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. 

Endless

Take me I'm yours
Look at the sky
Endlessly dark
Pierce me with light


Have me I'm free
Listen to waves
Repeatedly hard
Openly there's no fight


Make me I'm yours
Touch the stones
Caress the velvet
With only pure delight

Love pain

Pain intentional
Quickening nothing
Making heart wrench


Deep slicing
Hurt darkening
Not finding a way


Blissful emptiness
Longing for releases
Deafening capsules


Not going away
Intentional harm
Droplets ooze


Screaming ache
Of darkness calling
Pain intended

Detachment

An introspective greyness
Bodies hunched
Wading through damp air

Daytime misery of society
Brought unwillingly
Into reluctant light

Concrete ribbons leading
To serene glass heights
Contents marching emptily

Those who haven't, gaze
Seeing or unseeing
Eyes unreadable souls detached

Those who have, gaze
And don't see purposefully
Willing slaves to this dank world

Serenity, Or On Ben Nicholson's 1935 (white relief)

Simplicity of whites
Circles encircle
Lines divide

Perfection of balance
Attention held
Quiet abstraction

Moment of time
Storm clouds gather
Friends harmonious

Expanse of space
Moons and suns
Shadows cast

Held in thrall
Geometric precision
Monumental comforting


On Ben Nicholson 1935 (white relief)
And a reminder of a serene Saturday.

On Gorecki's 'Three Pieces in Old Style'

Building swelling notes,

Gentle discordant constraint

With excursions

Bursting into pure

Unrestrained spine tingling joy.

A final flourishing,

Belated bass

Exuberant see-sawing

Hipswaying rhythm;  

Giddy chords giggling

Persistent pleasure dancing.

Final consuming crescendo

Over too quick,  

Breathless bass

Slow languidity snaking

Through warm vitulic wood; 

Constant sad strings eking out sound

Pitch changing mood switching

Arabesquing bows

Depth resolving, resolved.

Bowing bass

A word sketch of the 3 parts. A beautiful piece, thank you City of London Sinfonia - and their bass player.

Me and bees

Gentle hum
A traffic of bees
Sweet silence

Greening shoots
Bright like suns
But nectar free

Endless blue
A swirling of bees
Dizzying heights

Golden smears
A frenzy of bees
Frantic foraging

Quiet haze
The city is distant
Just me and bees


For the Museum of London bees (Spring 2012). I hope their colony gets stronger.

And then someone responded to my word of the day 'bugonia' on 29 Oct 2012 and I giggled:

Ruminating in fields of mines
Hazardous to the herd
Blissfull grazing grass

The cow explodes

A swarm of yellow and black
Bee gone with you
Be gone with ya
Bugonia

Challenges

 
Frenetic challenging intense
A room of competing voices
Leaving mind numbly racing
Ideas demanding attention

Yes I'll deal with you later

Fragrant beguiling twilight
A day easing by the scents
Making sense of a change in pace
Ideas forming through anticipation
 
Yes these thoughts suit me fine

Fanciful meaningful philosophy
Contrasting connections with  glee
Scribbling still enjoying the thrill
Preferring the challenge of something new 

On Epstein's 'Rock Drill'

Supercilious creature looks on
With eyeless disinterested stare.
Refusing to meet the viewer's gaze

Artificial muscles threaten space
Black bronze sheen pure machine
Contrasting with viewer's living warmth

Potent snout under curved skull
No vulnerability in this metal shell
Existing only to intimidate viewer's mind

Once looming over all it surveyed
Proud to rape and plunder, with efficient virility
Demonstrating earth and human fragility

Now left castrated by artist's horror of war
Itself caught in the destruction torn limb from drill
Left impotent for the viewer's judgement

Hard torso emphasises open curved chest cavity walls
Emphasising soft shaped tiny humanity within
Proudly, gently, cupping viewer's subservience

On Wyndham Lewis's 'Smiling Woman Ascending a Stair' (c.1911)

A dark derangement of lines
Leering out in masked smile.
Angular triangulation bursting
Moving pointedly, awkwardly.

Daring us
Fascinating us
Challenging us

To follow her up the stairs
Despite illumination demonic
Soft warm shades are found within
To drag us down with blind assent.

Untitled

Frenzied orgiastic colours
Obliterating self
Losing reality
In a mass of coiled bodies

Shapeless formless helpless
Losing sanity
Organic movement
Just accept dotted fluidity

Intricate dirtied balletic
No end no beginning
Losing focus
Surrender to tangled sensation

On Yayoi Kusama's Infinity Nets

From the minute dark intense
To the frenzied open nets
More rhythmically enclosing

Yet opens thoughts and
Imagination breathes infinitely
With happy textures

A distant suedelike softness
Focusing inward, hungrily
Grasping. Determined. Obsessive.

Panic Attack

When heavy air wears thin as
Tired patience. Breathless. Tight.
Once freely open friendly
Turns dense panic gasps:
Madly sucking down.
As an addict their empty bottle
One useless heaving pull at a time.
Constricted tortured capillaries
Cry out, 'give me oxygen!'
Release the inelastic of those bands
And cut free the plastic round my heart.

Enchantment

Window on the stars
Light absorbing eyes
Shining in delight
Wondrous, stirring, deep.

Points of light
Some real
Some reflect
Reaching out forbidden.

Edges cracking silently
Semi opaque
Fluid enchantment
Dark, delving, endless.

On Stanislaw Libensky and Jaroslava Brychtova 'Arcus 1' (1991)