Tears and Tina Turner

For the lost love.

If I were a poet
I would write something
About your tears.
Or about mine.

It's difficult to tell
which is which of the tears
that slide across your face.
One hangs across the bridge of your nose.
One second it pauses,then falls
And soaks into the pillow.
One second is enough
To make you look foolish.

In my mind
You become foolish
And I am sad about that.
I send you a silent apology.
But the damage is done.

April 1990

It is raining and cold,somehow on a dreary Saturday afternoon I have recalled a lost love.Ah! As I remember painful but wouldn't have missed it for the world.

I will always remember
The first sight of you.
Hunched in nervous embarrassment,
Half smile flickers across your face
Unsure of who I was.
Unsure of who I am
I smiled in welcome
Knowing you would be
important in my life.
In that first instant
I knew.

I will always remember
The last time I saw you
Your face closed against emotion
Unsure of what you wanted.
Unsure of who I am
I left you there
Knowing you would be important
in my life.
In that last instant
I knew you.
,

The Road to Damnation revisited

My goodness me I am so nervous and feel quite sick to my stomach. I have decided to paint a collage ( the road to damnation) it's on the blog somewhere.I wanted to paint it as soon as it was finished but until Third Sister suggested it I had pushed it into the too hard basket.Now here I am at the point of seriousness.I have washed the colours in roughly but it looks so confusing and I don't know where to begin overlaying.My god I don't even know if I am using the right terminology.You have to laugh don't you?

The Flasher

When I was around six or seven years old,one of our neighbours flashed me .It wasn't premeditated ,rather an opportunity taken is how I recall it.Anyway the incident,while not causing me any fear,has bubbled away in my head until this fell out.

       He shelters in a little wooden room
       His furniture clamped tight about him,
       Protecting him from prying eyes.

      He scuttles in the street
      He feels the hostile glances brush his flesh
      Their angry murmurs pain his head
      He worries to be home instead.

      His eyes are sly and womanwise.
      If needs be met he must be seen
      His parts displayed,
      To be admired,
       To be judged.
      Then home to wonder
      At the emotional upheavel in his breast.
      This?  
      His life reduced to this?

We are still here.

This really did fall out of my head in about five minutes I hope I haven't read it somewhere.It's very country and it made me cry bwaaaah.It is sort of what my Dad might say to Mum.
       
Life has lined your face
Disappointment dragged your mouth.
Twisted limbs betray my steps.
Bones that creak and knees that crack
The pain residing in your back.

Love has kicked and bruised your heart
As mine has damaged been.
Still I think of you
Recalling how you were.
Now I look at you
And love the way you are.
Candles glow and in their light
I see that we are beautiful tonight.

Blue boxes

So there I was looking at boxes again ,only this time I could choose one colour with which to paint.I chose blue for no particular reason.And it turned out like this .

Boxes

Three or four weeks ago,I have lost track of time as it has been a hectic month, my Third sister came to spend a week with me. The object being to do some serious arty stuff.My mum had bought me paints and brushes for xmas and I had spent the following six months looking at them in terror and bewilderment.Therefore sister to the rescue,she is an amazing art teacher and after several hilarious failures I actually drew some boxes

Chopped Liver

How many paths to the top of the hill?

How did she manage to choose the very path 

on which I was standing

Like a stunned mullet

Trying to choose my own path.

Like two crippled Clots on the landscape

We stumbled and limped up the bloody hill.

Until,wretched with our company,we dispersed.

I don't need you now

I have friends.

How many pieces of a journey can be divided by two?

I'll take Stupid and Lazy,

I can live with that.

You take Critical and Judgemental,

I hope you'll be very happy together.

Somewhere in amongst the accusations

I remember Laughter,

Very thinly spread,but there.

Raucous and Joyful once or twice,

But who remembers who owns what anymore?

I don't need you now

I have friends.

What does that mean?

How do you decide when someone becomes chopped liver?

How do you come to a conclusion

without Bitterness and Bile?

How do you continue with them?

So you don't need me now

You have friends.
Well then,it looks like I'm the chopped liver.

Connecting the Dots for Lee-Ann

A few months ago I had an early morning Idea, yes another 3 am job.I wanted to create something that evoked the new connection that we seven siblings now have.I am not expressing this very eloquently but it had to be based on an Indigenous design yet not stealing from their art form.It is all about emotional stuff and belonging somehow to The Group.I have noticed that when connecting the elements together I became increasingly emotional as the gaps closed .It is not finished I still need a connection or two and then to glaze it but I am so impatient.