First woodwork lesson in my new school.
Mr Woodiwiss - apt name! - is asking
What would you would like to make?
An execution block, I say.
(The block is for my Uncle Bill.)
Reputation would suggest
sir should roar displeasure,
vault the bench perhaps,
throw something my direction.
he does not even take exception,
sits talking ways and means with me.
A word of explanation:
why an execution block for Uncle Bill?
To help him with his Christmas role:
The Lord High Executioner of Turkeys on the lawn.
And he comes THIS close to using it
(My thumb and forefinger
all but touch. I hold them up.)
Dark night. The only light
streams from the bathroom window.
The turkey's neck is on the block,
the hatchet raised
the light goes out.
The pitch-dark night
turns lighter shades of blue
as Uncle's language spills into it.
But Uncle Bill's performance
more disappointing one.
The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
It all depends, you see, how you go about it. And that I cannot tell you, for that will be dictated by you and by you knowing your friends...
Hello everyone who follows David King (My Father). On behalf of the family this post is to let you know that Dad sadly passed away, peacefu...
This post has in a sense been handed to me by two or three responses to my post On not getting it. In the course of discussing how a reade...
Tom Lubbock, writing in The Independent (friday 15 May 2009) returned to the age old topic of censorship in the arts. Well, in painting act...