...THREE IMAGES in WORDS
ONE In The Beginning the World was all Gold. Only below in Black Deeps, it is told, did the First Maker toil at Its dream. The Maker was shaping materials at hand into marvellous things It could put on the land just under the layers of gold. Many an eon had passed while It toiled With nought that had hindered, nothing that spoiled And now It was ready to finish. It noted the corners of gold—they had lifted! And much of the land underneath, it had drifted; ‘Twas easy to peel off the gold. The gold from the land It just scattered below And the gold from above It rolled up to throw And was toss to the sky as a ball. That great ball of gold’s what we now call the Sun And searching for gold down below is great fun-- But that is not what It did next… © Shirley Goodbar 2017 |
TWO
The Maker was happy with what It had made It painted all over with greens of all shades-- ‘Twas peaceful and calm as It rested. It wanted some music and so It made birds. Their warbling and chirping was everywhere heard While It pondered what else to create. It’s mind was quite busy imagining next; It needed no patterns, It needed no text to make every creature so different. They barked and they roared, they mewed and they hissed; They made every possible sound but one; missed was the sound of It’s singular voice. So then It created one animal more with voice like Its own and a mind at it’s core that could ponder whatever it saw. Then into this paradise Mankind appeared. Man saw what was there and he chuckled and sneered. “Oh! I can do better than this”, he exclaimed…. ©Shirley Goodbar 2017 THREE The Maker had made everything to perfection; Each part was fashioned to fit every section— balanced and complementary But Mankind had visions exceeding his skill He puttered and tinkered with everything til He’d destroyed all the beauty and balance It was easy, Man thought, to improve what was there. He’d altered and changed everything with a flair And made a right mess of it all…. ©Shirley Goodbar 2017 |
Path
I wander through time beside the river of memories. Countless feet have travelled my length, weaving their way between the trees. Each day’s events add detail: the wounds, the lichen of experience. Some travellers reach at last that clearing sky where problems part and hopes are realised. I am the course of life. © Barbara Appleton 2017 |
Solitude
I know a place Of prayer and grace A sanctuary to meditate. An escape. Escape from chaos Through gentle, subtle light Among tall guardians of nature. The mind caressed by silent beauty. A path weaves through towering giants Majestic eucalyptus Yet no sound underfoot. Then a bridge—a portal Leading back to the world of reality. © Elizabeth McVie 2017 |
The Battle The canvas stood alone and white Until her colours matched their might Hues of blues with dappled shades, Crackled yellow lightning laid. Jagged shard of forceful green Creates the violence of the scene Oranged shadows steeped in rust Bog in mire its piercing thrust. Red flows thick with deep intent To grasp the razor greenness sent. Among the carnage flowing through Two lines of white—pure and true. Locked in battle, the colours stilled … The painter’s canvas now is filled. ©Patricia Webb 2017 Adrift at Sea Colours of deep blue swirled in an ocean of white crests and grey, low swooping Terns. A broken fish trap, red and green with algae, caught my eye. It bobbed in the swell, fractured and cursed. The horizon beyond disappearing into an orange glow. © Mark Peterson 2017 |
Blue Life
Equatorial band wraps the circumference of cobalt ocean geneses of creation sustainer of all life wind and current know tentacle of red monsoon will curl and destroy as upheaval of sea tears green chlorophyll from bay and gulf the eternal cycle of nature will repeat again the great miracle of planet earth. © Jan Forrester 2017 Tumult & Peace my mind swims in a tumultuous sea a map of events from the hazy past where cross roads meet with here and now there and then anger rises a wave of bitterness to sting and leave a gall of regret light glows on the horizon of my mind it carries me away on a raft of reflection. © Rose Fox 2017 |
Suez
Birds of prey rise and fall, listless in hot thermals to wheel above the stretched canvas of ancient yellow sand laden camels have trod striations of fine grain, hot staircase of desert black stroke of canal flows northward, past Sinai to the east Nile Delta to the west Slim vessel plies her turret eye watchful between yellow cliffs cruel memory of labour hard dug with shovel and hollowed by thirst brown dogs bark sad echoes between sand walls as sentry men guard with weapons loaded to point ships north to Port Said where metal cranes - giant insects hover shoreside to clutch tightly then release to push north to freedom, and open sea. © Jan Forrester 2017 |
Scorched
Gnarled wrists emerge From sleeves of tattered robes Peel back the sands of time To clasp in love For one last touch Across scorched desert sands The hands with seeing eye Know tenderness Devotion, passion, ardour So many aeons past. © Mei-Ling Venning 2017 The Eye The eye within the darkness may be compelling you to find; To peel the layers gently back as blinkers from the blind. To search, explore, uncover from the depths of yellowed age. To find what lies beyond; as the turning of a page. But wait; perhaps the eye is content within the deep. The vastness of the yellowed age is hers for time to keep. Does she seek with single sight her comfort; ragged, dim? Through aeons long and dark her jagged coastline rim? We look; we see; imagine: but whatever we perceive, The eye will ne’er reveal what we’ve chosen to believe. © Patricia Webb 2017 |