In Forests #02
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Tag Archives: beauty
In_Forests_#01
Art
What is this this thing called art
this thing I feel smell touch hear see
before me
this mode for the senses to draw upon
this code for the mind to interpret
what is this connection
this very personal yet cultural experience
where is traditional what is contemporary
what is permanent what is temporary
which aspect is simply material
which is internally enhanced
in response to which parts do you remain static
to which do you dance
testament contribution idea retribution
dora’s idea is redistribution
so
let’s make anything into something called art
let’s see if I can do my part
I take an image
something plain as a floor
but it’s where I take it from
that makes it more
I climb stairs I scope and review
until I find just the place that will do
and the floor is no longer just a floor anymore
but a creative rendering of space comes to the fore
this is art
This week Dora challenged we dVerse poets to take something familiar and reimagine it in some way.
Truth and beauty
Each night I met a truthful man who never told a lie
of the future did he speak
of what would come, by and by
I spoke to him of beauty of all the colours I did spy
of the art in human hands
of nature’s talk and saddening cry
we talked for many hours each eve until time came for us to leave
our evensong was together sung
for truth and beauty were as one
in truth humankind will wound the earth in ways terrifying and beautiful
in beauty nature will restore its worth
after humankind is stilled
Poetry days #13.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
Butterflies
Egg, caterpillar, chrysalis and butterfly
a fascinating life cycle my oh my
then at the end away they fly
all love to watch them flying by
those butterflies, an erratic sight
one that engages non linear flight.
on colourful platform will alight,
when the season is just right
pollinating from flower to flower
ideally protected by leafy bower
delight to watch them hour on hour
on floral carpet or growing tower
five flaps per second, a butterfly flits
up then down in lifts and dips
with dramatic wings nature equips
tasting food with feet, strange butterfly grips
each of four wings are made of scales
as bright and light as gossamer sails
ragged wings are when flight fails
end of days on hills and dales
oh how I love the butterflies
that brush the earth and fill the skies
becoming endangered, my heart cries
only stillness and emptiness when every butterfly dies
Cherub
Rest easy little cherub
now day’s busy work is done
and weary tiredness overtakes you
at time of setting sun
when angelic peace comes at last
to your adored and relaxed face
your long soft lashes upon your cheeks
a picture of beauty of grace
as your breathing calms and settles
to the rhythmic patterns of sleep
your flickering eyes and twitching hands
tell of happy dreams so deep
what is it you dream of?
repeating the days play?
of parents love, of sister?
good things only I dare say
sleep calm and in comfort
your next best day yet to come
your time at rest is precious
my small and lovely one
it’s the same for mum and dad
the quiet of the night
is also the time for peacefulness
and short time of respite
before another day of fun begins
of looking, touch, smell and taste
of learning from tears and joy
no exploration gone to waste
so wake up at days dawning
brighten up the skies
play away the morning
give more pleasure to our lives
Tales of calm and beauty #1
Beauty is in the moment
Sitting by a window
Sun streaming in
From directly across the way
Low in the pale blue winter sky
But strong enough to warm the room
Through tall floor to ceiling glass
Strong black lines
The shadows of the woodwork
Stretch long, deep and straight
Across shiny slate
Framing the scene
Defining the space
Giving shape to enveloping comfort
Warming the calm
Enclosing peacefulness
As I now heavy lidded
Look out on gold rimmed trees
Vivid green grass
Foraging birds
And hear the cascading water of the creek
Beauty is in this moment
Good Things Only #12
Bearded Iris blooms. Even year I look forward to perusing the Iris flowers as they bloom across our various rhizome clumps. My Grandfather had a whole backyard full of them. He cross bred, cut and spliced in a decades long attempt to breed an original. Although he never succeeded he took great pride in the quest.
As his small grandson, I would be subject to instruction on the various attributes of his favourites. I can still remember the ones with peach and apricot hues that I thought were pretty and special. I still have the set of small scalpels, spatulas and tweezers he used for dissecting and cross pollinating.
In the off season, I would get to enjoy the fallow patches being rested for next season’s plantings. The sandy grey soil was ideally mouldable for designing and constructing large townships through which I drove toy cars and above which I flew toy planes, before ravaging them with troops of merciless toy soldiers and destructive machines of war.
In so doing, it was not uncommon for me to dig up ancient lead MIAs and other paraphealia from a previous age – when my father and uncles played the same games before me.
My wife and I moved into the house after my grandfather died. Our son and daughter followed to play in sandpits in the same backyard, but with less ruthlessness.
We dug up the hundreds of, possibly thousands, of Iris rhizomes as we returned the backyard to a more diverse and recreational space. In turn these were bagged and distributed to friends, family and workplaces across the city. I like to think of them as a pleasurable legacy, still growing in unanticipated locations. Maybe even being passed on again to new generations as they continue to multiply and flourish.
These are the toughest of plants. When at their best they are also the most easily damaged. They do well in poor soil and conditions, survive frosts, can largely be left to fend for themselves. Then every Spring for a few brief weeks they flower in splendour. Such beautiful blooms on close inspection they stimulate wonder. Such tall flower spikes topped with such colourful blooms they should not be ignored. And yet, they are often ignored. They remain such a fragile thing. If you don’t appreciate them immediately at full bloom they are like to be gone the next time you look, weatherbeaten by either wind or rain. Turned into a torn, ragged mess with little shape or form.
Great beauty is such a transient condition in living things. So often taken for granted before appreciated – and then gone. Irises remind me to take the time to appreciate.
Australian Rules Football: the best game in the world. A game good for bad times.
Thank you Australian Rules Football: The AFL, Administrators, Organisers, Players, Coaches, Support staff, Promoters, Deliverers and Volunteers.
Thank you for managing to organise an ongoing fixture in these sad times. Thank you for overcoming obstacles, learning your way to solutions and giving us back the game. The best game. Australian Rules Football is the best game in the world. The continuity of competition is a welcome fraction of “normal” that reminds us good things can still happen (even when Collingwood gets a complete shellacking).
I still feel this way after watching the second half of West Coast vs Collingwood because the Eagles played with such athletic beauty. A team of well prepared AFL players can perform most of the feats achievable by the human physique in the course of a season. However, the Eagles delivered many in a single game.
The second half was a virtually flawless display of sublime skill and football smarts by West Coast players as individuals and as a team. The goal kicking was extraordinary. One slotted after the other in a peerless demonstration of accuracy and purpose. The strength and dominance of their aerial work included some lovely speccys. The immediate and right decision making delivered ball after ball to a teammate. It was uncanny.
The procession like waves of players streaming in absolute synchrony down the field as they passed the pill in bullet like hand ball and short passes was a joy to watch. Every long bomb seemed to hit a target. Every spill was gathered and spat out. Players propelled themselves at their opposition in irresistible tackles. Their defence ruthlessly puounced on turnovers and relentlessly deflected every move into the Magpie forward zone. They were the launching pad for one successful offensive attack after another.
Did I mention full forward Josh Kennedy yet? No? How could I have come so far without acknowledging 7 majors from a veteran star? Still waxing, rarely waning, always a threat, he did it again, one perfect line after another, one perfect goal after another, one reason to celebrate football after another.
And through it all, there was Nic Nat. I have never seen such a dominant demonstration of the art of ruck work. His vision, his leap, his taps and his persistence once the ball hits the ground is astoundingly glorious. Even more astounding, his opposite number was Brody Grundy, arguably the best ruckman in the game. On this occasion it was a total eclipse!
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