Turquoise Monster

Writing from Art The Wilson Gallery Cheltenham March 2017

The street loomed in the silver light
Or rather it lurched as it luminesced
Moon beams reflected a muted rainbow
Just at the edge of perception
A reflexion of it’s own subtle glory
Hung distorted in the river’s ripples

A lonely figure wrapped in trench coat
With broken seams jerked like a lost puppet
Caught on every word and miss-remembered cues
A hope burned within the creature
That one of the candescent windows
Would open and beckon them in

Frost began to rim the moon
Diffusing the light to a crystal shimmer
Spreading out and clogging in the air
With ice that hurt the lungs to breath
The light now was nothing but glitter
Obscuring the murder of Unknown

Writing from Art – a visit to the Wilson March 2017

Red tiles, over red brick
Some more orange, others dirty brown
The roof top sagging
Under weight of baked clay
Keeping assorted timber dry
It warped and yearned
Until men built of muscle came
Sweat slicked
Even in cold grey months
They move and shift each piece
Again and again
As each makes it’s circuit
From green wood to ready timber
No bowing is allowed
Beyond the little yard
Docks sprawl
At it’s back the city, trussed
But busseling with the clamour of the day
Not yet fulling grown from it’s township
Soon the time of metal will be
And the sagging roofs will sag to collapse
Boards rotting
Homes to nothing but beetles
And stray cats.

Written in response to the exhibition in The Wilson Gallery, Cheltenham March 2017.

Jagged drinks for the eye
Landscapes of texture
Dripping, sagging, oozing
Peaking up frozen
Wavelets
Diminished into regularity
Repeat, retrieve, remake
Copies not exact
Learning a scatter
Of new from old
Forms reborn
Syntax looms in loops
Half formed
Floating on and on
A clank
Wobble of endurance
Zoning to grey

Brains switched on
Axons firing
Knowledge stores – ACTIVATED
Commence writing!

I am hinged in the Middle
I am a book with two front covers
Two stories interleaved
Ones upside down and back to front
But flip me over
And it’s the other way round

I am a thought cascade
I am an idea intrusion
Scientist and Artist
Creative mind
Non-linear: mold breaker
I am hinged in the Middle

Turgid fire
Strikes
Lethargy
Pulling
Down
To a soft
Demise
Melting ice
Sublimed
To steam
Obliterating
With liquid
Slow flame

Insomnia has furnished me with a poem
It banged in my skull
Preventing sleep
Until the pen I took in hand
Hammering words to the page
Creative upholstery
On a word wood frame
A poem has furnished me with insomnia

Potential thickens the air
As much as pollutants in water vapour
Choking us all in humility
As another war is fought
Out of sight

Unknown to our media eyes
The bodies mount and maggots spew
Into the night eating dreams
Of a tomorrow that may now
Never be

Having discovered the concept of Pi poems from @iBecket I’m being all excited about writing a really long one!

Pi poems or piems are where you make each line of the poem as long as the digits in the mathematical constant pi. This is mention in text books etc… simple as a way to memorise pi.

But the poems themselves have become a specific style of poetry – an art form onto themselves. Now pi is still being worked out by the maths bodes (or at least by their computers!) and is thought to be a never ending number with no recursion or repeats in it ie not a number like 0.232323232323232323 but one where the digits can’t really be predicted like that so 1.3984759202843.

Part of the joy of the pi poem is that it can be as long or as short as you want it because it depends purely on how many digits you want to include!

I have now been working on this concept for a couple of years 🙂

I think it shall take me long yet to get what I want!

And it is not the only constant I wish to represent in this way!

There was a tower
within the tower
fractal within
Models without
Nested ideas
Realities bloom
Stars seen
Astronomy folly
Lonely on the hill
Waiting
Pregnant with itself
Do you
Paint, drawn, write
Explore?

There was a tower
within a tower
Modelled in the tower
and so on and on
Outside a sheep bleats
And the lightning conductor
Corrodes
Numbers and stitch
Craft and design
Inovations rule
Old and new

The tower
within the tower
Is a little worse for wear
So is the viewer
And the within is without
Fractal nature
Learning at school
Will the tower
within the tower
Grow some day?
Creating
New Follies
Old follies
Seemed like
A good idea

The Tower
There are never really
bad ideas
Just different to the plan
A universe
Not bounded
Though it often seems
That way
A tower within
And one
One without