Daydream

Hand prints
Evidence of touch
Yearning pale skin
Rising to meet

Mind prints
Sight of exploration
Flickering images
Lighting the eyes

Body imprints
Echo of sensation
Rhythmically moving
Swaying with lust

'Imagine': Connections with contemporary artists

Once again the happy connections that are constantly weaving themselves around me struck this evening. I'd done a favour for one of my lawyers and I was merrily bouncing back to the office with an armful of books when the most amazing image in a local art gallery window stopped me in my tracks. Being easily distracted by an open door, sounds of a party and free champagne, I wandered in and jotted down a few thoughts.

My Great Aunty Phyllis

A lifetime away; another world.

A memory of farm, warm kitchen

A basket of kittens, a new pet

A whisking of eggs, dessert made

A multitude of people, friends all

A tree of cherries, pink tongues

A Victorian loo, too high for me

A white garden gate, coming home

All images to carry, she's there still

A loved lady, a precious aunt. 

Phyllis Mary Boulcott (nee Jones) of Much Cowarne, (formerly of Home House, Bringsty). Died peacefully at Hereford County Hospital on June 5th, 2012 aged 89 years. Much loved wife of Percy, mother of Jean, Pam and the late John.

Bomarzo and Ariosto: Moon, Madness and Hippogriffs

It occurred to me the other day that there was no renaissance material on this blog, which given my background, is a travesty! So I was looking around my archives and I found this little something on topics very close to my heart;  poetry, gardens and intellectual endeavour. Using a sixteenth century epic poem called Orlando furioso I explore how it influenced key aspects and themes of the so-called Parco dei Mostri, a fabulous Italian renaissance garden. 

Rothko and the Late Series: A very late review...from 2009

This review has been sitting on my bookshelf for a few years but I still think it has something of value to say about Mark Rothko. Revisiting the Tate rooms a short while back, his Murals remain some of the most monumental pieces of art I've ever seen. For me, a backdrop for contemplation and dreaming, self examination and inspiration. For others, something darker and more terrifying.

Moon

My eyes drawn upwards,
Bright lights direct
Destination moonlight;
Hematite heaven draped
With dainty weblike clouds.
Artificial vented wisps
Compete to clothe the sky.
Yet moments romantic,
Illuminated by silvery sky,
Between my soul's windows
And the unattainable moon
Reflect veiled drifting
Dreams of longing love.

Sea Sky Earth

Sea stripes
Turquoise slices
Pebbly froth
Flinty golds
Rhythmic diamonds
Across the bay


Trees tower
Malachite fibrous
Leafy frills
Wispy verdure
Still dewy pearls
Across the sky


Fields enclosed
Emerald facets
Grassy fronds
Tamed nature
Scatters floral gems
Across the earth

Reigning on One's Parade?: Diamond Geezer at the William Wilson Gallery

I’m so underwhelmed by the whole Jubilee jamboree that I’m planning on disappearing this weekend and avoiding my beloved London for the entire flag waving four days. So anything which pokes fun and subverts this Establishment show is absolutely welcome, which is why I found myself in Hatton Garden, EC1 twice this week heading towards the Wilson Williams gallery. The irony begins before you even get to the curious little gallery, with the gorgeous windows of many jewellery shops having a queenly theme; emphasising the diamond, in diamond Jubilee.

Sensory Idyll

Scents of childhood return;

Retreated ignored to hidden spaces

Winter is a dusty attic; yet in

Summer thoughts come out to play

Smells so vivid, arresting

Cut grass, staining so stubborn

Throwing off clothes encumbrant

To lie, face down, in the green

Sights to unfurl the heart

Honeysuckle pinkly glowing

Intoxicating iridescent flies

To watch, to dream, take flight

Water with magnetic attraction

River's forbidden, dangerous allure

Caress my fingers, lap at my toes

To tingle, to entwine, with icy foam

Stealthy plucking of stolen herbs

Youthful exploratory palate

Bitter sorrel, warm sage, fennel chewed

To taste, to experience, all is new

Mind excludes all external sounds

The background clamour drowned out

My humming company of voices

To listen, to question, noise unceasing

My young senses are all still here:

Tuned, acknowledged and vital

Constantly quickening because

If forgotten, summer's over, dead.