New paintings and regular art updates.
Oh books, you tomes of wisdom,
your cracked pages full of age,
paperback and hardback,
album and autobiography.
You change my mind, change my thoughts,
help me to learn, help me to see.
Books hold knowledge, and deceit.
Not all knowledge is truth,
Sometimes it’s misinformed,
or misinformation.
But I’d rather have a book than a computer……
Books are analogue.
Loads of ripe cherries
High in the tree
Out of reach of human hands
But not from beaks you see.
Blackbirds, pigeons and magpies
Each have their fill
Of sweet red cherries
They have the skill,
Of flying high above me
Pecking at the fruit
Eating all the ripe ones
In their aerial persuit.
Sweet red cherries
Small and round and neat.
I go without
And the birds get a treat!
Your wheel eyes stare
Soft feathers steady your body,
Feet reach forward
Toes and talons stretched
You swoop
Then up
Pushing down strong wingbeats
A small mammal caught,
Food for yourself or your fledglings.
Soft you whisper across the darkening landscape,
Home to the old barn.
I smell your hand hooman
It sniffs of coffee and paint
Of lavender and cut grass.
It smells of sausages and chips
Salt and vinegar.
Your hooman hand is warm
And soft.
Your hooman hand gives me
Food and water.
It strokes my belly
My nose and head.
You are my hooman
And I own you!
Don’t ask what I am?
I’m not what you think
I was to be
The Tiger that hid.
Now I’m out in the open
Between land and sky
I could be a tiger
Flying up high.
I could be a kite
Streamers in the wind
Kicking back and forwards
Strings all spinned.
I am a little painting
Of a tiny tiger face
Or a cat with whiskers flaring
Out into space.
Can I sharpen my claws?
Is it OK to scratch?
You don’t mind my paws
Do you?
Can I sit on the fridge
Watch you take the milk out
Is that cheese you are eating
Can I have just a bit?
Can I lick your face clean?
Are you loving my nose?
I am ready to preen
My whiskers and toes.
Do you think I am fat?
Do you love my long tail?
Can I sit on your hat?
After all I’m all cat. ..
I wrote this poem in response to the prompt “light”. I am not sure how to do ping backs so I will put a link of it on Megha’s page. I am not sure if I’m doing it right. Anyway here is the poem:
Photons, floating through space
At breakneck speed.
Tinier than
The tiniest seed…
Particles or waves
Does anyone know?
It took scientists like Einstein
To try and show
That light is a constant
But only in space
In air it actually
Slows its pace
(slightly)
It pings and zings
It refracts and glows
Holograms shimmer
Insubstantial as mist.
Light is strengthened
and made to Lase
A coherent beam
That can burn and amaze
Light is part of the greatest equation
E=MC2 bright burst
radiation.
