I found this image in a neglected place on my iPad, in an app I was trying out. I must have made it some years ago. Today it resonated. I’ve been thinking about the value of containment and the value of a clear focus on a point.
I’ve been looking at trees. In life and in art. One influencing the other. The artist on my mind is Ergon Schiele. There is a signature the whole, also present in every stroke, just as a tree carries it’s essence in every branch.
I’ll call this image: I am a tree.
What now?
Nothing will help.
What am I doing?
Why am I here?
Saturday, 19 September 2020
Down / Up
Sinking
into
pain of
aging
*
Surprising
bonus
years
Out of the water
alien
I drown in the air
*
Through a light drizzle
a grey expanse of sky shines—
a grim, grim car-scape.
*
*
November, spring. BOOM!
Bloom, bloom, bloom—bloom blossoms bloom,
blossom while you can!
*
4 September 2018
Disturbed
the line is crossed
into the
special world
live this life
there’s no return
surrounded by enemies
lurking & pounding
& friends
with gifts
dark mystery
& promise
desperate odds
*
Found this poem on my computer. Wrote it a few years ago.
In fever
I’ve been
a machine
all night
See saw
jig saw words
tumble
& fall
to make an image
as they land
on sand
Truth is that
beauty
never sleeps
alone
Beauty lies
under a cloud
in darkness
rarely seen
Truth and love
live
side by side
with romance
out of sight
While you’re
asleep
we’re awake
& see the dream’s
a joke
We left the
car & caravan
in the
flooding stream
Retuned to
find a
baby on a horse
She looked
at us with
knowing
eyes
we played
our games
online
so lost
we could not find
the tokens
for the
times