On this strange island in the Adriatic where
Tito spent his 6-month summers and kept
exotic animals, something old feels most
real. The Roman mosaic in a small church has
more substance even than the lone elephant.
A baby zebra shares a field with Shetland ponies
gift of Queen Elizabeth when she visited
the Yugoslav leader. A taxidermist had a field day
here, results of their work displayed in the museum
empty concrete cages left in the shimmering sun.
Nobody lives on the island, but you can
stay in one of the hotels on the waterfront, play
golf in the grassy clearing, swing your feet
in the clear sea with blue stripey fish.
Blue is an endless feeling
of possibilities, expansive
lost light fractured and full
of paradoxes, holding joy
and sadness, sky and sea
day and night, collar and
crown and chapel.
Like the small pieces of blue
patterned porcelain and pottery
remnants of lives I have found
over years of walking
they are all true.
Notice of Race
You can enter online for this event
of a lifetime which requires you to
prove your skill and stamina against
a partnership of water and air.
It will last as long as you compete
against the elements, follow
the instructions and feel your spirit
is ready to race to the end.
Sun glitters on the sea in a fugue
of small patterns, variations on a theme
of light, a silvery sheet like a rescue blanket
for people who find that the currents
of their mind move in unexpected ways
who like to feel the waves, the underwater pull
and sudden surfacing of insights.
It's not all flowers and sunshine
these days, more a dark wondering
how to keep going when the end for some
is inexplicably soon. How to make sense
of the random, find meaning while knowing
and feeling that life is not fair?
I can hear Bach understood something
listening to his endless lucid movements
full of variation, like ripples on sea water
or the rings of a tree, like life.
Making things is good
for my mind I feel
channelling scattered thoughts and
energy into hand movements
and tangible presence -
connecting colours with words.
And so it is time for daffodils again
annual harbingers of spring, full
of yellow daring and defiance
when winter suddenly returns.
Confident double stars swing in
the wind, while inside a vase shines
with the smiling colour of happy.
Water touched by sun edging
past clouds that float
towards me I suddenly hear
on my headphones how
Vivaldi is grounded in
what happened - all
that can happen again
while leaning towards
the possibility of hope.
In these dark days only
electric shadows are patterning
walls and wet streets.
The dog and her collar lit up
walk through dripping branches,
slushy grass and there is suddenly
another dog enthusiastically
eyed up by mine charging
forward crouching to invite play.
They sniff turn decide to ignore
each other. I take my hand
out of a snug pocket to pet her but
she impatiently runs on towards
the shadow of a squirrel.
Project 10 is a little experiment for 2019.
The number 10 plays a special role in my life. Every month on the 10th day I will take a photo and write a poem, which will be posted when ready.