Archives For Art

Magical Thoughts

December 9, 2017 — Leave a comment

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When I experience hurt

I indulge

In magical thinking.

Very annoying

For others,

Unfamiliar with the technicalities

Behind my tricks.

 

 

He or she

May say,

That “I” am mistaken in my observations.

But with the wave of

My magical thinking wand,

I create mystical anagrams,

And hey presto,

I pull a bunny

Straight out of

The top hat.

 

Sadly, the rabbits

Only live as long

As the delusion,

And I find it draining

When they keep coming along

Day after day after day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Water and Ice

July 29, 2017 — Leave a comment
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I recall a short story I had written in school back in Scotland looking out of our window at the whirling snowstorm blanketing our streets, roofs and gardens. We were young. My teacher said we could reach for the stars. I questioned that statement.
It fell fast and hard as we threw snowballs at each other in the back green. We stopped and together the three of us made a snowman. Over five feet tall with chestnuts for its eyes and baby carrots for its lips. I was so uncomfortable, perspiring as a chilly wind blew through my thick wooly jumper specifically made to keep you protected from the elements.
When completed, I stepped back to admire my work. The snowman’s expression was not one of joy but fear. I rearranged the lips physically with my fingers turning them into a smile. But as the snow fell faster the expression changed once again and looking into the chestnut eyes of this inanimate object I knew there was nothing else I could do.
There was nothing he could do either. He had no brain, therefore no courage, no heart therefore no pulse, and regardless of my desire to alter this thing I could not change, I watched helplessly as its physical appearance morphed moment by moment into something I had not created. A thin crust of ice had formed around the body. There was nothing left but a large lumpy pile of snow as icy blasts shot through our garden.
And they told me I could be anything I wanted to be. That’s what the teacher said. Anything. Reach for the stars. And I guessed it was all a lie. I knew at the end there was one ultimate truth. Whatever we were here, we would all disappear, regardless of our understanding of love and hate.
I walked towards the snowman and systematically pulled it apart. I swiped, punched and kicked as the wind blew harder and the fierce biting wind attacked every fibre of my flesh. I crushed this thing until it was gone. The water was still water, the ice was still ice but the man was no more. Because, quite simply, he had never been in the first place.
I looked up at the dark grey clouds and felt thousands upon thousands of snowflakes swirling around me, melting on my lips and blinding my eyes. I was awake and I knew I was not dreaming. I knew I was alive and I knew in my heart I would be spending some extra time in space on this little planet.

Trap

April 3, 2017 — Leave a comment

Wandering between two points

With no other exit plan

Wondering if I 

Will ever see the light of day

Again

Even though

The sun is covering the earth

In sweet golden light

I am trapped between coordinates

I put in place myself

Over time.

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I try to think

Of happiness,

As a concept

Encapsulated in its own image.

And laughingly believe

I’ll be happy,

Just by bringing to mind

The thought,

 

That thinking happy thoughts

Would then follow

Without effort

And all would be well.

 

But happy thoughts only

Materialize ,

Not by concentrated effort,

But by avoiding,

All these wicked

People From hell.

 

 

 

 

Image from Beliefnet.com

Turtle Doves

February 28, 2017 — Leave a comment

Dove at Sunset over Lago di Garda

Through orange heights,

Through turtle doves,

And through the alleyways,

I see the love

That hope enshrouds

Descend and take away

 

The thoughts I had of one I love

A city far but near

And in its grasp

A homesick dove

For whom I shed a tear.

 

The air is still,

I feel no wind

Inside I feel no sorrow

Upon my hope

My faith is pinned

The dove shall fly tomorrow.

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How much more can I take

From the weak, petty and jealous

Propping up their frail egos

By draining me

Of my peace

Of mind?

 

How will this end?

 

Their ego and character will sit unsteadily

On a dry faltering castle of sand

As my mind

Will become even more focused

And rid of the trivial,

Glowing like real solid gold

 

As the froth from the sliding ripples

Crawls

Towards an already

Shaky fort.

 

And the happiness

Drained from me

 

Was not enough

To save the castle

From crumbling

Back to the sea.

 

 

Doppelgänger

February 10, 2017 — Leave a comment

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Annoying neighbors, very intrusive,

Pry into my thinking process

(Whispers and rumors)

Because I stand alone.

 

I am not moved by windy whims,

Or current trends,

Or little lies

Or envy.

And don’t care if Jack

Bought a new lawn mower.

Or slept with one of his students.

 

I was born alone, 

Solitaire from dawn to dusk

But.

 

I do admit,

 

Any time the antagonism becomes

Overwhelmingly intense,

(Fortified by not knowing what I’ve done)

I step aside,

And conjure up a doppelgänger 

And hand it over.

 

I give him the racing brain,

And resentment,

The swirling fury

And anything else

I don’t need,

To get through the day,

And bid him farewell.

 

Though I must warn you, 

Bumping into this other personae

Would not be much fun for anyone.

 

 

 

Image – SPIE Digital Library

The Fisherman’s Jug

February 9, 2017 — Leave a comment

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The oak table in the corner, sturdy and solid,

Under the candelabra ,

In the farmhouse,

A cracked jug on top.

 

With other kitchen accruements

Laid out neatly

By the stove,

The plates and tankards

Strung on the wall,

It’s easy to ignore

The cracked jug.

 

Most visitors were apathetic

Regarding the unglazed vessel

That had been left

By an old fisherman.

 

Even the new tenants

And their friends

And families

Dismissed it

As aesthetically spoiling.

 

And the old fisherman

Who once lived there

Knew what it was like

To be ignored

And untouched

And unloved,

 

Saw the blemish on the jug

As a scar

That defined the jug

A perceptible imperfect mark.

 

So before he died

The old fisherman

Dropped a large pearl

Inside the jug

And left it there.

 

When he was gone,

And when people came by the farmhouse

They ignored the dirty old jug

Sitting alone;  like the old man

Would sit alone,

Not realizing that if they looked inside,

They would see the real beauty

The true value,

And their lives could have been changed

Forever.

And they come to tea
Uninvited
Fondling my fragile china cups
Tedious tapping of a tea spoon
On a saucer.

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Only to have my faith and peace trashed
And crumpled up
And thrown back on to the path.

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