I really wish people could stop
Popping their own clogs
Or trying to pop their own clogs
By jumping from things or under things or into the sea
Or by other means
Things must feel terribly bad
Far and away beyond sad
With really no fun left to have
To End yourself quietly but violently; then finally
Be silent.
Third suicide in a year
I should put in a line about tears
For the sake of a rhyme?
No, the tears are not mine
They are shed by those closest, most dear
“I don’t know what else I can say,
I could hang on the ‘phone anyway
And just listen to your static.”
I’m ecstatic
Engines groan, urging and streets sigh
Fight and win or lose and die
White frames and harsh lights for the new under glass
Dirty mouths and dark shadows for the old in the underpass
Bodies sat in chairs, chattels hanging, wired in
No-one knows the future but they keep on spinning
Vigilant faces scan the melee
Empty hearts that make their way
Check in on themselves once in a blue moon
How do you feel? Who are you?
I discovered this applique technique just before finishing the course and I wish I had had more time to explore it further. I also developed a new style of lip with this pot by thinning and cracking the dry clay. I had previously discovered that glaze Antique Pewter produces a green verdigris colour when mixed with ordinary white glaze, so I applied it over white glaze to produce the green colours on this pot.
Today my heart feels full, like a comb full of honey
Swollen like a harvest moon it presses on my chest
Making my breaths short and my temperament cross
Anxiety looms
Hope that is slightly less bad now?
On a windy April day with sunny spells we watched Marsh Harriers through our binoculars.
A Marsh Harrier, my contribution to Cambridge Community Quilt.
Marsh Harrier painted at school after work experience at Wicken Fen.
I have trouble with the concept of time
Time is relative, but the clock in my consciousness doesn’t tell me the time
It shows and plays me sensations, experiences, memories and dreams of textures, colours, sounds and moods
My thoughts drift back and forth, up and down; dividing, linking, growing
If I take time, my mind is free and perhaps I’ll make something beautiful
If I sell my time, I’m bound
Music and poetry free my mind in time, measuring and celebrating the moments like blessed water
Collage 1 ‘Cocoon’ – For Sister
Collage 2 ‘Peonies’ – For Mother
I admit I’m getting too much mileage out of old stuff recently (this is from 1995) but I am posting this to set the bar; I really want to get back into regular practice with water colours.
Florence Meade 