Tuesday, April 7

Holy Week...Stations.


I used the collages and pics of my assemblages to create a sort of Stations of the Cross a couple of years ago. 
We placed it in the little garden of a local Community Centre called The Oaks. 
People were invited to walk in the garden and pray or meditate..or just sit and be quiet.
This Holy Week we have decided to post some of them in the little front gardens of the gallery here at The Potters House Penketh. 
But I've also added some poems which were written for a collaboration that I had with my artist friend..@barbarajones when we walked together in Croxteth Park and Walled Garden once a month for a year.
The poem today was inspired by that walled garden.
But could just as easily be attributed to the gardens in the front of the shop!
They have been left very much to their own devices...and are a bit wild. 

I've always loved this verse in the Gospel of Matthew
*
Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin  yet I say to you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these...



I'm hoping to publish some of the other posters and poems through the week.
So far these two are in the garden.
Stay safe...Stay well.
Much love.
Station three: Jesus falls the first time

Saturday, April 4

Poem...Gathering Bones



ipad drawing of bones at Largy

I’m gathering bones together
On the studio floor.
Crouching down and
Staring at an  assemblage.
Here a nest of bones as
Pale as shadows
On the polished wood.
There a craze of broken glass with
Distorted reflections.
I’m Alice.
Walking through a splintered world
Bridging the actual and
The probable.
 I’m pacing the room and
Glancing back at a vanitas. I 
hear the sound of my own wretched bones
And weep at coming death.

... after reading Gregory Orr’s poem…."Gathering the bones together".
*
I'm involved with an email post called
LITERARY COMFORT FOODS
It's such a good link with people who inspire me in so many different ways and with the lockin holding fast the internet is such a blessing.
*
This poem was sent and received and a grand kind critique along with it also.
*
I've plucked up enough techie courage to send it to 20 others.
Poets, artists, musicians.
My only mistake...as dad used to say...was not reading the instructions carefully.
20 women.
I put 3 men it there!!
Ooops
I think they deserve to be there!


Friday, April 3

Beyond the Curtain...



I deserted Blogland for quite a while...my first writing was on 5th March 2010.
I was seduced by face book, twitter and in particular Instagram.
All under the name of Geraldine Snape
Except f/b The Potters House Penketh.
But there's something about the solitary life we are now living here at The Potters House in Penketh and the fact that due to our age we have to stay on the property
that has brought me back to Blogger.
From time to time I kept up with many of the others that I follow.
In particular 
weaverofgrassblogspot.com
and
kindredofthequietwayblogspot.com
But also many others including poets from across the world.
I'm writing this now for myself as a sort of diary...which was why I started in the first place.
and whether anyone reads it or not...I have put on it what has touched my heart that day.
Will I stop when all of this is a memory?
Who knows what the future will hold!

Thursday, April 2

..cometh the day...





Antibiotics

She never cried, she was as solid as a rock

Except on the days she remembered her sister
And the fun they had shared in the big house.
But apart from that she was a stoic and
I knew that the winds of life would not bend her.
Except on the days we made the beds together
And she sighed as quiet tears wet her marshmallow cheeks.
A memory of her mother tucking white crisp hospital corners
Around striped ticking mattresses.
But that was all there was to it then.
I could never hope to come up to that steely reserve
And be the unmoved.
Though there were occasions when the armchair in the corner
By the fireplace seemed too big for her.
Too big, and she filled  the edges of the cushions
With lace edged hankies damp and tucked away and hidden.
Then her brother's name was whispered quietly
As if such a thing could never have happened.
Though it did, for those were the days before the miracles.
We call them antibiotics and warn our families against taking them.


Portrait  of mum by @rosiemcclellandart...my sister.
Always stylish!!



Tuesday, March 31

Billie Holiday - Willow, Weep For Me

I've been listening to Billy sing this since I was 16. When I was 20 I sang it myself on a Jazz programme on BBC NI. I probably just about copied her interpretation note for note! I've just listened to the other greats having a go...Frank..Ella...Barbara..Sarah...good..but compered to Billy..not the soul there that she puts into it.

This is a time world wide for weeping. just looking at what is happening now in India makes me weep. Gone are so many dreams in the blink of an eye. I don't mean to be morbid...jazz has always been my go to place with my emotions upbeat and down! Stay as safe as you can is all I can pray for you and me.x

Saturday, March 28

Song for Spring


Song for Spring



Praise be to the swallows
Who dared to venture north this week
Praise be to those fellows.

Praise be to the sun
All glorious in the shadows it throws
Praise be to the sharp sun.

Praise be to the green grass
Softening the verges with the red bilberry
Praise be for the petrichor.

Praise be to the coal black ravens
Nesting high in the tallest beech trees
Praise be for cawing birds.

Praise be for the seasons
Catching us unawares each year
Praise be for the northern spring.

...there is time to enjoy and time to reflect...