New paintings and regular art updates.
If you turn over a cup,
a mug,
a teapot
a jug?
If you look under your plate.
you may find a mark
light or dark.
Pottery thrown
Or molded?
An indented word
or a print of a symbol
so whatever you think,
you can see
who made your sink
your teacup
on the table
underneath?
A label.
A backstamp
to tell you who
made it.
The door is shut
The night is here
I wish my mind could rest.
Tired and tense
Jaw clenched.
Can’t wait till dawn,
To sleep tonight,
To relax and chill
What I would give
For no thrill.
No disturbed thoughts,
No worries.
Just
Sleep…
A picture to define cute?
my cat curled up
paw over nose
asleep…
They love boxes
Hidey holes,
Places to nap,
Sit and chill.
My cats are box cats,
Hidden in deep,
Somewhere to mooch
A place to sleep.
Cats that wear boxes
Like a tortoise shell
Sitting and thinking
Till the dinner bell.
Blue and red
Green and white.
Lime green
Bright red
So many words
Describe light
Reflected and absorbed.
Popping poppies
Firework shaped blues
Exploding greens
Happy bees!
This argument has rumbled on all day.
Like a storm gathering.
Like lightning about to strike.
No peace, just discord.
The tension mounts.
Even the cats are on edge.
Not a fight,
A disagreeable disagreement.
Sound and fury,
Irritation, annoyance.
Despair.
Repair?
A resting bee
happy to have a seat
luckily I didn’t sit
on it!
Beautiful bee then flew off
onto a bush
of flowers to sip
nectar and dew
and pollen too…
When I try and write limericks they sometimes go OK and other times they are a bit rubbish. With this one I was trying to write about something humorous about a cat in a box. But I found rhyming box too hard and swapped it round with cat. So I came up with this ditty… Not pretty…
A box was full up with a cat
Who also liked wearing a hat
He tried on a beret
That belonged to a ferret.
And shared all his food with a bat…
A mess of branches
before they were covered in green.
When air was cold and blue,
when stems bore ice.
When it was cold at night.
It was chill, and the moon shone,
through miriad twigs.
When night lasted
in the cold darkness,
from early dusk,
to late dawn.
Now the sun rises early
the heat rises to meet it,
I wake up late and fall asleep
late,
in the warm morning air.
The wire fairies dance together,
flying in a fair,
Twisting and switching
through the warm air.
Flitting through the flowers,
chasing errant bees,
hiding in the trumpet flowers
of convolvulus and weeds.
Little silver fairies,
made of twisted wire,
forged by clever, loving hands,
metal from the fire.
Mallaband-Brown