Getting Sticky

Well, in my pursuit of creating something arty, I have taken to sticking things.  Yes, collage.  I make an horrendous mess, with bits of paper, tissue and glue covering every surface, including myself, but I have to say I am quite pleased with the results.

The first one, ‘The New Forests’ was inspired by an item on the news that made me so angry and upset that I didn’t know what to do with the emotion.  They’d used a drone to film the extent of the camps in Bangladesh that hundreds of thousands of Rohingya refugee people have been reduced to living in.  They showed the camps sprawling across an area bigger than Manchester or Glasgow.  The people, men, women and children, in those camps have little clean water, food, health care, in fact, none of the things we take for granted on an every day basis. It made me consider (not for the first time, I hasten to add) the quite appalling inequalities suffered by people around the world, and creating the collage became quite cathartic for me.  In fact, I got so much out of it (never mind the result!) when finished, I immediately started on the second, ‘Elusive Eden’.

This piece was inspired by poetry, and as with the first one, I decided to use relevant text within it – in this case excerpts from ‘I know why the cage bird sings’ by Maya Angelou, ‘Mending Wall’ by Robert Frost, and ‘The Road not Taken’ also by Frost. The result was somewhat cheerier than I imagined, and the poems have all but disappeared, but nonetheless, I quite like it, and whilst I doubt anyone looking at it would immediately grasp its representational meaning as I intended, at least it’s colourful!

The third piece, is frankly, just a flight of fancy.  Using tissue paper, which proved much trickier, and generally messier than I could ever have imagined.  Lots of fun though!

The New Forests

The New Forests

Elusive Eden 1

Elusive Eden

By the River

By the River

 

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25th April 2017

For goodness sake, it’s April
And yet the wind is wickedly shaking
The blossom from the cherry
So that it blankets the ground
In pink petal snow 

It’s April and on Sunday
We sat in the garden in the sun
Drinking chilled wine, yet
Just two days later
My cheeks are pinched red
From the cold 

All hail, its April
Ice crystals hit the window panes
The dog growls at them
Indignant at their intrusion
But then a flashy rainbow
Signals spring

 

The One

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I see it hanging from the tree
it’s virgin skin
red and ripe
amongst the late summer leaves 

I long to bite into it
taste it’s sweetness
on my tongue,
feel it’s juices dribbling
childishly down my chin  

It’s high.
I have to climb
the rough
crumbling bark,
grazing palms and shins
in my pursuit

Until aloft
I stretch and reach,
but my fingertips
fail to grasp,
and it falls 

I jump to the grass below
to find my prize,
but every shiny fruit
hid
es a savage scar 

and though I search
I cannot find perfection

In Peace?

In a darkened room the angels hover
while a woman sleeps

And thunderous rain sends morse messages
to the heavens

while down the stairs a raging fire burns
warming cold souls

Twelve bells as the old clock marks the hour
not recognising day or night

Blossoms in the gardens fold their petals
fearing the dark

And all the while, gentle clouds of breath
escape those red lips

Oblivious, cocooned in starched sheets
on a bed of down

The woman rests before her last descent
Weeping angels watch

As the fire rages on

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Sorry, it just came out that way…

Oh dear, I am sorry about this. I don’t really know where this came from today.  I was in the mood for writing a bit of verse and just came up with the first couple of lines and, well, it kinda gathered pace from there.

Sorry, no accompanying picture to cheer things up either. I did have some beautiful dark velvety tulips last year, but the bulbs were severely trampled on by the man-fence men when they installed the man-fence a month or two ago, so I think I might be tulip-less this year…

Anyhoo…sorry again for this bit of quite depressing verse!!

Why?

They asked why
I chose black tulips for his grave
The petals
Unforgiving to the touch
with fragile strength
cloak a secret centre
Their elusive lustre
glimpsed for but a moment
then quelled in this perfidious place
How earnestly they droop their sombre heads
As lifeless they lie limp on burnished wood
And they asked why
I chose black tulips for his grave