FullAndFoolish

a few days ago,

there was a full moon.

full as a boot.

and foolish.

 careening across the sky,

it swayed and swerved between both horizons.

and, finally worn out,

falls down far, far away, 

into the gutter between heaven and earth.

to return tomorrow night,

and make merry once again.

this time a little less full.

a little less foolish.

this time drawing a strong curve across the heavens,

to disappear gently, without a splash,

into the ocean.

like a coin into a piggy bank.

fool

"the light of the moon is like that of a 60 watt globe"

HeyYouHaiku

This blog does not need an image

because it deals with the mind images

which are called up by text

the text in this case being haiku poems

For a number of years I lived on the edge of the desert in South Australia. Both isolated and solitary. In this situation one appreciates visitors. Which were scarce. I remember most. One in particular. He, in a subtle way, changed my life. He left me a gift which, after many years, I still have. A gift of a book of Haiku Poetry. Haiku, a Japanese form of poetry. Short intense poems, two lines in length. This gift which, like rain, fell onto fertile ground, turned a virtual mind desert into an oasis.

The Japanese genius for the creation of ‘little things’ does not only express itself in today’s electronic gadgets of the computer world, but has its tradition in a long and intricate history. One only has to look at the exquisitely carved ivories (netsuke) or the equally exquisite dwarfed trees (bonsai) to understand where the tradition of Haiku poetry has its roots.

Although the outer form of the two lined haiku poem is minute, its inner scope has the capacity to be immense. A favourite way of explaining the essence of this short form of poem is that it expresses “the Ahh!-nes of things”. There are many examples. My favourite was written by a monk who, upon returning to his cell, found it robbed empty. His response in Haiku:

“The thief, he left it behind 

The moon in the window”,

or this

“Up comes the bucket from the well of gloom,

And in it floats – a pink Camellia bloom”,

and again

“My ears had found the sermon dull and stale;

But in the woods outside – the nightingale”.

These short poems seemed to have a direct line into our creative inspiration centre.

 

The Ahhh-ness of things

How could the gift of a collection of Haiku poems change my life. It came in relation to the fertile ground of a lifestyle of solitude. A magic combination. It taught me to focus my mind in a different way on the environment. This created a minute mind shift strong enough to experience a life change. From that moment on I started each day with a short observation, often in writing, of the environment in which I lived. From this came my interest in writing which has lived on until this day. These expressions do not in any way copy the Haiku form, but certainly have their roots in that gift left by a traveller all those many years. One never knows into what any gesture of kindness may result. 

Nature features strongly in Haiku Poetry. I will finish this blog’s ‘Ahhh-nes’ 

with another short selection of summer Haikus:

“The butterfly which on a poppy clings,

Opens and shuts a booklet’s paper wings”.

“People caught by sudden pouring skies;

What ingenious hats they improvise”.

“The snake has slid away: but still its eyes,

Glare at me from the grass and paralyse”.

“What burning stillness! Brass cicadas-drones.

Drill their resonance into rocks and stones”.

“The sun-shower, mirrored in a globe of rain.

Hangs for a moment, never seen again”.

”A moonlit evening: here beside the pool.

Stripped to the waist – a snail enjoys the cool”

From the Haiku collection titled: “A net of fireflies”

'Follow that way which experience confirms to be your own'

                                                                                                                     

It'sBushfireSeasonAgain

some poems to remind you

of the bush fire season

they were written for the daylesford bush fire memorial

two of the poems were chosen

 

the memorial was recently installed at the skate park

1

A black charcoal drawing

carelessly scribbled

into the landscape

with a burning match.

 2

The brutal beauty

of the wild flames,

like a weaving,

meanders through trees.

Leaving behind a trail

of black landscapes.

Observe.

Exquisite beauty

3

Fire drawings in the sky,

colouring in the density

of towers of smoky clouds.

Billowing like sails

of ancient viking ships,

having razed the land,

Leave their charcoal signature

in the landscape

 4

Controlled fire,

a friend.

Uncontrolled fire,

worse than an enemy.

destroys without a thought

whole ways of life.

Never ever to be renewed

 5

Masterpiece in red.

Concerto of flames.

Opus of rolling fire.

Symphony of blistering screams.

Disharmony of sounds.

Then,

sonata of silence….

 

6

A careless match,

roadside summer dry.

A run of fire,

turns wild.

Chaos, madness, panic,

terror, fear, horror

then….

the stillness of a charcoal night black.

Aahhh…….

7

View without the emotion,

The burned foot print

of the fire

is beautiful.

Like a black and white

photographic print

of the last century

 8

A thrown match,

like an artist's brush,

paints a mural across the sky.

An image of intense red,

of devastation,

build in hope.

Regeneration……. 

 9

The sun's eye

with tears of sadness,

at the destructive burning below.

everything conspired,

to review by fire,

the sum of

all of men's efforts.

10

The yellow heart of the fire

licks at the orange edge,

turning into red

the print against the sky

by a new expressionist.

Title: Destruction 

 

 

"During the Second World War, Winston Churchill’s finance minister said Britain should cut arts funding to support the war effort. Churchill’s response: “Then what are we fighting for?”"

 

 

 

 

 

SnowflakesInSummer

summer in the new cool burned forest

ash grey burned ground

stark pillars of black

penetrating a bright blue sky

the forest is darkly quiet

accepted in its dawn/dusk light

the gift of white snow flakes

'Cosmic energy orchestrates the body'

AVeryOldAndLongChristmasStory

Instead of the usual image 

on top of the blog

this time use your imagination

Dear Readers, this is my last blog this year, it seems a good time to write you with a thought of Christmas in mind. That celebration when we wish each other peace and goodwill. That celebration where we indulge in the love of our family and friends and generally eat and drink a little too much.

Peace on Earth

Maybe a good place to start is where this all began for me. Remembering strongly the place and time when I was a child in Holland. Usually there would be snow, frost, cold, short days and much warmth inside. There would be special things to eat, Christmas decorations and soft snow on the windowsill. There may have been a snowman in the miniscule garden but there was definitely a warming fire in the hearth. The Christmas tree would arrive, bringing with it the perfume of nature and the forest. A fresh wood smell mingled with the smell of sweet spicy Christmas cooking. Then, on Christmas eve, the very old and beautifully painted statues of the Christmas story would appear. A highlight. Carefully, they would be taken, one by one, out of an old cardboard box and out of their soft paper wrappings. Some animals, I recall an gentle bovine and a scattering of soft sheep, there would be a baby Jesus, a Mary and Joseph, a few shepherds and the magnificent three kings. All would appear from the their year in storage. As new. The whole scene would be set around an old wooden stable made, by my dad, from bits and pieces. Lastly, and to give the whole scene an ambiance of a stable, there would be a few handfuls of fragrant straw, another special effect for a city kid.

The whole scene used to be placed on a side board (I recall this specifically because it allowed me, when I was small and this event was at its most potent, to view the scene from eye level. As a result it appeared most realistic, as if I was part of it). The tall white candles would be lit and with that action the magic of Christmas arrived. I could stand for hours looking and dreaming at this most wonderful and intimate scene.

Christmas eve would be very special, not because of presents because we did not exchange presents and gifts during Christmas. This was a family event with the emphasis of sharing the family experience rather than things. (How I still long for the feeling of that time, gift and hassle free). This was also the time for the story of the nativity scene to be told and the questions, as to why a child had to be born in a stable, which was beyond my imagination, to be answered. Here in the warmth of a my family’s Christmas home I always found it hard to understand that when a man and his pregnant wife, riding a donkey, trying to find a place of comfort they had to be banished to a stable. Although on the sideboard of our house this all looked good, the real story, and the way it was told with colour and imagination by my dad, changed all that. I used to be puzzled and horrified. I still am.

I still am because now I once more have to relive this Christmas story in my own home. Only now the nativity story of old has become all to real. The people seeking a place of comfort this time aren’t named Mary and Joseph, and their child about to be born isn’t called Jesus, but those people seeking a place of comfort are still people and in many ways exactly the same as those seeking a place of comfort some two thousand years ago. They are people in need who come to our door and knock on it in hope… Although the story is similar, there are a few differences. The donkey is replaced by a old donkey-like boat, the stable is now a place of detention. The straw, of some comfort, is replaced by razor wire and the candles lighting that scene centuries ago are now white searchlights. The animals of the nativity scene, which gave at least a sense of warmth and comfort such as the donkey, oxen and sheep, have been replaced by growling guard dogs. There are still the good shepherds and even an expression of the three kings in the form of the many concerned citizens and refugee advocates. However, they are not allowed to enter the stable to bring their simple offerings. Nor some human warmth.

After the event in Bethlehem we were going to make sure this would not ever happen again. We even called our commitment after Jesus Christ, that is ‘Christian’ so we would be sure to behave as Christ, or Christians. We even build many churches to make sure we would be reminded of our Christian behaviour each and every Sunday. Good Christians. Today’s innkeepers the politicians of both sides Heartofstone apparently are also Christians and go to church to prove it. By making this comparison I think I am being unfair to the original inn-keeper. What I remember from the story was that he did not have room, while our contemporary innkeepers have more than plenty.

One of the strongest images from the original nativity scene on the sideboard, lit by candles and perfumed by real straw was the peacefulness of the swaddled baby Jesus. Still now, many years later, when I look at a newborn baby that feeling of an all pervading peace and sense of wonder overwhelms me. It maybe the total innocence of that new life, it maybe the promise of the future, it maybe the total helplessness of the being. Whatever it is, it is very special. Looking at newborn babies, and not only the baby Jesus, seems to bring out the best in people. Most people.

Just as it was inconceivable for me to understand, as a child, how a baby could possibly be banished to a stable to be born, it is now totally inconceivable for me to understand, even as an adult, how my government, and we as a nation, could banish children of all ages to a detention stable. Not for a night but for years on end. Some of them have been there all their lives. For some it is their fifth Christmas. Why I wonder. How, in 2012, can we as fellow human beings possibly allow this to happen. Christians? What sort of Christians are they?

Look at the children around you now, look at those children again at Christmas and wonder, as I do, at the terribleness of this situation and the absolute heartlessness of the politicians responsible.     

I have long since given up on being a Christian and on Christian politicians. I have had a bit of trouble with the examples I am continuously being supplied with. I even feel that Christmas is now without real meaning and just a commercial fake. However, all the same, I would like to wish you all a lovely and safe holiday season, whatever your believes. Till next year when I hope the sun may shine for all children.

AnAbbriviatedHistoryOfRR

here in a nutshell was the history of the famous rolls royce car

rolling in front our amazed eyes up the street in daylesford

many ohhss and ahhsss.....

and well deserved

many unlived private memories

of elegance

of beautiful design

of walnut interiors

of expensive cigar smoke

of a whiskey in the back seat

of immaculately dressed people

of more

and more

i loved everyone of them

'what is now proved, was only once imagined'

Don'tBlowYourPipe,PlayIt

 coming

 and

going

The annual highland gathering in daylesford

On the first saturday in december,

stout men dress up in skirts,

stick a knife in their sock,

hang a sporin from their belt and,

blowing their pipes

banging their drums

march, in strict unison, up Vincent street

the emotionally laden music, 

which tears at your heart strings

which calls up unlived memories

which transports you into otherness

is a daylesford institution at this time of year

locals and visitors line the street and are momentarily

transformed into another place

they meet old friends and talk together

and just for a moment there is a village atmosphere

and then as a bonus for this year....... an unexpected surprise.

but for that you need to go to the next blog

' Reality is for people who can't handle drugs'

SnakeTheGeometricWonder

The Art of Confronting the Beasty

Last Sunday morning, a soft gentle sunny day, so typical of this time of year around here, I was confronted by a snake.

"Was it a big one"? You may ask. Every snake who surprises you is big. This one was.

Stepping outside my studio for a breath of fresh air, there it was, basking its magical geometry in the mid-morning sun only just outside my door.

First reaction. "Kill". I didn't though.

Why, I wondered, is our first reaction always to kill this magnificent beast. This symbol of the  creative spirit. This unfairly cast character in Adam and Eve's  play. This most exquisitely  patterned primordial piece of living rope. This silent slitherer.

Is this reaction built into our genes, is it the aggressive side of my male nature or is it fear. Blind fear. As in not being able to see. Not being able to understand.

The Adam and Eve sneaky seducer comes to mind, but only as a childhood story. However, as that, it may even be stronger than fiction.

I am not by nature aggressive and there was nothing to defend. I wasn't afraid of it in any way. A  little weary maybe, but not afraid.

 

In my case 'Fear' would have to apply to the meeting with the snake. Fear in relation to failing to understand. I don't know the particular ways of this marvellous mover. All I know about snakes are the indoctrinated and scary stories, whether they are from the biblical times of my childhood and therefore very strong, or more recent from anyone else, real or made up.

That is another consideration. Most stories based on fear are not only exaggerated, but also largely  made up. In relation to snake stories, that would have to be the case.

I slowly stepped back inside my studio to consider all this and, after considering, decided to try  and understand. To try and learn about the snake. After all, it is only early spring and I had a long snake time to come yet.

I have stated that 'Learning is the best healer' in my blog before.

First I re-looked at my 'snake history'. I started my life in Australia at Bonegilla, where the  authorities scared us with horror stories about snakes and spiders. Following this my first job was on a farm in N.S.W. It was hot and there were many snakes. I was taught how to  kill them. Effectively. Next I moved to the city of churches, Adelaide. The only snakes I had to watch

out for there were of an entirely different kind. After a short stint in the city, for my education, I  returned to the country, the Flinder's Ranges in fact. There on the very day I moved into an old farm house I found a snake moving in at the same address. I didn't ask its name, nor did I introduce  myself. I killed it. Afterwards I wondered why that made me feel awful.

Many years  have past and a lot has happened. I have learned a great deal and one aspect of this learning has been 'tolerance'. Since moving into the forest, locally, I have hardly ever seen any snakes. Yet there are plenty around. Maybe I don't give them any attention.

What I have been giving  attention is the idea of Man/Animal relations in a place such as this forest.   There is an animal, it doesn't suit me, BANG. Kill it. It begs the question. Doesn't  any animal has as much right to live on this patch as we have. Probably more so. It has been here much, much longer.

What is it with this white man attitude? I know, the problem with most animals is that they don't understand that they need to claim their bit of real estate by going to the Council and obtain their claim with a proper document, like us, superior beings. Then they would be able to do what they liked. Shoot things, poison stuff,  take wood, the whole catas-trophy. Trophy?

After these thoughts ran through my head I still had to deal with the snake. My 'concept' of snake,  which is different to a real one. I took off my glasses labelled 'Fear' and sat down near the snake. I  talked to it. I explained that we could live together but that there were certain rules. Easy. I sat and talked to it quietly for a long time. I was able to get quite close. There was no reason for it  to attack me nor for me to  kill it. In reality there hardly ever is. I have shown it the respect it deserves and now we will work on sharing this space, on living together.

"Silly Bugger" a neighbour said. 'Blind fear' I answered.

Petrus

Snake Charmer

ARandomActOfBeauty

i have been spring gardening over the last while

filling my veggie patch with colour, 

creating an annual edible artwork.

this was followed by a dream.....

While walking in Vincent Street recently....., 

which reminds me. my dream was set in Vincent Street. 

Someone, overnight and with great care, 

had removed the bitumen and rubble 

from exactly one car parking spot 

and replaced it with a vegetable and flower plot. 

A spot of bright fresh greens and many strong flower colours. 

A life mini painting as it were, sitting in the middle of Daylesford. 

So much colour in such a drab monotone area. 

People were amusedandannoyed,  delightedandangry, excitedandupset. 

However, in the main most seem to love it. 

A little investigation discovered that this act of random beauty 

was perpetrated against the community by a  local family. 

They had lost their garden and, 

since they had been paying rates in the shire all their  lives 

and did not own a car they figured they also had a right to a parking spot. 

Not being able to interpret dreams I am open to suggestions.

'reality is the invention of unimaginative people'