Poem ~ Hay ~ 29 Sep 2019

Hay

Farmer Sam lost his glasses
and couldn't see too well
but work must go on and on
there was hay to bring in fast
and time wouldn't hang around long.

His old hay bailer rattled and groaned
meandering along the country road
past sheep, cows and hedgerows
to the paddock of hay to harvest
nicely dry now where it grows

The hay looked a little funny
as Sam couldn't see too well
but on with the bailing he goes
slashing the field like an army
and spitting out bails in rows

Then loads them all on a trailer
and tractors them back to the barn
which fills to the rafters
and into the loft 
but two dozen more remain afters

As his garage had fallen down
the house would have to do
as an extra barn for the keep'n
of bails of hay for the winter
keep'n the sheep from bleep'n

With a wish to clear the house
Sam decided to put some hay out
to which the sheep took a like'n
unlike ever before in the past
they chewed that hay up like light'n

Sargent Barks was driving past
wondered why Sam's sheep were jump'n
old ewes bouncing like lambs
weathers had an odd glance
and something quite odd with the rams

Knocks on Sam's door to inquire
about his sheep being real odd
when the odour seemed hazy 
made him wonder out loud
"Is this straw make'n your flock crazy?"

The drug squad came and took the lot
in the house at least
and set out a watch for a crim
to catch the planter of grass in Sam's hay
that made his sheep happy to the brim

Longbottom drove by real slow
and then took off real fast
chased by the cops with siren blaring
drove into a ditch by the bridge
and was caught for his grass and daring

But the barn was round the back
still full of hay with a flavour
so Sam wonder'n what ta do
in case the cops came back
decided he was in a legal stew

A sleepless night beneath the Moon
sparked a bright idea with the dew
and as Christmas was about to show
Sam got out a long roll of ribbon
and wrapped each bail with a bow

Drove round all his neighbours
and emptied the barn
by sharing with all a bail of hay 
and after nine trailer trips
trundled home to reflect on the day

Delighted with the secret gift 
farmers gave the hay to their stock
making them strange and bouncy
but very much happier
what the heck with something free

But a few farmers in the know
pulled out their pipes 
lighting up free of fear
to blow rings into the night
happy with the Christmas cheer


Jaqi 

Bluh

Sunday
29
September
2019

POEM ~ Mars ~ 12 Sep 2019

Mars

Have you been to the ghost towns of Mars?
They were all the hoot for a while,
until the orbital cities were built,
some as wide as a mile.

Now mainly robots are found on Mars
greeting tourists from Earth
to see all the pioneering
upon the Martian dirt.

Earthers ask, Why all the Martians go,
to live in the orbital cities in space?
So the robots explain the details,
the advantage of that place.

The Martians wanted the right to visit Earth
so Earth gravity was deemed the need,
generated by rotating space habitats
where children are a better breed.

For Mars has a third of Earth's gravity
and babies born on the god of war
have lighter bones and muscles
leaving them on Earth's floor.

They couldn't get any travel insurance
with safety risks on Earth too great,
so one by two the Martians left
leaving the planet to its fate.

Only Elon Musk stayed on Red Mountain
living on the Martian dream world
designing new star rockets
to be faster propelled.

"Thanks for visiting the Martian museum"
the tourists all heard as they leave.
"Remember the gravity's greater
where cities are tumbling free."

Jaqi
Bluh

Thursday
12
September
2019

NOTE ~   In space, an Earth gravity can be made by rotating a wheel at the right rate, so that on the inside of the wheel, the same force as an Earth gravity is experienced.

POEM ~ Confession ~ 8 Sep 2019

Confession

Father,

forgive me,

for I have sinned:

I had that dream again

there was no restrain

I was pinned.

Tell me all

my good son

and the burden will go:

your life will be much better

your heart will be lighter

your days will flow.

I pray

then I sleep

my good wife there too:

something wonderful happens

as if I am in love again

then wake in a stew.

All sweaty

and quite messy

there is nothing I can do:

but go take a cold shower

make me a hot coffee

wonder what's due?

We tried,

you know we tried,

with so very many ways:

but you still dream in the night

as if on your wedding

on bliss filled days.

And your wife

there beside you

the holiest woman:

her thoughts are so high

the saints are in envy

a very fine human.

I would say

there can be a way

if you write your dream:

get it out of your system

and bring it to me

that I deem.

Here it is

I feel better now

that was good direction:

lets it all flow out of mind

and onto the paper

with affection.

Over the decades

the good Father gathered

quite a library of night tales:

put aside in a bank deposit box

until one dark day

security fails.

The bank was robbed

the boxes all left empty

them stories flowed into a book:

a tome read far and wide

tales from the night

quite a look.

You said you would burn 

all those stories I confessed

but I have sinned and read a bad book:

and there were all my tales shared so bold

of night dreams beside my good wife

I am feeling rather crook.

No more confession

it was time for some reflection

on chasing dreams in a different way:

the wages would be a worthy incentive

letting night dreams run wild

capturing them at day

Thus it came about

that a novelist was born

who could write a book of sinning:

tales from the night of creamy dreams

all published in secret

for some grinning.

Jaqi

Bluh

Sunday

8

September

2019

NOTE ~   As dreams can be seen as creative, wet dreams may be a more powerful form of creative inspiration, driving reflection, when the whimsical fancies of the sleeping mind explode into waking reality? ..... https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nocturnal_emission

There is more to this matter to considered in a clinical way, to understand the human mind, and the driver of behaviour and creative impulses.

How does the wet sex dream differ between men and women?

There are more difficult questions.

In some ways this is a taboo subject.

For men it may reveal a shocking vulnerability.

For women it may hold a secret power.

For the imagination, unbridled, wet dreams may be the fertility of some art.

POEM ~ Venus ~ 1 Sep 2019

Venus

Goddess of love
star of the morning
born from the ocean
queen of life's dreaming

Steps from the sea
bathed in a rainbow
surrounded by waves
and sea birds that crow

Onto the sand
into the landscape
a vision of beauty
a wondrous fate

But look to the sky
your home planet sizzles
a deadly dry landscape
where it never drizzles

That dominion is stark
rocks glow in a heat
that loves to melt lead
no place for your feet

We know your past
of a planet once cool
with water like Earth
til the Sun dried your pool

Are you doomed to bake
an eternal devil's furnace
or could you find new birth
regain your ocean's palace?

Could we love you
enough to cool you 
with a sunshade above 
and water to your brew?

Not too hot
and not too frozen
just right for life
where waves freshen

Could we cool you
hot goddess of love
heal that parched planet 
deliver new life from above?

A day of new birth

a Venusian ocean

rise once again

new life in motion

Jaqi
Bluh

Sunday
1
September
2019


NOTE ~   Venus is nearly the same size as Earth. It would take a long time, maybe a million years, but it would be possible to transform Venus into a second Earth, beginning with a sunshade in space, to begin to cool the planet. There is no water on Venus at present, but there is plenty of water in the Solar System, some of which could be brought to Venus. In the early phase, there could be cities that float in the clouds of Venus, where carbon and oxygen may be mined from the air, which is mainly carbon dioxide (CO2). With the power of the Sun for energy, CO2 from Venus could be processed, and the carbon used to make carbon based products for human society in space. Carbon is an amazing element, the basis of life as we know it, and the raw material for a growing range of new products.

Mysterious Cloud 'Absorbers' Seen to Drive Venusian Albedo, Climate http://www.spacedaily.com/reports/Mysterious_Cloud_Absorbers_Seen_to_Drive_Venusian_Albedo_Climate_999.html
"Venus is much hotter - in the neighborhood of 860 degrees Fahrenheit (460 degrees Celsius) at the surface - due to a runaway greenhouse effect caused by a thick, carbon dioxide rich atmosphere and a blanket of clouds composed mostly of droplets of sulfuric acid." ~ "The planet rotates in the opposite direction of Earth (the Sun rises in the west), and its surface has never been seen by the human eye as it is completely obscured by its banks of opaque, highly reflective clouds." ~ "In particular, the albedo changes help explain variations in the vigorous activity of the planet's upper atmosphere, which exhibits what scientists call "super-rotation," a phenomenon driven by winds exceeding 200 miles per hour."

Venus, Not Earth, May Have Been Our Solar System's Best Chance At Life

https://www.forbes.com/sites/startswithabang/2016/07/06/venus-not-earth-may-have-been-our-solar-systems-best-chance-at-life/#5aae2cc95385

"Venus' atmosphere was very thin at the beginning, comparable to the thickness of Earth's atmosphere today. Earth, on the other hand, was very different, with lots of methane, ammonia, water vapor, hydrogen and virtually no oxygen at all. And the Sun was so faint compared to what it is now: less than 80% as luminous as it is today. With all that in mind, perhaps -- if we rewound the Solar System to the very beginning and started it again -- the ingredients for life would come together on Venus far more easily than on Earth? And perhaps early Venus was teeming with life, while things on Earth were barely getting started?"

Why 80% less luminous? ~ This is due to the way the Sun burns its fuel supply. Our star has so much fuel in reserve, it will burn fiercely over the next 5 billion years, until expanding to the orbit of the Earth as a red giant. This is basic astronomy for a star like our Sun, which also makes it one hell of an energy well.

A good day on Venus ~ 460C ~ 860F ~ Wind 200 kph

'The Birth of Venus' by Sandro Botticelli, 1486

A Big Old House

Driving down the country road
blowing up a cloud of dust
past a big old house
up on that hill with a tree
leaning into gloom and dusk

Glancing up she's there again
standing at the window
watching time go by
through fading curtains
might be a lonely old widow

The fog swirls up around the car
I slow down to see ahead
that old house
left behind in dust and fog
rounds another wriggly bend

That car's now gone down the bends
I watch through faded curtains
as silence falls
like dew on the grass
on another night of misty rains

Closed off another room today
memories no longer seen
all fading away
this last room will do me
reflecting on the life that has been

I love that painting by the sea
seen over Gran's old cup
with Bushell's tea
remembering the beach
where I played in the sand with pup

The boys out in the thundering surf
and Mum watching keen
to keep em safe
from surf and shark
and rips that lurk beneath

Sun fell and something happened
a baby came in pain
born to strife
adopted to a family
I had to wear the shame

Many dreams died one day
when a tree fell on Dad
Mum lingered on
"You're a good girl"
but I didn't feel that glad

When Mother faded into time
older brother went away
sent a post card
never heard again
left alone to mind me day

after day in this big old country house
rooms jammed with memories
waiting for the call
as days fade into years
as mists roll through the valleys

Driving back from a day in town
flashing lights and siren crying
flames flickering
smoke rising among stars
that big old house was dying

Stood watching flaming fingers
leaping out the window
and wondered
that face by faded curtains
as roof collapsed in a showery glow

I asked the fireman what he knew
"That house was long empty."
blackened stone walls
now lurk against the night
burnt out of its hive of memories

Sad in heart I drive home slow
from a ruin of black scars
where silence fell
by the swing in the tree
where smoke blew away to the stars

Jaqi
Bluh

Sunday
21
July
2019

NOTE ~   Driving along the country road, many empty houses are seen, and one wonders, what are the memories? And then time takes them all away, like a tree that melts in the forest, for new dreams to spring up into life.

The Poem ..... Mad as Mad ..... has been published in the book ..... Roads in a Yellow Wood ..... in Tasmania.

POEM ~ The Model ~ 22 Jun 2019

The Model

When Mr Brown retired
he took up art
went to many classes
life drawing too
where he found his heart

He loved the female form
rounded curves
like billowing clouds
like sand dunes
like gliding feathered birds

He loved the coloured pastels
gentle shades to form
the rounded curves he loved to see
merging pinks
into colours like the morn

Reddish tips for nipples and cheeks
weathered tones for feet
rugged strength for hands that work
finding their story
hair falling like a river fleet

At life drawing one day he dared ask
if a model would pose
in his studio for an oil painting
on a canvas stretched
in an antique frame of gold rose

The day was set and the hour made
for the model to be
in his studio by a bay of the sea
in his old shop
he felt as happy as a bumble bee

He rubbed is bald head
making it gleam
wondering about a scene
by the sea
or in a forest stream

A sunny day with seagulls down below
where the wind was blowing in
through the rigging of the yachts
sounding like a train
which always fascinated him

The pot belly stove was stoked
making the studio warm
with the paints squeezed out
of their little tubes
onto a palette hardly worn

A gentle knock at the door
"Do come in,
is it warm enough for you?"
"I think so."
She disrobed to begin

His heart fluttered to behold
her standing in sight
"Which way should I pose?"
"By the chair."
And the paint began to fly

Bristle brushes slashed the canvas
cutting through air
spreading paint with a palette knife
smeared with a rag
her naked beauty was captured there

Inspired by the model's presence
the artist grinned
this work seemed not to be by him
then the model glared
as her boyfriend barged in

"What are you doing here?"
they all said
then a hand smeared the canvas
the model screamed
the artist's bald head went quite red

Waking up in a hospital bed
a crack on the head
by a jealous model's lover man
with his troubled heart
and his beautiful painting now quite dead

The nurse shared the news
all on the radio
how the police came and arrested
both model and lover
for brawling in Mr Brown's painting studio

"And you arrived by ambulance,
unconscious too."
Traumatic memory haunted him now
with the cruel desecration
of a painting too good to be true

Pondering on this fickle finger of fate
and the many subjects for art
he decided that trees were safer by far
and that's how he found
a new passion for painting bark

Jaqi
Bluh

Saturday
22
June
2019


NOTE ~   I once had an art studio in an old shop by a bay of the sea, where the wind blew through the rigging of of the yachts, sounding like a train. But there was no train. The last train that ran in Bellerive was over a century ago. I have worked with the model in art all my life, male and female, but never had Mr Browns problem with a model. Adding the drama made the poem more interesting: but maybe there is a lesson in there for any hobby artist thinking to work with the model in art. The experienced artist remains alert to potential problems that might hop out to haunt. The British artist, Lucian Freud, once got into an argument with a taxi driver, and got a black eye out of that ..... which he made a painting of, as soon as he was back in the studio. Artist's are often rugged creatures, turning odd circumstances into art, rather than running away to paint bark, as a safe option.

POEM ~ Highway ~ 11 Jun 2019

Highway

Flying along the highway
maintaining steady speed
trees swoosh past
and other cars
racing by my steed

Driving into walls of rain
slows down just a tad
don't want to slide
or spin around
that'd be so bad

Oncoming truck and trailer
a menacing mobile mountain
rocks the car in passing
like an ocean wave
sprayed like a fountain

Windscreen wipers
swishing, swashing
sweeping through miles
music helps
time mindlessly passing

Stop at a roadside shop
ice coffee for the mind
must keep awake
must stay alert
the highway is not kind

On the road again
a car overtakes at speed
"petrol head" I mutter
stay within the limit
no need to push the steed

An accident ahead
slows down fast
flashing lights
crawls by
happy to get past

Back up to speed
appointment to meet
roadworks ahead
stalled at lights
waiting to proceed

Only slow drive is allowed
workers all around
upgrading the highway
wider than before
now slowly city bound

Away again at speed
and onto a country road 
past cattle and sheep
and long legged alpacas
grazing their paddock abode

At last the mountain seen
a brooding mother
where the city nestles
by a river to the sea
an aquatic father

Crosses the bridge
once knocked down
by a ship that veered away
one Sunday night
on it's steam to town

Into the madding traffic
into the car tower gritty
into a slow square spiral
into a parking bay
into a day in the city 

Jaqi 
Bluh

Tue

11
June
2019

NOTE ~ This poem sings of the drive from our country town, called Ross, along ther highway, into the city of Hobart, where Mt Wellington broods above the town like a possessive mother, and the River Derwent is a great harbour by the ocean. The Tasman Bridge was knocked down by a ship in 1975, which is still down there, with the bridge rebuilt over it.

Decades on from the Tasman Bridge disaster, the memory of the tragedy still haunts the state
Phoebe Hosier, 5 January 2018, ABC News Online

https://www.abc.net.au/news/2019-01-05/memory-of-tasman-bridge-collapse-lingers/10684234
"It's 44 years today since the Tasman Bridge disaster, but the memory of the traumatic event still lingers in the minds of many Tasmanians, who say they're fearful or anxious when crossing the bridge. It was in 1975 when the ore carrier Lake Illawarra struck the bridge, taking out two pylons and 127 metres and three spans of the bridge. Five motorists and seven crew members died. What caused the Lake Illawara to go off course is unknown, but historians have said strong river currents and inattention on board could have contributed.” ~ 

JAQI ~ I was living in Howrah when the bridge fell, 3 miles south, and we heard the noise. The next morning I paddled out onto the river in my canoe to see the gap in the bridge. Ferries on the river made a revival, while the Tasman Bridge was being repaired.

Tasman Bridge Collapse 40th anniversary newstories ~ FILM ~
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z_t6ReVkWmg

Song from the time ~ Ferryboat Shuffle ~
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmzpuBH-Jis

Tasman Bridge disaster turned to opportunity for Bob Clifford and his boats ~
https://www.news.com.au/national/tasmania/tasman-bridge-disaster-turned-to-opportunity-for-bob-clifford-and-his-boats/news-story/d7e3e5330f832e2fbdea0f7fc0f8e66c

Hobart Floating Bridge, 1963 ~
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tg0NHLek74c

Tasman Bridge Reconstruction (1978) ~
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hJZIN2xRN2s

Memories of the old Hobart Floating Bridge ~
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M22But7VeAg

POEM ~ Boulder ~ 6 Jun 2019

Boulder

Once asleep inside my Mother Earth
snailing along through endless time
until the long slow birth revealed
a face to the air and rain so fine

Left there standing tall upon a hill
with rabbits bounding round about
and trees for friends that grew so tall
then falling down when their time was out

New trees grew from seeds of old
where birds would nest in spring
and rest on me to dance about
or stand to watch and sing

Then one so sunny morning
as I soaked in the rays of heat
a child came climbing up the hill
and found I made a really neat seat

Looking out across the countryside
and down upon the farm below
where a family field of vines
made wine with a glow

The lad would tap with a rock
and listen to the ring I would sing
resounding through the forest deep
an ancient tune of the stones that ting

One day an earthquake shook the hill
quaking ground fell away from me
and I rolled on down the slope
through vineyard and tree

Just missed the little house
tumbled through a stone wall
into the vineyard coming to rest
where grapes mark the end my fall

My friend the lad was rather angry
hammer blows instead of song
summers rolled through time
new grapes came along

Feet pressed, juices flowed
to make the wine that glowed
and the lad went away to learn
arts of life and new skills honed

Returned a man so tall and strong 
with hammer and chisel in hand
carving stone into new shape
new life for rock to stand

Then one day he stared
his chisel and hammer rings
began to crack hard upon me
chipping away the rock that sings

A year went by among the vines
barrels filled with newer wine
and I reshaped from old
into goddess sublime

Where the people sing
with summer's hot days
dancing around their statue
now in the heart of their plays

In the midst of the vines
I sing with the wine 
with a ting in time
a happy rhyme

Jaqi
Bluh

Thu

6

Jun

2019

NOTE ~ The boulder in this poem is reflective of a similar event in Italy a few years ago ~

Boulder smashes through Italian farm

BBC News, 31 January 2014

https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-25975251

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CCKgjZ7JVKM

POEM ~ Aurora Dentata ~ 25 May 2019

Aurora Dentata

This painting is strange

you may feel the same

one by James Gleeson

in a plain gold frame

Called Aurora Dentata

a haunting creation

like a shark out roaming

through the ocean

You can look up dentata

and be surprised

at a myth with teeth

undisguised

But what is its meaning

what does it say

is there a message

a moral at play

An old Irish gardener

said he knew

held up his hand

and declared it was true

Had fingers missing

was a gunner in the war

on a flying fortress

through clouds of gore

He had earned the right

to spin a tale

and turn the listener

a little pale

Makes for reflection

on the horrors of war

when unbridled passion

comes to the fore

In the quiet of the gallery

in the play of art

Aurora Dentata

screams from the heart

Is it just another painting

or a comment on war

of the forces of Nature

exposed and raw

Jaqi
Bluh

Saturday
25
May
2019

Note ~  'Aurora Dentata' (1986) is a painting by the Australian surrealist artist, James Gleeson (1915-2008). He lived an amazing life, with his greatest works being created in his older years. He would not go quietly into the night.

POEM ~ Butterfly ~ 9 May 2019

Butterfly

I fell into happiness once
landing in a pool of bliss
where the swimming was nice
like a kiss

When a butterfly landed
flapping her wings
where the sunlight of love
silently sings

We were alive in the sunset
colours of the rainbow
sitting on the sand
seeing you glow

Laughing in moonlight
at silliest things
moonbeams were flying
as if they had wings

By the fire that danced
with flickering lights
your hair forest gold
whispered delights

Stars swirled around
through the velvet night
where knowing you
was to know your light

Then a yellow dawn
revealed you were real
not just a dream
who I could feel

For a moment at day
it seemed you would stay
but like the dew must melt
you were away

Stunned in happiness
dripping with bliss
on the edge of a pond
with a lingering kiss

Jaqi
Bluh

Thursday
9
May
2019

NOTE ~   Sometimes imagined, sometimes real, sometimes both, moments in life happen that leaves a tingling sensation in the imagination, echoing forever.

POEM ~ Ghost Cafe ~ 4 May 2019

Ghost Cafe

Walking alone in an icy wind
wrapped in a shivering blanket,
where will I go on this empty street
of stones like a dead grey carpet?

Winter trees reach out like bones
to take what breath they can
where I gaze at a ghost cafe
to the tune of a gusted tin can

I remember once it bubbled with life
the sound of laughter in happy light
but those people left to follow the gold
and now all that's left is the shadow of night

We spoke there once with delight
about dreams of a palace of art
did you too fly away to the gold, with
memories falling like leaves from the heart?

I can remember your laughter over coffee
as your words danced around on the table
and ideas rose like magic candles
burning as brightly as a mystical fable

The past clatters shut like a metal roller door
on haunted spectres of memories,
pulling the blanket tight from the cold
I fight on against this wind's cold treacheries

My fire of light still burns within against this night
where visions bleed oily colours of paint
in my studio with strength to match heart and soul
with a canvas stretched tight as a drum for a portrait

A study of life in pain and joy, in dark and bright,
in stone and vine, in glass and wine,
in song from the heart, spread out with paint,
creating a feast for the eyes, to greedily dine.

The painter, stands alone, hums in silence,
as loud as an old cathedral organ hive,
driving out the icy wind of frozen reveries,
turning new soil for the seeds of life.

Though I walk alone in icy winds
wrapped in a shivering blanket
as an artist I know these empty streets
and dance upon the grey stone carpet

Jaqi
Bluh

Saturday
4
May
2019

NOTE ~   Does this poem speak of the loneliness of an artist, surrounded by a chaotic carnival of memories, and yet defiant with an inner strength. People may look upon this crazy character, and think them mad, but, what if in their studio they are producing works worth many millions of dollars, not because paint is gold, but because if those works are loved, it is this love that turns the dried oil paint in sheets of gold. It is love that makes art live through millennia, and gain its money value. If the art is not worth the love of generations, then it dies, and sinks into oblivion. But, often the artist is lost from sight in life, behind the finely oiled opinions of others. And like Paul Gauguin's landlord, after the death of the artist, drags a trunk full of the artist's work down to the sea, and pushes it all off the end of a jetty, to float away into oblivion. How many millions of dollars sank in that blind act of madness by a sane landlord? There are many individuals lost in life, who may have inner treasure, hidden from sight.