The sun shines on all who stand in it...

Out of the brightness

And away from the warmth 

Fears and insecurities 

Stand pale in the shadows,

- I won't feed them with idle thought

And they will starve and die…

When they do

I won't need go to the funeral

- Unless I wear bright colours

And dance!

Rise up

Knelt by the fire's edge I watch as glowing embers die.

A lone strand of curling white smoke surrenders…

It's not a lie to say that my heart broke a little.

Alone except for midnight gloom

- I huddle close to the memory of the blaze.

A weight pulls my shoulders closer to the ground,

I steady the sway

The floor, still warm

The optimism, faint

Knowing soon that even the smell of burnt hope will fade…

While the resignation of heat is served,

I know tears have no place here,

Neither do questions… 

Reluctantly - I rise to face the dawn.

The harsh reality of daylight

Gives birth to certainty 

- All must go on.

Pearl or Diamond

Accessorise your understanding with the sparks of humour. 

Tainted

The perfectionist driven by inherent flaw

- Will never be at peace.

Disappointed with mild admiration,

I fear that my desire to inflame

- Will corrupt me.

Where the wild fires burn

Fresh shoots will grow.

Way out?

Where is the hope?

I sit on the steps in the evening shade

while the dogs frolic in the cool grass.

Black African ants frisk my outline

and begin to climb all over my feet

I stomp at them.

In the distance

the dusty city of Johannesburg jigsaws the horizon.

Far from those hard structures

live the outcast hopes and dreams of a tin shack village,

hemmed in by flash board adverts of a better life... 

An unkempt man walks by,

how can there be any hope?

Inspecting insect bites on my arms

my mind wanders back to the make shift maze…

The swarming ants fight a battle I no longer care to defend,

I go indoors.

Fighting the urge to put my head on a cool pillow and forget my thoughts,

I am seduced to slumber by the African sun.

Way out?

Sleep - the path to all our dreams...

If you hit your head against a tree

- You get bark!

Monologue

Final production after a two year stretch...

My director was 'Mr Shakespeare'. He really did look like Shakespeare, beard and everything. Ah no, he didn't wear period dress, but then again I guess for some people - that's debatable…

Anyway he cast me as a drunk, 'Gay Wellington' and a Russian Duchess 'Olga'. What a contrast! Or in some cases, not so much…

Anyway, I was unhappy about both characters. The total spread of my lines probably filled less than a page! 

Oh what a travesty! 

Okay - in the great scheme of things, not so much, but I did feel slighted.

When people asked me what part I got, I felt embarrassed to say. You know - you get that knowing look… Now I did learn, later in my dramatic education how to make the most of a bad situation…but that's another story!

Anyway I foolishly spoke to the drama king about my parts, I say foolishly because it just created cards of elastic -  anything I did from then onwards in his class always brought me back to that moment. I knew he could not re-cast but I did need some reassurance...

Talk to the mirror

I think 'Heir Director' was trying to teach me that you can not negotiate with your leader, any requests I made were denied - any avenues I wanted to take my characters down were met with a padded wall - he would just simply, gently, patiently, and positively say "NO!"

It was an old style American Comedy. So on one occasion I tried some old fashioned slapstick for the drunk. He watched my routine, smiled - then said 'NO!'

He sent me off to the make up and wig department to discuss what they had planned for me. Needless to say the whole experience felt like prison.

I didn't want to play an old woman and in his mind the Duchess was ancient! I tried to play the drunk young, but I was told she was ancient too! Well... I... er...  went a bit method and er... forgot my lines…

I won't, however, forget the main boss man's parting words at my last tutorial - after serving two years of my life.

He summed it up with

'You didn't quite get the characters - did you?'

And of course, that's entirely my fault - yeah?!

I did learn how speak like a Russian though...

Leave your issues at the door -

And when you go,

You might forget to pick them up... 

Fiction ofcourse...

Actress   Gif me sum votcarr...

Barman walks over with a new bottle, pours some in glass

leaves them both on the bar. 

As he reaches back to get a packet of crisps for someone else,

a raucous party enter calling out a list of drinks... 

The actress picks up the bottle and her short glass,

carefully tops up her drink,

stops for a moment,

then takes a swig out of the bottle 

and staggers towards the door giggling

Barman   Hey - you can't take it with you!

Actress   'Yeah I know' - but juster watcha me triiii...

Barman to the group as he rushes after her

Barman   And what accent was that!

Seamstress

Trust should be laced with understanding.

O the rust of adoration...

Beached desire

Salted waves of tears

Words - fragmented shells  

Whispered screams

As memories and promises 

shatter on shore

Sepia wreck

Directionless

O the rust of adoration...

My name is Rosa

I'm wearing the remnants of a flower.

Slice of life...

Intoxicated man leans back in his seat

Smart elderly man turns the page of his newspaper

Intoxicated man shouts 'Hey - I wasn't finished yet!'

Smart elderly man frowns hard!

Intoxicated man smiles back lovingly...

Pause - Smart elderly man turns back to the previous page

Tube carriage erupts with laughter.

Sunset of emotion

Autumn of youth

Recycling world -

Rebirth is dew.

Lengthening autumn shadows

At the waters edge I ponder the end...

Anxiety spreads like autumn shadows.

In the distance - singing,

A wailing of slow verse

And off key trills calls me from my sorrow.

Dogs play on the green.

Evening joggers on the trim. 

The universe does not let me drown.

I stand alone on Hammersmith Bridge,

Moored boats begin to merge

Reflected sunset off the cold waters still warm.

Below a lone rower carves his way.

Tiny waves break on the muddy shore

Littered with pigeons and seagulls.

I look up and shrug off my concerns.

I am my own hero.

And for the first time today

I look at the people I pass and smile.

Their chatter, no longer annoying,

But pleasant and melodic…

Like a stray feather tickling my soul.

As the last beams of sunlight wash over my face,

I wonder,

Resigned,

And yet still with a smile - 

Will I ever celebrate in love again?

There are far too many cats in the house…

And until I realise that

The one that I love will always go hungry. 

Pride's love

The other day I watched a wild life documentary, it was a story about a woman who reared an orphaned lion. Webbed at the back of her mind was the knowledge that when the time came, she would set him free. But until then she endowed him with a family's bond of sacrificial care. She had no fear.

She was constantly warmed by his development from feeble cub to magnificent beast, from the playful to the grand. But with cultivated strength came restlessness and sting of the instinctive. Unscarred, his wild beauty was breathtaking, the vibration of his roar inspiring... 

Ignoring the twist of sorrow preparations were made.

In the security of the African National Park he was released in the open scrub. He began to mark his territory further and further afield.

And as he forged a life of his own the woman's heart burst, always, with continued love and pride.

I read somewhere that

'Love does not change - the things we hope for do'

I agree with this and when I meditate on the qualities of real love I am excited by the simplicity of its truth.

Motivational enquiry of nature...

Make room for diversity of character,

Humanity is like minded.

The cost of freedom

Parallels of exodus, like suicide

Leave the land arid, unable

To morn in dignity.

Without remorse, agents of hypocrisy and drought,

Claiming their strength in plight's affection -

Despise the rain.

Tremors unearth a ridiculing stench throwing up forgotten corpses.

The quake, like judgment, unlocks

Crystal Shadows of Fear.

Sunrise

I watched in awe as the birth of the morning

Burst the chill of the silver skies... 

Ephemerality

The other day I saw a homeless man near the bus stop -

He had long, straggly, grey hair and his weather burned face unshaven.

His bluey-grey sweats and trainers were charcoaled by the streets.

He had fallen off the bench and sat still on the cold ground,

No one stopped.

I was curious.

As I approached I saw a can propped up beside a puddle…

He was enveloped by an odorous fusion of alcohol and urine

With a transient plague of pity and guilt I walked by.

Moving away I passed two strolling black youths,

One remarked "We could have stopped… just to get him up…"

His friend did not reply.

And I felt compelled to say

"We could still go back and help him."

But I didn't…

I had a dream about moving towards a crashing wave,

The menacing power of the sea froze my courage

I was neither valiant nor daring.

Who was I?

Shot?

Standing on the top of the mountain did not bring praise,

Then again, wearing a target doesn't help.

Vibrant, fresh and silly

In the heat of the afternoon

My hand plays with cool waters of joy

Silk of peace

Unravels round my neck and body

I jump into the clear blue

Standing on soft shimmering sands of love

And my head above lapping waves of humour

I giggle as brightly coloured fish of adventure

Weave around my ankles, knees and thighs

I look up into the beautiful sky...  

San Diego Zoo 

One good turn…

At closing time, just before we left - my mates, Flossie and Jess, and I, stopped for a burger. We ordered kiddies meals and were given cheerful panda souvenir buckets and cups.

While we sat eating our miniatures, a duck and family waddled passed. The chicks were so fluffy, the mommy bossy and insistent, I threw them some food. Sharing my bread caught the attention of a peacock that cautiously joined us, his tails feathers flicking to his own staccato beat, he danced about until I feed him too. 

Although the coffee shop had closed, a waiter brought out a huge Chelsea bun and offered it to me,

 'Wow - thanks...' I said

'I don't suppose you have a coffee to go with that?'

My friends laughed - he smiled and returned to fill our cups.

...what?

Silk Worm          Do I have to?

Book Worm        Hesitation is not an indication

Of contradiction,

                        In this case procrastination

is just a "delayed persuasion".

Silk Worm          But I don't like change.

Book Worm        Resentment for effecting

Fundamental change

Need not be an internal cause

For personal argument

- But acknowledgement of some

"Domestic Puzzlement".

Silk Worm          I don't understand?

Book Worm        The mystification of clarity is merely

"Affectation in Disguise".

Silk Worm          What?

Book Worm        After all incoherent gesticulation,

Assured "perception of eventuality"

- Will sanction the transpiration

Of the necessary modification…

Butterfly            "Suck it up" squirt and "move on"!

I am a butterfly

…Ever wondered why there's

No windows

In a cocoon?

Where are the crows?

The robin's sharp

Cuts the cosset allowing

Acid of consciousness to seep.

Head in the sand...

What happens when you bury a potato? 

Grey

Out of the windows

Puff at the clouds

Bulb into yellow

N' think of daffodils...

With pallet and blend at sunset -

The world articulates in muted moods and bright vivid tones

Providing a backdrop of visionary jazz

Inviting all for creative dance.  

Today, this question was put to me -

'…just thinking why some people want to express themselves in language and art while others don't appear to.  What do you think?'

The journey of expression

I'll start by answering for myself - I express myself through writing, because sometimes it is the only way I feel I am heard, or more importantly - understood.

Some of my stuff comes from letters or emails I have sent - and on reflection said, 'Oh that's sounds rather poetic, I'll keep it…' 

Some of it comes from the need to document and amend every thought... ever the editor!

An artist's mentality - Van Gogh described his paint brush as a bow between his fingers, creating absolutely for his own pleasure, 

Some wish to leave a legacy,

Others find a way to express freely without judgement.

I do believe it is through necessity for some.

Thinking back to an acting audition, I can now understand why one of my teachers asked us why we wanted to act - I believe he only accepted those to the course who said they had 'no alternative'. Maybe a little extreme on his part, maybe unfair, but desperation does give artistic work a certain urgency and commitment. Maybe this is what is needed to keep going, to keep pursuing the art, to keep writing/acting/painting etc, even when others may criticize, or don't recognise, or believe in the ability…. 

My uncle once said -

'When you reach the point of communication,

Then you have arrived.'

Are you defined by what you are? 

Or does what you do define who you are?

Thoughts of the day

We are all guilty of seeking our own interests in life, and at times we pursue them to the detriment of everything else. When those elements crumble we stand back in amazement!

The illusive quality I am working hard to develop, from my study of the Bible, is to seek the interest of others with kindness, over that of myself.

The logic is, however, that by helping and sharing - we inadvertently help ourselves anyway. This year, this sentiment has been impressed on my heart... and I'll probably have to spend the rest of my life reminding myself of it.

There are many beautiful things in life and I hope I give myself the time to sit back and appreciate them.

Time is moving on - us along with it. Life changes and sometimes we are changed by it... and that's okay.

Stuff happens.

Some things are just like shadows, no need to be afraid.

There can be definites in our lives, it's about recognizing the difference...

For me, my faith is my definite - everything else has a shelf life.

I once saw a signed talk which compared our lives to that of a fly.

We are 'born', we eat, we reproduce and then we die.

A fly, granted, has a shorter span, but in the great scheme of things - we are all specks on a time line.

What separates us from the bugs, animals etc?

Well - one thing is a relationship with God.

If everyone was aware of this and pursued peace with a loving kindness - what kind of world would we wake up to each day?

A slice of life

...Why am I so fascinated by 'Dr Who'? I guess I must have aspirations of being an alien or something - or maybe it's because I've being watching that documentary, you know the one, about our solar system. Seriously though - how beautiful are those worlds? 

- Oh and guess what!

It seems I am no longer the class clown ….. What!!!???.... I know!!!!

There is a guy in my class who was talking about juggling…

I said           What?

He said        Juggling

I said           You juggle?

He said        Yeah…

I said           Oh, are you a clown?

He said        Yeah sometimes

I said           Oh wow - I almost went to clown school!

He said        Nice - what happened?

I said           Oh the shoes were too big...

I did wonder why we were 'competing for laughs'?!