As man stands waiting

As man stands waiting on the waterfront -
one front of many fronts of all the waters of the earth,
the sea is taking over from the land
the way that something that is neither day nor night
is taking over from the sun and moon -
the ocean, which he's always felt emergent,
still moving forward from its days as primal soup,
has gone into reverse, moved with the sun and moon towards
a time that will not be, or if it is, will never end; a time
when light and dark will clasp each other. A last gasp
before the last extinction. Sea has ownership of sky,
has spawned a dozen whirlpools where the clouds once were.

Seen through careening walls of water,
a dark and greening sun.

Appropriate, that sea, his cradle,
is to take him back the way he was before:
his flesh and all the flesh and fowl that share the earth with him -
or have done until now.

The wind has tripled many times the height and strength of waves
and driven them against the last remaining land
to splinter them in spray.
That which was solid and eternal as the hills
has ebbed away.

This is my contribution for today to Writers Island's NATIONAL POETRY's Free Writing Month.

Where woodland, snow and water meet.

You know how memory conflates
long strings of things we've done or seen
into a single image symbolizing all,
how it subsumes a dozen walks
in a familiar place
into a walk that represents them all...
Here I have tried to find a token for
a walk through woodland to the sea
that fits a single frame.

(Click on the image to enlarge.)

Earth shattering and Dust Cloud

Earth Shattering

Dust Cloud

These two images were the result of just playing around with various drawings. Any relevance to recent events in Japan is purely fortuitous - or decidedly uncanny - as they were made before the earthquake. You might notice, though, that in the interests of green issues, characters have been recycled.

When Earth became a lesser sun

It was a sign
the first of many
that the world was ending slowly when

we heard the pylon sizzle
like a bacon rasher

just an early surge
of fire from earth's deep belly.

I'd often said to Mary
how the lines would be the death of us.

'Oh my, you do go on!' she'd say,
'yet when the canopy
is fully greened
we cannot even see the blessed things!'

I'd tell her how the lines
are modern man's
late answer to the ancients,
how to think of them
as modern ley lines - of a sort.

"They're lines of force," I'd say,
"or stave lines in the sky -
for music, too's a force
we do not understand."

Then I'd go on: "If this 'ere path
were iron filings 'stead of stones
and leaf mould, Mary,
they'd be rearranging,
jumping in the most amazing patterns
you could see.

So never mind
you cannot see them
I can feel them in my bones!

Instead of iron filings,
what we've got is us:
two people standin' 'ere, who knows
or thinks them knows
what happens in thems brains!"     'O, you
and your iron filings!' she would say,
'you do go on, you do!'

The Kingfisher had made it clear to me:
omen or first symptom, call it as you will.

We'd often seen it skim the lake,
a flash of Royal blue.
That day it was electric blue,
a lightning bolt that hugged the wires -
escape denied - before
it plunged, not into water, but
a web of steel that disassembled it.

I'm talking long before
the earth became another sun,
before it spread soft orange light
across the Solar void -
Aye, soft it was in those days,
just a night light in the nursery...

I got quite angry with her sometimes...
still, bless her that she visits me
between her visits to oncology -
and always, always
when they turn the key
to let her in, she'll ask
how I am doing,
and when will I come home.

Homage to Munch's The Dance on the Shore

As masterpieces go, this by Edvard Munch - I will stick out my neck - is unbeatable. For me it is perfection. How on earth does one combine such calculated composition with such fluidity and dreaminess? The design of the picture is exactly calculated, but each object in it has been given its own unique colour. Yet nothing competes with anything else. The composition relies for its integrity on the interlocking shapes, the echoing patterns and the strong tonal qualities. As a bonus the lines of the tree and the ripples in the sea are perfect.

It is obviously related to The Dance of Life (below) which he painted the year before (1899) he began work on The Dance on the Shore

It is, though, The Dance on the Shore which remains my favourite. I had it in mind when I began doodling my not-so-dreamy digital version. There is no greater connection than that. When I refreshed my memory by going back to look at a reproduction of Munch's I was all but frightened into not posting mine, but it is good to remind oneself how difficult are the things that great masters almost persuade us are easy.

2 Still Lifes With Guitars : (Photo/Water Colour)

My Hungry Hand and Sleepy Foot

The other day I overheard a young man holding forth on what was obviously a pet theory of his. It was that portraitists concentrate too exclusively on faces, when in fact hands and feet are better indicators of a person's personality.

On the off chance that he had hold of a grain of truth I offer the following as updates for my personal profile
(you may need to click on the images):-

Tanka  #3



Apologies to those who cannot stand the original beautiful game!

Dying on its feet
(twenty20's all the rage):
what was long-cricket.
Quick results, dramatic ends
loads of cash - they matter now.

Please don't drink and doodle!

Last Sunday we celebrated our daughter's 44th birthday with a family meal at The Anchor, Witley. It is a favourite spot with canal boats, canoes, a lock gate and much activity on a fine sunny Sunday - which it was. The Anchor had a fine menu to go with the day - and more to the point, some equally fine wines and beers. I took the photographs after the meal, which was a mistake.

(My budget statement is below)

From the "Digital Doodle" Sketchbook

Tangled branches

The Promenade at Night

Cactus

Doodles in the woods

A couple of friends were good enough to say of my March 2 doodles that they would like to see some examples that were not doodles. In fact, I fear they all are. I have neither the ability nor the equipment to be able to visualise the effect I want and then go get it. Doodling is what I do. Sometimes an effect will suggest something and I will try to follow it or enhance it or whatever to see where it leads, but it always begins with doodling. However, there are degrees of doodling, I suppose, so here, for what they are worth and without initial comment, three of my more focussed "doodles" - and one original photograph.

Enchanted Wood

Encounter in the Wood

Bare Trees

Autumn Trees

Doodling Again!

Two shots of the crowds milling around Bournemouth pier - back in the summer, of course.

---

Haiku #67

Most nations have debts
hardly a one in credit -
Where has it all gone?

The Flight of the Departed

Going through past digital doodles, I came upon this, which I was sure I had posted before. If so, I can find no trace of it. Good enough reason, I thought, wouldn't like to deprive the world of it ...

---

Haiku #59

An afternoon nap -
See how learning, memory
and brainpower soar!

Some think the earth is cooling.

... but don't know quite what the result will be.

Playing around

The sun warms



Man warns

Who's listening?

("Haiku" #28)
The first image is simply a negative version of the first.

Self-Portrait : Moving with the Trees

Well overdue, I thought, for a digital doodle.

The world will end on Wednesday.

Between this life and the afterlife the borders will be closed and the queues for them enormous, likely violent and almost certainly infiltrated by the vigilantes.





One crumb of comfort: those with righteousness behind them will be fast-tracked out of darkness into light that is the light of the soul's eyes.

---

However, before Armageddon, why not pop over to Andrew Shields's place and have a go at his Daily Poem Project. More than worth a look - and who knows, you might get hooked!

Waiting

I thought maybe it was time for another Digital Doodle post...



... suggested by the (too) numerous occasions spent in various waiting rooms.


We wait for them,
the words that form the play,
the words
themselves as yet unformed -
although the stage lights are turned on.

Self portrait for a Modern Masque

The ground breaks open when the spirit wakes.
Between the spheres of Good and Good Intent
the evil that abounds is masked. All flesh lies hollow
on the watery bed, tideway of ensoulment.
From it, cool sedative to human eyes, the floral
tributes, crematorial flames arise. Like unveiled
windows at the dead of night, the eyes stare back.
Reflected gaze. One feed-back loop too far brings death
within our ken. Our inmostness and what of earth
is visible, go hand-in-hand - or marry in
a one-night stand. The eyes no longer laugh
nor cry, nor can they see except the mask
maps out the contours, marks how day and night
break-in. break-up, break-out, like breaker-ripples
on a millpond bursting at its seams. All seem
the same to those who do not wear the mask.

Selfportrait as Me: or the rejuvenating effect of woodland

The Souls Pass On (3)

This one really belongs in the last post - got delayed in the traffic.