A Message In A Bottle

It found me.

Here.

. . . . .

You said you knew the perfect place to run to. 

A place that was empty of people, and buildings, and far, far away. 

A place covered in blood-red earth and sleeping life. 

A place longing to come alive again. 

It’s a place for disappearing, you’d said, 

a place for getting lost...and for getting found.

I’ll take you there, you’d said.

And I could say that I agreed.

– Lucy Christopher

Singular And Centred

when you have everything.

– Unknown

The Way It Ought To Be

The

– its cheerful expansiveness

urged on by the sun.

Casting Your Eyes

imagine

everything, 

if you will,

bleached

of colour

…

Hope To See You Out There

eliciting some kind of response,

some kind of personal perception

with everything that is happening.

Like Every Other Day

There's Still Time

The Atmosphere Of Things

Too soon it vanishes…

And It Leads You There

A Play Of Art

At hand – an alternative perspective fostered

by a collaborative integration of ideation.

Beneath Blue Skies

An aged, neglected shape
postured in an interminable stillness
creates a certain impression.

Beyond The Confines Of Inside

A spectator, summoning both time and energy, returns to the ever-changing world out of doors. In an attempt to understand its vitality, the eyes take note of the earth's voluminous artistry, while the mind questions how it all happens that way. Feeling at home in it the spirit tries to make a connection with the landscape's slow exposure, to capture something of its continuous state of flux. The voice endeavours to express something of the laborious process bound to its earthy poetry. Within a notebook, caught up in the present moment, the hand tries to sketch the fullness felt in that particular environment, hoping to exemplify everything existing the way it does – but also, wanting to go further than that…

From Lost To Found

A black line drawn across an indefinite sky

balances the silhouetted form of a stock-still bird.

Down below, an extension of Spring steps out

into the foreground of this exterior space…

Companioned By An Aura Of Light

You Have Drawn Them There

Every person, all the events of your life, are there 

because you have drawn them there. What you 

choose to do with them is up to you.

– Richard Bach

Wanting Not To be Found

Behind the biggest of the two tree's, a couple of eyes hide – wanting not to be found. The seeker, just a few feet away is distracted. Intrigued by the tire swing swaying ever so gently in the breeze, she quietly inches her way into the picture and approaches the swing. Panicked by the close proximity of the girl who is 'it', the girl of nine, not wanting to be tagged, darts out from behind the tree past her startled friend and kicks a hollow white can sitting in the middle of the backyard. Another  friend who had previously been caught, shouts for joy because she has just been freed. An instant later the girls quit their game and take turns pushing each other on the swing. Their laughter gets carried away – up into the sweet Spring air. A little later the rain comes, chasing them all inside for the remainder of the day…

As It Warms You

THE SUN

Have you ever seen

anything

in your life

more wonderful

than the way the sun,

every evening,

relaxed and easy,

floats toward the horizon

and into the clouds or the hills,

or the rumpled sea,

and is gone--

and how it slides again

out of the blackness,

every morning,

on the other side of the world,

like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly oils,

say, on a morning in early summer,

at its perfect imperial distance--

and have you ever felt for anything

such wild love--

do you think there is anywhere, in any language,

a word billowing enough

for the pleasure

that fills you,

as the sun

reaches out,

as it warms you

as you stand there,

empty-handed--

or have you too

turned from this world--

or have you too

gone crazy

for power,

for things?

– Mary Oliver

All Morning

Carried away with it all.

In An Unlikely Place

In a different room

facing some other window

the hand drafts a poem.

. . . . .

Waiting.

Thinking.

Negotiating.

Into The Open Air

Light falls clarifying the seagull's face.
The swan, bowing in solemn repose,
appears lost, fixed to some kind of dream.

To Say Something About It

Just To Stay Near It

The power of it.

. . . . .

Certain things catch your eye, 

but pursue only those that capture the heart.

– Ancient Indian Proverb