For lovers, dreamers…

Posted on April 13, 2015 by aperture

Blue cheese

Clear water

White smile

Brown earth

Pink cheeks

Bottomless cup

Unfinished plate

A kind heart

Teacup image

(Kathryn Dawson Photography)

Snapshot

Posted on April 13, 2015 by aperture

So I stole one photo that you took and claimed it as mine
I thought you wouldn’t mind but it’s a small token
To repay me for the one of us she never sent
The only one, it’s printed on my mind

Us with our siamese smiles and beer glasses on
Framing us with cider pints, backed by porch lights
The spa filled with artists just out of view
Embracing the awkwardness

Even when scars heal they keep a memory that sometimes
Has a phantom ache to scratch a long lost limb
Forgive me for stealing but if I asked for copyright
To all your contributions it would go on forever

Like a colourful child’s painting smeared endlessly, carefree
All over my mind. So of course if I seek to make an imprint
There will be evidence of your fingerprints everywhere
You are there

As the road trips to reunite become few and far between
A letter to a lost limb and their children unseen
We shared a womb of birth and rebirth, love to self-destruct
I’m still the same as you used to be

Baby boy image

Little girl image:

http://consciousnessandthebrain.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/man_in_the_mirror.jpg

Audible art

Image

Words held up
Words fall down,
Coerce, betray
Power of say

Thought into being
Divine intent
Sublime Lament
Testify, lie

Rhyme, rap,
float on high
Pervade dreams
Persuade, pierce
Convey pain

Double-edge knife
Give and take away
Fleeting and infinite
Reprise or pray

Join and separate
Purge and convict
Restore and redeem
Dismay

A town called Sunshine

Posted on April 11, 2015 by aperture

Construction grey and rubble blue

Fluoro fashion, steel cap boots

Not a namesake, urban glare

Grinding metal jack-hammer blare

Plank and rail winding on

Milestones leading to no end

Nestled in a corner cave

Industrial music blend

Like a gold tooth in a cavity smile

Where tools, utensils, blades and brushes

Create a different landscape

If only imagined, constructed

Paint explodes outside its doors

Spraying over asphalt floors

Footprints of an architect

To renovate our minds

Pop up places, lounge lattes

Created art resides in spaces

Amid the mesh and metal maze

True sunshine on their faces

“But we do try to turn our backs on the fog and squarely face the sunshine.’ – Vladimir Nabokov

Links:

Sunshine Art Spaces Victoria, Australia

Photographic project, Sunshine Victoria – Brad Axiak

Wellness

Image

Better put down breakfast green
Chia swollen in my cheek
Sprouted spelt, kefir, scobie
Ferment mouldy – in one week!

Gather, feast on fruit, fowler
Pummel nuts, mix with seeds
Grind and blend, raw and cultured
Peck at shoots, forage weeds

Solar passive perch above
Cocky landlord’s heavy hand
Our beauty mask smother mud
Bury bodies in the sand

It ruffles feathers, talk above
Telling us to live our lives
Strictly watching whether we
Survive or if we thrive

Barely tolerable compare them to
That barking brute who’s tethered
With left wing broken, right wing spared
For escapades we’re de-feathered

We hobble round and round about
Without a speck of fleas
For now we’ll nest, one day we’ll dare
To spread wings, fancy-free

Communal Feast

Image

Today I wear a light grey merino top

It clashes with the rainbow scarf around my neck

But I wear it still as it is starting to match my hair

The people on my street don’t care much for matching

While the sun still shines the people browse along

Faces I meet they parade up street

Their past-times more familiar than names

Sitting beside the hearsay at the apple crate café

The brightly coloured relics of their hey-day

Brighten up the lives that brace against the passing grey

Away from the fray, yet near the river mouth

Just past forty three degrees south

Peering above my flat cup of white

The silage bales stew in the distant sun

Which competes with the wind for our small talk

Those endless competitors above watch us walk

People repeatedly robe and disrobe themselves

To much amusement of the elements

Refusing to be beaten in, they bask and burn

Under thin ozone and populate their skin

Little milk foam and chocolate smudged moustaches

Wander off on long leash with forget-me-nots and top knots

Blowing in the breeze, running, squatting, jumping

On mud-spot rainbow legs and boots like little bugs

Eating rocks and ripping leaves under the vacant gaze

Of tired eyes hiding under free-form hair

The wasps hover over mistaking my plate

For the garden from which it came

I make a side serving for them so they can sit

Humble company float before me incessantly

But much less obtrusively than

My own little bugs

My kind companions

Posted on April 7, 2015 by aperture

Comfortable and close they are
When we spend time together
Freely not thriftily, more familiar
With one another as we buy more time

Old friends they are who stick beside
My bedside in all weather
We gaze outside the window
Inspired yet silent

Then all at once our speechlessness
Pours forth in a flurry
A sounding board we speak aloud
In synergy and stereo

Cutting through the ringing silence
We meditate in all things said and unsaid
Wit and whim, in careless abandon
Combine with comebacks never delivered

Upon the page we gaze at one another
Contentment seeps in
So close we can embellish our flaws
Sitting patiently again with me…

My words, my kind companions