bang
Bung!
Oh,tra la la,
It’s post modern time
for tea lovers
Whooooooooooooooo hoooooooooooooo
There’s no absolute truth nowadays
Believe me!
It’s no syllogism
Wheeeeeeeeee heeeeeeeeeee
Is there truth from one’s relatives?
Meeee heee weee bang blikkker booooom
Boom boob booo boo hoo
The moon shines relatively slowly
Oh,be my babe
I love u so.
But my spilling is not that good
Does it mutter?
Grrr grrr grr
Growling!
Ma ma ma ma oh where are you?
I’m lost in a thicket with no rail ticket
UUUhhhh uhhhhhhhh
I’m hiding in a wood
See me!
Thud.
Oh,my God.Can I swear here?
I flickered up again.
I love you my dear one,my own heart strings plucked
Shhhhhhhhhhh silence
Ting a ling
Thump bang
Shriek!
Pluck
Bang

The gaps we are afraid of

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http://www.janandcoragordon.co.uk/

I recall now that I first came across ideas about gaps when studying art and what stops us from making it. Jan and Cora Gordon’s writing and Marion Milner’s books mention this.Even the best artists must have the experience of working on and even completing a work and finding that it is not what they had hoped for.
Certainly for beginners it can be very depressing and may be the reason why many people who did poorly at art in school never try again… as they felt this gap very painfully.But as with many of the painful aspects of life,it is better to accept and honour the gap.Strangely when we look back at some of our work we may find it has much more in it than we saw at the time.But wanting some pre-conceived notion of perfection we fail to notice the value of what we did in reality.
That may be true on other realms of life such as personal relationships.So don’t get divorced yet!

.
Turner’s late work was thought by some to be a sign of madness.This doesn’t mean our daubs are the next great advance in Art or Writing…. but we may need to be more tolerant of ourselves and our productions whilst also being genuinely critical or open to other’s helpful criticism.

Note on Marion Milner

“She was also a talented painter, and in On Not Being Able to Paint (1950) she wrote an important book on creativity and on some of the forces that prevent it. As with so much of her writing, she was not afraid to reveal herself. Her authorial voice was itself an instance of her view that “the internal gesture needed is to stand aside”. The Hands of the Living God (1969), an account of a 20-year analysis, also focused on drawings and doodles, this time her patients’.” From her obituary

My mistress,aye!

My mistress’ eye is like a currant bun

Though she has problems,she is utterly divine

Her bosom is quite bold out in the sun.

I hope that she will lend me hers as if it ‘s mine?

My mistress eye looks fine as it is glass

She lost her marbles playing with a fox

She’s good at letting errors whistle past

And mending fuses in that little box.

My mistress ,I am fixed upon her breast.

I see her skin is warm and she does sweat.

I too have lusted and I have confessed

But still she gambles and she places bets.

In truth I am as fickle as a weed

but each must act according to his need.

Destruction

Wakening up,remembering.
The rain falls onto the windows like a weeping angel’s tears
Thinking all the time,it was a bargain they wanted
.. not this…….not this… no,no
Is there a name for this destruction
which destroys also those who commit such acts?

A haunted Europe;Britain
the interfering empire,grasping at the world’s wealth
have made a patchwork out of Eden
Here where man began to be civilised
where we learned to make an aleph bet
and to write on scrolls
where God spoke from the fire
Why is it here that the hate is so strong?
What did we steal from these Arabs
when we bought their oil and made them wealthy
Materially,only; they had the wealth of knowledge and learning; they who invented the abstractions of mathematics?How have they become who they are?

And from those learned Jews when we plundered their religion
their Book and their G-d.
And their mystical traditions and learning..
and scattered them like dust across the diaspora
Our rulers and others thieved like starving beggars
and sat watching as they struggled?
How can religion be used with such cruelty?
The hate they should feel to the West
is transferred to their neighbours.

The wet eyed and heart weary,the strained and tearless too,
those whose hearts are heavy with
the pain of unsheddable tears
They turn again to the mountain
the steep climb continues
Tears water the path and the cold earth
As we look into the heart of darkness
Hoping for a sign
Or at least to be ready for a sign…
Those who have eyes to see,let them see

But he said, “I will not ask; I will not put the LORD to the test.”

How like a bird’s nest is my unmade bed

  • WisleyFeeding

    Photo courtesy of Mike Flemming,Copyright 2015

    How like a bird’s nest is my unmade bed
    As twigs and feathers from my feet did fall.
    I ought to take my shoes off, but instead
    I leave them on or hurl them at the wall.

    As for a lady’s nightgown I do lack,
    And wear old vests my dear husband once loved.
    For ladies’ garments often have no back.
    And fit too tightly, like a rubber glove.

    For pain and torment some will undergo,
    To gain attention from a handsome man .
    Yet love is like a fearsome heavy blow
    Survive it like an act of God unplanned.

    So take life lightly though you are enchained
    As it is short and everything remains