Have I mentioned ‘I am not a silent poet’ webzine? Maybe…..it’s worth checking out…and seeing if some of your poems are a fit…if you are a submitter….or if you like that kind of writing as a reader. This is one of my poems that went up on the site a few months ago. I’m on with a project…art/writing….so it came up today:
Clouds lower, proving the curves of sky in broad strokes.
Sea should soothe, its enviable power override the black dog
bounding towards me. I watch sprite shadows scamper
along sea walls, see him hook twin trout wriggling
on the end of taut lines, reeling them in, hugging
their slippery bodies. I no longer lust after him;
my addiction to unreality, found at the bottom of wine bottles,
gives me extra layers of skin as he flays them.
We’re angry as gulls squabbling over ham baked by the sun.
I’m having chats with a printer person….looking through tons of my images….for a few ideas I’ve had. I’m okay with coming up with ideas, but I get distracted by doing the actual ‘work’…the drawings….and am not great at getting them a home. She thinks this one might make an interesting ‘business card’ (I don’t have a ‘business’ really….but as I can never remember my phone number….it might be useful)
When I need to ‘have a proper think’ I often take a walk. Today the weather was too hot to take the pooches out after 6am and before 6pm…..so I did the other thing that helps me concentrate my thoughts…I had a doodle. (Not a euphemism…see drawing above.) While doodling I received something in the post that made me realise the way I’m living my life doesn’t need as much revision as I’d been thinking it did. It also gave me the energy and resources to make a couple of practical moves towards something I’m hoping for……
When I was at art college I got tired of all the white walls that ‘best displayed’ the art we spilled. My tutors weren’t happy when I jazzed up the walls…but I was making installations, so they couldn’t entirely object. I feel the same when I see graveyards….the perpetual white to grey sameness in rows. All those individual lives, spent in a myriad of ways, shapes, colours, textures, flavours….remembered as a grey tablet when they’re gone. I would like this as my tombstone, please.