New paintings and regular art updates.
The sky, bright blue.
Clouds of cherry blossom
float above the ground,
tied down to branches,
so they don’t soar up,
creating pink and white billows,
high up in the cerulean sky.
Blossoming petals,
snowing down in the breeze,
landing on soil and paths,
scattered by the breeze.
Cotton candy flowers,
nourishing the bees.
The cat sat in the box.
Not on a mat,
or in a hat,
not on a roof
or under a hoof.
Not in a car
or on top of a door.
Not up the stairs
or on the chairs.
But in a box
where it lived,
or died.
It was Schrodingers
purring..
Cat.
Where does the cat sit?
On the fridge?
On the cupboard?
In the cupboard!
In the washing machine?
On your bed.
In the sink,
On you chair?
On the washing basket…..
On the windowledge?
In the flowerbed.
Behind a flowerpot?
Basically…
Wherever it wants to.!
Chaos abounds
Knowledge unfound.
How do we live,
How to survive?
Stay alive.
Keep your head down,
Stay and don’t roam.
Keep to your home.
Stay safe,
Stay secure,
In lockdown.
X
Watching leaves grow
Or paint dry,
Endless ads
For funeral plans?
Monetise the virus
They think.
Are you bored yet?
We are not there
Yet.
We are stuck
Yet
We are tired
Yet…
Nature knows
Nature returns
Nature renews.
That’s the news.
We HAD Gin in the house…
Now we have none,
We HAD tonic
Now that’s gone.
We HAD food in the house.
It has been eaten
We HAD warmth in the house.
It has escaped.
What HAVE we got left?
Our LOVE.
X
He sneezes
I flinch
It’s an allergy
But I don’t feel safe
Wrap up safe I say
So he takes his scarf
Wraps it round
Wound about
Like a mummy
In blue and orange
Get an antihistamine
I say
Cringing
As the sneezing
continues
Atishoo
We all fall down?
Just saw a post about days. Instead of Monday Tuesday Wednesday etc the start is crossed out and just day written seven times. I guess the days are running one into another and if you are like me, messing about and staying up late till after three am, it really does feel like a blur.
I wrote a very micro poem to reflect this….
Day of sun
Day of shine
Day of rain
Days all mine
X
It’s not very good, it sort of rhymes but the fourth line is a bit weak and the fifth needs a better ending.
The challenge was to write something funny. But limericks are not that easy, for instance sometimes writers repeat the first line in the last one…
For instance “there was an old man from portmadoc” might end “that wise old man from portmadoc!”, which is a bit of a cheat really. Maybe my limerick is a bit inappropriate, but I based it on the current situation. X
Draw your hobby,
that’s what they said,
Trumpet? True I thought
I must try
to apply some practice
to this instrument.
3B pencil
And ink too.
So blow
cold wind flow
and play..
Mallaband-Brown