Through the Front Window
Leaves flicker in anticipation.
When they are gone,
Branches will sway and twist.
Everything is music, is dance.
Coloured lights will reveal on hills.
Bobbing, as boats in a bay,
Everything is art.
Reading the poetry and works of Czelsaw Milosz, Boris Pasternak and Anna Akhmatova over the next wee while to sustain the soul.
Taken up singing with a classical choir whilst in search of Jazz and Ella’s song book. I think the music’s coming back to Wool City.
Black mohair project almost at completion.
Poetry, music, love….what else do you need apart from a good soup for lunch. Broccoli and green lentil today.
Posted in art, autumn, Jazz Singer, Knitting, Listening, Love, music, Poetry, Writing |
Tagged Feelings, Poem, rainy day, Russian poets, songs |
Peace by day
The beast unleashes itself at midnight
She not he
A recurring pattern, fuelled
A baby cat, like a child
In amongst all that, cowering
Be careful what you teach your children
Or they will grow up
Shouting abuse in the middle of the night
Kind and loving words save hearts
In Yorkshire there’s a saying –
. It’s a county which has always been very good at recycling, dealing with rubbish and finding a way to make a living from it. Rag and bone men, the horse and cart, salvage yards, vintage shops – all are rooted in this old industrial place and have thrived for decades. Trends come and go. But nothing is as certain as where’s there’s muck there’s brass . mekin somat outta nowt
In ancient pollution
The beautiful game played
A conveyor belt of metal
Humans in cans
Oblivious to sound