New paintings and regular art updates.
I can’t watch it,
too much to see.
So many problems,
so much poverty.
Instead I listen,
I’m listening to the fridge,
it crackles and hums,
it’s never been right,
since we got it last spring.
I listen for the kettle,
time for a drink,
a warm cup of coffee,
while I sit and think.
I listen to the weather,
the sound of the wind,
hearing the rain,
on the roof its pounding!
I listen to the cat,
soft purrs hit my ears,
a relaxing sound,
brings peace and stops fears.
Is it two years since he died?
The world has turned,
and moved on in space,
his time line has ended,
gone away from this place.
Professor of physics,
thinker of time,
despite limitations,
he was free in his mind.
Living with illness,
he did more with his thoughts,
gave us new insights
into the Universe.
Looked at Blackholes,
from inside and out,
and Big Bang theory,
he knew such a lot.
Famous for explaining,
in book and in words,
the working of the universe,
in ‘A brief History of Time’.
Apologies for this poem, it is not well written or rhymed, but the image popped up on my memories page, and I was surprised at how much time had passed. I wonder what he would make of the world now?
He has tree trunk legs,
Tree trunk knees,
There is a nest
Of tree trunk bees.
He has tree trunk arms,
And tree trunk ears,
Made of wood
He has a tree trunk soul.
The leaves have fallen,
From his branching head,
The winter comes,
And he looks dead.
But when sap arises,
Come the spring,
He’ll be renewed
And start again.
Oi you!
That’s my pallete
What now?
Jumped on a footstool,
Walking round.
No don’t lie down!
Look at the mess,
Cat tracks in acrylic paint.
Pawprints in bright colours,
Messy kitty.
I suppose it’s art!
Sharp Green buds against brick
Cold clay and icy air
Embrace growth
Shelter root and branch
warming earth holds moisture
Fresh leaves are waiting
Ready to burst
Spring is round the corner
Sprouting
Soon.
My minds a fog
Stuck in a marshy
bog
A morass of trash
Having a bash
At trying to rhyme
And write in time
Tripping over words
Some absurd
Like little drops
They could be flops
It’s taking me
Some effort see
I usually write blank verse!
When your mind swirls out of control,
when you think too much
but it comes to nothing.
Too busy to stop,
then too tired to be busy.
Life gets in the way,
thoughts run over the edges of ideas,
drip out of my mind,
slide down the plughole of imagination.
Drain away,
lost,
from energy to entropy,
slipping into chaos.
Except when you put your claws in my knee,
Or sit on my chest so I can’t see!
Pin me down, like a cat up a tree.
I love my cat.
Except when you jump up and steal my tea,
Trip me up at night when I’m going for a pee!
Go and sit on somewhere I don’t want you to be…
I love my cat..
Except when scratch the side of the settee,
Scratch the furniture so I have to pay a fee..
Eat the exotic food I had from the sea.
I love my cat.
Really!
He saw a bird,
And in a whirl,
Twirled!
Knocked the African violet
Onto the floor,
Bowl smashed,
Flower buds mashed!
But he was happy,
Seeing the blue tit
What a twit!
My cat
Mad as a bat!
A drawing turned into a pattern
Played with it
Distorted it..
It could be cotton,
Or printed silk.
Mallaband-Brown