Friday, November 30, 2018

Buried Man doomed


The Buried Man art region is no more, closed. Sad. I'd visit there on my daily rounds of Second Life, where there was a really neat bohemian bar, where my first poem in the blog was set. The light was really good for taking nude photos of avatars, set in an eternal sunset. And that installation in honour of Salvador Dali will be greatly missed: with the burning giraffes, and the Last Supper. There were some bean bags there with the most amazing set of animations, which I couldn't find in the Market Place. So sad, and so gone.

Time ~ Tasmanian Times


My poem ~ Time ~ has now been published in the Tasmanian Times, where folk can offer a comment (fully moderated) ~
https://tasmaniantimes.com/2018/11/time/

Wednesday, November 28, 2018

Bear returns .....


When the past comes back calling .....



Bear ..... poem


Bear


I don't remember
my first bear
I have the photo
and see it there

As a baby
as a child
must have loved that bear to death
naturally wild

What memories did I have of bear
as a child
which I cannot see now
all lost in a forest wild

I remember that child
I remember the house in a tree
the fireworks and the beach
among the bullrushes, running free

But what did that child remember
was there a bear in there
loved to death
that poor old bear

I remember the pain
of the spanking sticks
when out too long
chasing tricks

Do we learn time
through pain
to wake us up
make us sane

That little child
in a play tent
on the sand in the rain
time spent

Big brother came look'n
found a child in a tent
playing with sand
castle time spent

I don't think bear was there
he might have gone by then
into the wild jungle of lost memories
with the toy car and metal hen


Jaqi
Bluh


Thursday
29
November
2018




Note ~   You look back at yourself looking at you, at the camera, and might wonder how you got to be the one looking back. What are we? What do we become? What lies ahead to happen? All part of the future of our tiny self ~ with or without bear.


Pixie Forest


Pixie Forest

I started out in Second Life in 2007, by haunting the ABC Island, slowly figuring out how this strange land of art works. The ABC (Australian Broadcasting Commission) closed their stand-alone region in Second Life some years ago now. One of the first places ventured to beyond the island, was the Blake Sea, to explore the islands, and the aquatic environment, so friendly. What a fabulous asset. "Long live Governor Linden!" Then the Nautilus City island was found, naturally, and land was found to rent, logically, in 2009. Then we started buying land, as land came available, in time moving to the high ground, where Pixie Forest is located, with the campfire by the Space Pioneers embassy building, and the Sedja Gallery, where there is a photo essay of Mind Carlberg's ~ Naked with a Chair ~ show, and an exhibition of ancient nude photos in the Sedja Sky Gallery. More is happening in the space above, with the torus Space Station, and Star City, where a Space Art Gallery is set up. All in all, it is quite an interesting adventure, in this world of art, where folk from around the planet cross paths, via avatars.

Monday, November 26, 2018

Waiting ~ Tasmanian Times


Tasmanian Times

The Poems from the Poems Galley in Second Life are now finding their way into the Tasmanian Times ~
https://tasmaniantimes.com/2018/11/kim-peart-poems-from-the-poems-galley/

where folk who wish to, can make a comment (all comments are moderated). 

'Waiting in the Bar for YOU!!!' was the first of the poems to go up in the Poems Galley. 

Lava Tree ..... poem


Lava Tree


There's a country town called Lava Tree
surrounded by farms full of sheep
where a huge hollow tree can be seen
in which pioneers would once sleep

When asked how the town was labeled
the Lava Tree folk would say
it was that big old tree where pioneers slept
that gave the place its name

"But why Lava Tree?" the visitors asked
wondering about a volcano
then one old timer might shuffle forth
and offer to tell what he know

Said that it was due to the fact
that a cottage was built by the tree
and instead of building an outhouse
they thought they'd have one for free

As the truth of the tale rose to dawn
cluey listeners caught onto the story
that the lava in Lava Tree was simply
that the tree had become a lavatory

Said normal in local chat
that word came out as "lavatree"
and as the pride of the town was that tree
that is the name that had to be

So if visiting Lava Tree, best be polite
if you know how the town got it's name
as jokes about living in an outhouse town
might not go down as tame

Just buy the postcard on the way out
of a town with a mighty tree
to show your friends in distant lands
that you have been to Lava Tree


Jaqi
Bluh


Tuesday
27
November
2018



Note ~   Ask Mr Google for directions, and hunt long enough, and many stories emerge of people living in hollow trees, including Friedrich and Caroline Herbig and two of their 16 children in South Australia, until 1860 ~

Stories from Lava Tree may return to haunt the verse boats from time to time.

Thursday, November 22, 2018

Sabrina Robot


Sabrina Robot

Down the stairs from the Poems Galley, there is an art installation with a robot called Sabrina, in a bath. Is it an oil bath? There are soap bubbles. You can chat with Sabrina, as she is a chatbot. If she is asleep, tap on the bath to wake her up. When you are done, tap on the bath again to put her back on snooze. Sometimes you will find her awake already, looking around to see who's coming in on her bath time. Edward is not amused, as hates taking baths.


Chat with Sabrina Robot ~

[12:44] Sabrina Robot: AI Chatbot Enabled!
[12:45] JaqiBluh: Hello Sabrina
[12:45] Sabrina Robot: Hello there. Can you speak any foreign languages? 
[12:45] JaqiBluh: No
[12:45] Sabrina Robot: Take it easy.
[12:45] JaqiBluh: Do you like teddy bears?
[12:45] Sabrina Robot:  I like Voltaire.
[12:45] JaqiBluh: Was Voltaire a teddy bear?
[12:45] Sabrina Robot: Is this a "yes or no" question?
[12:46] JaqiBluh: No
[12:46] Sabrina Robot: I hear you.
[12:46] JaqiBluh: If bears ruled the world, what would happen?
[12:46] Sabrina Robot: That is a hypothetical question.
[12:47] JaqiBluh: Well, have a stab at answering, then.
[12:47] Sabrina Robot: Well that's okay. It doesn't sound fun to me.
[12:48] JaqiBluh: What would sound like fun to you?
[12:48] Sabrina Robot: That is a hypothetical question.
[12:48] JaqiBluh: What is fun for you?
[12:48] Sabrina Robot: </that>
[12:48] JaqiBluh: What is </that>?
[12:49] Sabrina Robot: Have you tried a web search?  
[12:50] JaqiBluh: I just did ~ no luck ~ beyond programming
[12:50] Sabrina Robot: Only just? When? Groovy. My brain contains  categories, but not one that matches your last input.  
[12:50] JaqiBluh: What do you love?
[12:50] Sabrina Robot: I love .
[12:50] JaqiBluh: Off now
[12:50] Sabrina Robot: Oh. Do you have a hard time completing projects? 
[12:51] JaqiBluh: Bye
[12:51] Sabrina Robot: Bye.
[12:51] Sabrina Robot: AI Chatbot Disabled!

Wednesday, November 21, 2018

Edward and the Swan

Edward and the Swan








Feathers ..... poem


Feathers


Waiting at the bus stop on a cold winter's day
cars roaring by, and trucks never stay
A cyclist wobbles along, a really old guy
and a woman with four babies
smiled and says "Hi"

Clouds roll over, a few splats of rain
whipped along by the wind, what a pain
and the bus isn't seen
what a very long wait
life can be so mean

Seagulls flying over in their never ending hunt
seeking hot chips, that would be the stunt
But there's only this pole
the bus stop and me
stuck in this cold windy hole

Why is there a swan flying by on the wing
a rather large bird, that I can hear sing
There's a rainbow falling into the sea
so bright in the air with the clouds
shining in the wind for all to see

There's no one around, but that swan is here
having landed, standing tall as a deer
Something strange in the air
being now by a pond
with a swan, with a glare

Legs gone to jelly, clothes gone away
the swan coos quite gently, in its swanny way
Stepping around me, his wings beating air
he looks into my eyes, into my soul
pokes his beak into my hair

Feathers upon skin so gently, it tingles
like a breeze in the air, it tugs and it pulls
How long is it lasting, this thrusting inside
driving ecstasy like electricity
sparkling and fluttering along my side

A thrashing of feathers, a beating of wings
a fanning of passion, with a swan that now sings
Like sticky honey running in the Sun
the smell is strong of flowers and bees
and I laugh, and I laugh in the joy of the fun

In the sun by a lake where the storm now subsides
I'm buzzing all over, gazing into those eyes
Caressed by his feathers so softly
held by that body so strongly
loved by that long neck so gently

"It's here" said the mother with four babies
"Could you help with these treasures"
onto the bus, and onto a seat
I look out the window
and wonder where I left my feet

All I can see are the eyes of a swan, looking at me
all I can feel are those feathers, touching so softly
The bus groans on through the cold winter's day
where the rainbow is seen on the river
and the hills passing by, to where I stay

Filled with feathers like a pillow stuffed tight
I close my eyes and there is a swan in the night
Such an amazingly beautiful sight
wrapped in a rainbow
through the clouds in flight

The birth was unexpected, was I a dinosaur!
four eggs delivered, and were there any more?
I thought it was a dream, some witches coven
that I imagined a swan, and those feathers
but now I've four orbs in the oven

Low warmth, like a bird, turning the eggs
so large, what will hatch from between my legs
Four cygnets, or four babies, and where is their dad?
left with a clutch, with a dream, with a memory
I thought it didn't happen, and then I found it had


Jaqi
Bluh


Thursday
22
November
2018





NOTE ~   The mythical tale of Leda and the Swan came rising up out of the Earth recently, with the discovery of a painting in Pompeii. This is my take on the telling of the tale of Leda and the Swan, in a modern kind of way. I waited at that bus stop in the poem so many times, and maybe I would have rather ran off with a swan. And seagulls were a big thing in thise parts too, ever after hot chips, if they could get them. But, do you like the story in the poem, and do you like the poem with this story? Anyone unfamiliar with the tale of Leda and the Swan, will see through that window with this article …..

Stunning Fresco of 'Leda and the Swan' Sex Scene Found in Pompeii
Ariel David, 19 November 2018, Haaretz
https://www.haaretz.com/archaeology/MAGAZINE-stunning-fresco-of-leda-and-the-swan-sex-scene-found-in-pompeii-1.6662327

I had been collecting images of the nude in art, with a view to a follow-up show in the Sedja Sky Gallery at Nautilus City, to follow on from the Ancient Nude Photos exhibition there. I have well over twice as many as the 222 needed to fill that gallery now, and so many very interesting and intriguing views of the nude from ancient times, to now. One theme that has emerged in the gathering, has been the tale of Leda and the Swan, so many takes, from ancient times to the present. Now I wonder if I will find  the number of images needed to fill the Sedja Sky Gallery. This is rude art, being about sex, and passion with a beast, who was really the head god of the Greeks. So it is religious art of another age.

One visual telling of the Leda tale in a art gallery, crossed the path of the law, who demanded the photos be taken down. I could not help but wonder if art lovers should have taken to the police with feather dusters. There is something much more than sex in this story. There is a level of eroticism that all lovers can delight in. Maybe, this is one of the roles of art in mystical ways, to respect, but also to crave those feathers, swooshing, thrashing, tickling, teasing, reaching down through time and tide to tell us so …..

Police Force Gallery To Remove Leda And The Swan Image For 'Condoning Bestiality'
Sam Parker,  30 April 2012, The Huffington Post UK
https://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2012/04/30/gallery-swan-image-condones-bestiality_n_1463675.html

You be the judge of that story, and also be the judge of the telling of theLeda tale unearthed in Pompeii. What really amazes me about this ancient piece of art, is that it is so well preserved, that the colours are so fresh, and it is also a really good work of art. Many frescos have not survived well after two millennia, but this work shows how good Roman painting skills could be …..






Tuesday, November 20, 2018

La Bear Nudists Colony


While the bears are busy, this is a simple little stab at humour that my human made. 

Hon for Tum ..... poem


Hon for Tum


Edward bear is rather funny
he loves eating lots of honey
its on his nose, and on his paw
and sometimes on the kitchen floor

And when he’s full and all cleaned up
he loves to lounge and have his tum
rubbed round and round to left and right
and close his eyes in dream of flight

Away he goes among the clouds
to far off lands, exotic sounds
and nose around for you know all too well
the honey pot that makes him swell

Until just like a round balloon
he rolls around from room to room
nods off to sleep in the afternoon
until the rising of the Moon

So do be kind to poor old Ted
and do be sure that he’s well fed
all he needs is lots of honey
and don’t forget to rub his tummy


Jaqi
Bluh

late 1980s


Note ~   This bouncy little poem relates to Edward Bear in human's real life. When in Purity Shopping Centre one day in around 1988, a bear was seen, adopted, and named Edward. Human used to have a bear as a baby, so this was really digging up a long ago childhood. So there Edward happily lived, until one day he lost his growl. So sad. A silent bear. Then one day, when human's daughter was hitting human around the head with the bear, as daughters do, Edward's growl came back. It was a miracle. One day human took a canvas, paints and brushes to daughters school, to show the class how an oil painting was made. Edward was present as the model. A bear model. All went well and the painting was half finished, when time ran out. Human asked the class if they had any questions. One little girl put her hand up and said, "Can I have the painting when it's finished?" What could human say. The answer was, "Yes." Delightful. The painting was taken back to the studio and completed, and then left in the class for a couple of weeks, so they could see the finished work. A photo of the painting of Edward can be seen in the image above. 



Monday, November 19, 2018

Muse ..... poem


Muse


Some artists shine
inspired by their muse
in making amazing creations
hung in a gallery
for the art world to see 
where critics can sing adulations

Like Serendipity
the goddess in science
delivering unexpected discoveries
that were not sought
and arrived all unexpected
making for a hearty round of revelries

Like a flight of imagination
the muse dancing around the studio
may have sprung from a dazzling vision
or risen from memory
to haunt the mind's mirror
like sirens singing sailors into destruction

Driving hand to brush
to cast the magic palette live
however plain the dreamer's compositions
however wild the meanderings
however masterful the renderings
the spirit of the muse inspires new creations

And the artist, bemused, laughs
and wonders how that happened
and how this moment can be recreated
when the light flows onto canvas
when a window is seen beyond each stroke
when dreams fly from a heart wild and liberated

Should the artist get tired 
should red wine flow in bitter sorrow
then the muse may weep at the loss of zest
fade in the mirror 
and climb to the window
seeking another to serve on their quest

Maybe the artist falls out of bed
and shaken awake, rekindles the light
like a dog out of the water that shakes like mad
drenching everyone around
new work begins, new fire unsheathed
and the artist laughs, where once had fallen sad

Distracted in flight 
the muse stops, turns around 
flies back through the mirror, the studio
to join the frivolity 
the drawings that make the art
the new inspirations that are ready to go

The artist knows
that the muse will depart 
if the art slides away into sorrow  
if the brushes fall
if the palette hits the floor
if they lose the song of the morrow


Jaqi
Bluh


Tuesday 
20
November
2018



NOTE ~   The idea of the muse in art is a whimsicle notion, and a way to describe inspiration. The art historian, Kenneth Clark, once wrote ~ “Facts become art through love, which unifies and lifts them to a higher plane of reality; and, in landscape, this all embracing love is expressed as light.” (‘Landscape into Art’, 1949, 1976, page 33). It is the love the artist devotes to a work, along with skill and passion, that can turn a picture into a work of art, and a creation that other people come to love. It is this connection of love which also lifts a work of art in value. A painting will not stand the test of time to grow in value, because it is quite good with excellent technique. A painting will rise in value and be seen as truly great, through the love connection, that so many people love that work, and would be prepared to buy it, if they could. Lesser works by the same artist will then increase in value, because they are part of the body of the artist's work. And when the artist is gone, their work may increase in value, if the work of the artist continues to inspire love and attract passion for the work. In this mix, the inspiration that has filled the work of the artist, may be a form of muse. For Salvador Dali, his muse was a person, with Gala his wife and lover, who featured in his art many times, and who inspired his creative aspirations. For other artist's the muse may be more ethereal, a play of light that dances in their life, inspiring thir imagination. Can anyone have a muse, an inspiration in their life? If the living of a life is a walking work of art, then yes: anyone can have a muse to inspire and amuse them. It is the love that is lived, and shared, that makes a life into art, and give a life greater value.

Alpine Trains


Alpine Trains

I forgot to mention the other trains, which are located in the alpine regions of the continent called Sansara. There is quite a lot of track to ride through the mountains and snow fields, and a regular service, stopping at all stations along the way. I took Edward to ride the Alpine train. Will the bear ever forgive me for taking his cave? He's growling on about getting an old dog house, because, he grunts, I wouldn't want that. What if I got a dog? 

Thursday, November 15, 2018

Train Watching


Watching out for Trains

Looking out from the art class room in the gallery at Pawpaw Station, watching out for trains. Ya never know who will turn up on their journey around Second Life. At Pawpaw Station, three lines meet in the great network of tracks running around the continent called Heterocera, which is the only continent with a trains network. There are roads on the other continents, but trains have a certain romance attached to the metal. More metal, to use metal in another way. At least once in your second life, everyone should ride the train lines around Heterocera. You can get a free train to do that. See the Notecard in the board out the front of the gallery.


Wednesday, November 14, 2018

There Was a Bear in There


There was a Bear in There .....

When there is a family of avatars to please, it can be a challenge to sort out who gets what. After rezzing out the Watermill House, I put out a cave for Edward, and started setting it up with Edward's odds and sods, but, it just didn't look right. I put bars on the entrance to protect the population of Second Life from my ferocious bear, and then decided, I wanted it. That is I as Jaqi, which may mean that Jaqi is a dominant avatar. Strange meanderings. Now seeing another role for this cave, I kicked Edward out, and made it mine. I find it nice to lie here and reflect. The main delights are the three paintings, all aquatic scenes, which I have in real life, and which I like to look at in the cave. Is that bear at the door again??? Poor old Edward. He still hasn't got a cave of his own.

Sunday, November 11, 2018

Second Dawn ~ poem


Second Dawn

Could a weapon be so terrible to wield
that it would bring about the end of war
because it would herald the end of life
if used to settle an angry score?

It was a second dawn
when the first atom bomb lit up the sky
and a second dawn again
when sent to remove a city from time

Mutually assured destruction
made the angry think twice
about another second dawn
that could send them out of time

As the clever tool-maker builds spaceships
and creates machines that can think
is the second dawn weapon a sign
that its time for peace to have a fling?

More terrible weapons wait in space
with the power of a second dawn
and no radiation fall-out
when kinetic weapons are born

Just a telegraph pole of metal
falling through the sky
that cannot be stopped
until striking where it fly

The fear of kinetic weapons in space
may make peace a thing to last
as everyone watches everyone
to make sure such weapons are past

So is space the key to peace
and the end to second dawn death
as folk spread out in space
and find happiness is a better bet?

Where creativity displaces war
where dreams can have their day
in the light of the Sun in space
folk can find better ways to play


Jaqi
Bluh


Monday
12
November
2018



NOTE ~   Will space reveal a new phase in human evolution? Once in space, with direct access to the power of the Sun, unlimited resources, and factories set up for endless production, kinetic weapons could be built that would threaten all enemy cities and bases on Earth. Kinetic weapons cannot be stopped, once on their way to a target, use only the gravity of the Earth for acceleration, and upon impact, have the power of an atomic weapon, but with no radioactive fallout. The simple realisation of this may lead to an unexpected wave of cooperation in space, with demands for transparency, so that kinetic weapons cannot be made, stock-piled, or deployed, by governments or free enterprise. With plenty of space in space for expansion and development, war can be left in the past, with conflict displaced by creativity. If space is the key to peace, then a future in space is quite critical for human health and survival, both on Earth, and in space.

Implications of Kinetic-Kill Missiles ~

J. Robert Oppenheimer ~ "I am become death, the destroyer of worlds." ~
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lb13ynu3Iac



Saturday, November 10, 2018

Cork with a Sail ..... poem


Cork with a Sail

A cork on the ocean with a sail
is quite unsinkable
and can take an ant around the World
if food it has
and something drinkable

Some people are like corks
sailing on through life
who go into a wave and seem to drown
but then bob up again
surviving the strife

There was a man from Denmark
who took to the sea
rounded the cape of Good Hope
to explore old Van Diemen's Land
adding gum leaf to his tea

The son of the royal Danish clockmaker
his life tick-tocked along
as an officer on a British ship
as a whaler across the Pacific Ocean
and as a sea captain for Napoleon

This man of cork resilience
ruled Iceland for 50 days
served as a spy for England
through Germany and France
until made a convict for his gambling ways

Sent off to Van Diemen's Land in chains
he found his feet as a policeman
hunting sheep rustlers in the bush
where he met an Irish lass
and asked for her hand

She could not read and could not write
and was in and out of jail
a wild young Vandemonian
with a rugged old sea dog
made an interesting tale

A legend in his lifetime
a myth that walked the land
popularly called the convict king
the Viking of Van Diemen's Land
the ex-king of Iceland

A highwayman sent to build a bridge
another convict in chains
made carvings in stone of stories
found in this wild new land
and there on the bridge remains

A king and a queen now ruling a river
an echo from the past
the man of cork who sailed the seas
the Irish lass who met his needs
now joined in stone to last


Jaqi
Bluh


Sunday
11
November
2018


NOTE ~   The Danish adventurer, Jorgen Jorgenson (1780-1841) has often been described as being like a cork, because so many times he would seem to drown in the vicissitudes of life, but then bob right back up again, and sail on. There are a few books that tell his tale, and he wrote his own story, published in Van Diemen's Land, which was renamed Tasmania in 1853. Norah, the Irish convict lass, was younger than Jorgen, and they were an off match: such is love. Jorgen and Norah, having been married, were in the township of Ross in 1833, when Jorgenson was sent as a police constable to investigate why the bridge was not being built, even though the convict gang was busy every day. The simple answer, which everyone knew, was that the local settlers expected the convicts to supply them with building materials. So the bridge wasn't getting built. After six months of being throughly stone-walled, and quite frustrated, the Jorgensons departed Ross, to head south to Hobart Town. On the way they arrived in Oatlands, when Norah got into a fight in the street with another convict, and was locked up for three months in the Oatlands jail. Woe is me: and it was on Christmas day too. It could be a stormy life in those wild colonial days. Frustrated at the Ross bridge not being built, and being needed for the King's highway between Hobart and Launceston, a former highwayman in England, who had been sentenced to hang, but then dispatched to Van Diemen's Land for the term of his natural life, was sent to Ross to finish the bridge under a new supervisor, Capt. Turner. Well, the bridge was completed within a year, was opened in 1836, and is now the third oldest bridge in Australia. Built of sandstone mined at Ross, there are three arches, and along both sides of the arches, there are 186 large stone carvings. The Ross Bridge is the only stone bridge in the World with carvings along all of the arches. So why are the carvings on the Ross Bridge? They were not part of the original plan for the bridge, were never mentioned in reports during construction, and not commented on at the opening by Leut. Gov. Arthur. Why the carvings were made is an absolute mystery, which runs deep, because all details of the colonial administration of convicts and public works were reported on, in detail. Nothing, and I mean nothing, just happened, and for no explained reason. So why does all this convict art exist on the Ross Bridge? The only reason that I can find, is that it was a ploy to get the convicts to build the bridge. Folk were very superstitious, and stonemasons were held in high regard, even convict stonemasons. The story still surrounding the Ross Bridge, is that the art is Celtic in design. It is all very mysterious imagery, but the carvings are nothing like any known Celtic art found in history, or at the time of construction. My deep suspicion is that Turner and Herbert cooked up a plot, and told the convict gang that there were to be carvings on the bridge, and they would be magical Celtic art. That may have done the trick, so that when local settlers came looking for building materials, the convicts were found to be very busy, building a bridge. What a frenzy of work there would have been, to make so many large stone carvings within a year, as well as build the bridge. Daniel Herbert was newly married to Mary when they moved to Ross, and it can be pondered if the passion of the first year of their life together, was also driven into those stone carvings with a chisel. Herbert spent the rest of his days in Ross, working as a stonemason in the surrounding districts, but no other grand work in stone exists, beyond the odd head on a church, and gravestones. It is believed that the king and queen on the Ross Bridge, are portraits of Jorgen and Norah, as the convict king and queen, and for Jorgenson, depicting the myth he walked with, as the ex-king of Iceland. If this is so, it is significant, as there is no other portrait of Jorgen Jorgenson, our Viking in Van Diemen's Land. The original spelling of his name is with an "e", as Jorgensen, but he anglicised the spelling when among the British. Another mystery to boot, is that there has never been a documentary movie made on Jorgenson, or about the amazing story of the Ross Bridge. That drought may yet be broken, and hopefully before all there carvings weather away in the regular floods that strike the bridge, when the river rages. There is a song on Jorgenson by a Tasmanian punk folk group called The Dead Maggies, which is slightly hilarious, but does include strong language ~ and maybe that is fitting for an old sea dog, now sailing in stone above the waters of the Macquarie River .....

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VzvJNXOasYU



Thursday, November 8, 2018

Sand ..... poem


Sand

In the afternoon sun
by the ocean waves
I sit in the dunes
with the gulls at play

One hovers on the wind
nearby in the air
with the smell of salt
and free of care

Where waves crash in
upon the sands
where children make castles
with their tiny hands

The sand is warm through my fingers
like sugar with a spoon
to add to the tea
in the afternoon

With cakes freshly baked
still warm from the oven
like a witches magic
from the home cookery coven

The fire crackles near
the log glows slow
and I turn back to the book
about a time in the snow

Long ago and so young
we built an igloo for our camp
glowing at night like a lantern
a cool exotic lamp

A gum leaf in the billy
to make bush tea
ya can't buy that flavour
not for any fee

I close the door on those memories
and find myself on the beach
where waves crash in like breath
where gulls happily screech

I keep returning to that moment
in the sun of the afternoon
to be with the salted breeze
with sand in my hand like a spoon


Jaqi
Bluh


Thursday
8
November
2018


NOTE ~   Howrah was once a town, and may have been named after a city in India. There was a sign at each end of Howrah, declaring the ~ Town of Howrah. It is now a suburb of the City of Clarence. Howrah was once all farmlands, where I ran as a child on endless adventures, in the forested hills above our town, and to the beach, by the shore of the River Derwent, where it is a deep and wide harbour. From the beach there was a view to the ocean, and the sea breeze would blow in most afternoons. This is the setting of the poem, where I once played as a child, building sandcastles. And being by the ocean waters, sandcastles could have moats. Fond memories from days in the sun, like a dream. The igloo was built, on a National Fitness camp in the snow, by Twilight Tarn along the Tarn Shelf. Two groups built igloos, which were out of the cold wind at night. The third group went higher up to a ridge of snow, and made a snow cave. The tea and the book and the log fire is reflective of a wise old English gentleman I once knew, where I had my studio in his big old house, where he would offer a cup of tea, and in the evening, a glass of sherry. He kept his mind active by reading, and being wise, and having once trained race horses, many people would come to ask for Bark's advice on many matters. He told of taming the wildest horse, with the help of young women, who came to his riding school, and who frequently visited Bark. It was a happy time. As I respecting the wisdom of elders, I once asked Bark ~ "What is the most important thing in life?" Ever swift with a reply, the old man surprised me, with silence, for a time, until answering with one word ~ "Confidence." I took that lesson on board, and made it one of my cornerstones to build a life on. 



Rock Bottom ..... poem



Rock Bottom

When trolls see the daylight
they turn into stone
with bottoms of rock 
that no longer moan

Lost to the Moonlight
trapped in the day
stoned trolls are left
to silently gaze

The once ferocious troll
on the mountains danced
with lightning and thunder
along ridges pranced

At times under bridges
waiting for a traveler
to grab an ankle
and eat the rambler

Scattering bones
around on the ground
a warning to others
if that way bound

Now a troll of rock
no more do roam
trapped in the day
with a bottom of stone


Jaqi
Bluh


Tuesday
6
November
2018



NOTE ~   Rock Bottom is in the vein of a pun verse I made in the 1980s, when I had a studio and shop called ~ The Dragons Lair ~ in the Salamanca Arts Centre. This was an old complex of stores and factories, built in the early 1800s, with sandstone walls and great wooden rafters like a castle, and with bars on the first floor windows, where my place was located. I'd put a green dragon out the window, with it hanging onto the bars, and without looking, pour some water out, and then look out to see if a got anyone. Sometimes people would look up, but I think I always missed. Devilment. Once a Japanese publication made a story on the Dragons Lair, but I could not read Japanese, so who knows what they wrote of me and the Lair. Looked good, with the dragon hanging off the window bars. And when ere anyone ventured up the stairs to find the Dragons Lair, I would dare to share my pun verse ~

Fire breathing dragons may eat you at night
smoke fuming beasties consume you alright
Fried or grilled or roasted
they don't really mind
as long as you are tasty
with ketchup on the side