Beware

Dubois, perhaps of De Beauvoir

Shadows; encounters that play with light

Travellers of the world unite as fragments

In the underground concrete departments

Be aware

Meet my friend; he is the one with the knife

Who desires, due to the affair with his wife

To end your life

Sad to have descended

The evening's gaiety upended

Anger lies beside the selfless bonds of consolation

As we delve into your darker nation

Ambient explanations to still the ruffled mind

Silent conversations to view the uneasy interior

Hazily ordained deportations cram the adventurer

Less plain

The particular exploitations to hustle

The all alone, after dark street walker

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Lumière

This is a passing visit - just time to catch up

Refreshment for myself; incommunicado

I'll sit awhile, wander about, and listen to the music

Think of the fountains, outside in the sunshine

Settle in this cool place, with the voices, with the dust

Settle in this cool place, among your pictures

I will settle with trust

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Blue, blue, blue, blue

Did you feel blue

Before the lightness balanced the depression

Did it come to you

Before its brightness anchored the impression

Blue; of sky, of sea

Of elsewhere on your canvas

Do I feel blue

Before you now, or am I lighter somehow

Do I come to you

Brighter, but still somehow, without anchor

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Ave Maria

The intention is black & white

A sort of meerschaum test for the soul

Yet today I am minded

To use the indivisible blue of my youth

Actually the word is Rorschach; no matter

Rain drops and pink spots of sunlight

Break my momentum, I wait by your side

Feeling your search for invisible truth

Voice of life itself, is in song all around me

Her colours are echoes of your blues

Reminders of your solid blacks and reds

Her lows and highs reflect your dark and light

Music; it is an abstract companion

With that even handed softness of touch

That says 'hello you are welcome'

From daybreak

Through to the deep downfall of night

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Workshops

Whichever way you weigh it, eight ounces is eight ounces

Whether flour or margarine or virgins, light in olive oil

Those blackened disks always come into a balance

That irregular scoop of tin dare not defy

The cast iron weighty scale

But your blue apron, dusty and covered in grease

Reminds me of the smiles

On the day the bread was burnt 

When no amount of kneading would have found the underlying texture

Adding even only the tiniest of ounces would have offset the symmetry

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Placement

Straight lines

Frames arranged in a semi-circle

Around stone pillars and prayer rooms

Under arches and overhead vapours

You take your light

Through stained glass windows

Eulogise, from about now

Until…

Well some say

'It will be sometime soon'

Although

For those of a deeper persuasion

A little while longer dwells the silent clock

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Enter

One more line, one more etched away corner

One more hour of darkness, one more morning to dawn

Take me to your dreamer, out of my imagination

Take me then redeemer, out beyond creation

One more - wait before the brushstroke

One more - wait before the breath

Take me as I seem

Take me freely, coming clean

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Tape noise

The idea that you might not

Appear

That the book won't contain your

Look

At the past or future, then

At last

By saying nothing, being nowhere

Slaying

Your demons or those around you

Semen and gossamer in close proximity

You chose by looks

Not to give two…

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Photograph

I read of self, of identity

Of exploration and passage

But David Noon - it is your phrase:

The sanctity offered by the countryside

That lifts my spirits

I want to walk along your pier head

Dive into your water

Let your cold mountain touch my skin

Maybe then

To write of the experience

To let go of the endless search

Camouflaged in regular words

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Designer life

I take in the textual art of one Kayleigh Jackson

I re-tell her tee-shirt slogan

First to my partner and then salaciously - to a crowd

We laugh, it is funny, wicked, lasting

About council estates and girls who might

And boys that say for certain, though not really knowing - right

It's a tough life, an ordeal with little choice or options

Laughter may be the only way of escape

I think at least she has the future of hindsight, go for it - loud

Catherine uses the word myriad; of course she teaches art, and the poetry police have not yet caught up with her. She talks of tentative forays, and a sophisticated understanding; a journey of deep emotion

With a quotation from Pascal her introductory piece is broken in half

But still; all the right words in all the right places

How good to read of such a generous sensitive soul

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Orientation

Upstairs, down stairs

Along corridors, in and out of self partitioned rooms

Some girls have the decorators in

Some boys prefer the game of shadows

I walk in

Ask the teacher if it's ok to take photographs

I'm just another student

Someone else trying to settle on their future

I want you to see more, to read more into this

The next line is blank

For your own thought

Ben did a similar thing with a canvas

A street scene painted entirely in black

The viewer having to move about to catch new light

To see across and over, into and deeper than the surface

I wonder

One day would he lay down a tray of pastels?

Allowing the audience to bring their own rub of colour

And for Emma

Is the process itself self sufficient

To take apart, to put back together, to tear and then to stitch

As if to thump

And then to console 

With a wipe of melted butter

Maybe it is:

To swim underwater for as long as you can

Or as long as you dare

To walk to the extent of your feet's endurance

Or sit in a chair

Is there a search for renewal - but no place for the three act story

Just there and back again, each day a little older

With or without reparation

With or without the fame or glory

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