Futon #Haiku

yamagata-exploring-yamagata-the-basho-way-796

en.japantravel.com

closer to earth
nearer to heaven
my aching bones

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Dig Deep #domestic abuse #hypocrite

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Theresa May – Traitor in action.  Hypocrite.

A little rant and a p-o-e-m in light of increasing domestic abuse and even unrecognised domestic abuse depending on perspective and bribes.   With the embodiment of the courts, and this time, the realm, our ex fuckwit prime minister, who by her actions,  has condoned domestic abuse –  is saying that it is ok to beat up women – by recommending that an ex con and domestic abuser should get a medal (a Knighthood).  That is not right.  He played cricket for England, and he was/is a hero?  But, in reality, he is an arsehole and a criminal.

It is not OK to say that women are here to be beaten, abused and trod on.  So, I thought, nah, I cannot stand for this either, and I won’t.

I emailed my local MP.   And, I will keep emailing until she stands up in parliament and speaks.   Our ex PM granted an honour in her resignation honours list (an archaic entitlement, which is highly immoral in this case) to an abuser and ex crim.  But she, as a privileged, right wing B******* gave it to this one, her pal.   With that, she has let another vicious genie out from its bottle – again, that is ok to beat up a women.

Bury me deeply
so that the sun can’t find
my heart,
and its sting cannot oblige
by tearing from my smouldering flesh,
small, peeling shadows of my life, or wisdom
and memories, or the pearls
of my faith that now run as sweat that cries, while streaming down
my ashen face;

my soul is already on fire,
and your hands are burning.
Bury me deeply
so that the crows you tame
will not abuse me,
until solace is no longer
a sacred place,
or death an arbitrary mulch.
Bury me deeply,
so that when your fists rage and pound
against the rise of dank, dark soil,
I will be blessed, and will not feel you.
And when you scream and shout,
begging for grief because I am not
there to blame –
crows scatter once again,
only to befriend me, oddly –
and because you will watch them shield me –
you should bury
me, deeply.

Amarita

amarita.png

Drink up my wine
since these dead and lonely dark nights prevail,
and countless, luminous stars will make you ordinary;
and you will yearn
whilst you struggle outside of me,

especially when caught up in these heaving times,
when precious ills pressed closest

to your undulating
chest, might cause you to succumb
or be fed whilst I am lost –

but you will learn that I am made up of hundreds,
and that you knew who I was –
till I married you –

but, please worship me still
amid cold comforts lost –

pray, come back inside,
leave naivety at the door
and, please beckon it not.

Let us be as it once was –

let us be as it should be.
Let us be love.

New Stuff #CRUK #charity#hand painted crafts

Hi,  I just wanted to add a video and some of the new promotional things I made using my hand crafted items, as larger signage was needed.  I hope you’re all well!

Two dimensional
Satan has no place in art’s
man made persona

Streaming sunlight
on gracious passage of souls
golden heron fly

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Missy

A pick from this time 2 years ago.   I’m still busy doing my thing and making lots of money to help beat cancer sooner.  I smashed last year’s target and I am a third of the way through the one set for 2019.  I will have more faith and raise it!  Next event is this Saturday.  I hope you are all well and gearing up for a wonderful spring and its inspiration! Take care.

As it Comes

Miss.png

Her skin is fair, lightly freckled and starkly
contrasts her ambiguous demeanour.
I always tip my cap, ‘Good day, Miss,’
but she never casts a glance.
I carry on my way, meandering
deep in wild thoughts that are always
honeysuckle, blue grass, rosehips
and my Miss.
The sun beats down on she and us,
but when my Miss smiles, the heavens open
and it pours, dare I say, it rains tears.
My thinking is, it can not compete
with the lovely lady who does not care
if I live or die, because I know us to be just
a part of my wildest dreams –
the place I go to swiftly as I pass
the dingy, rusted via duct
on my way to work –
I pass that way often, my dreams,
so as not to be seduced by the muggy
waters of brown stench lying along my trail.
Deep down, I think…

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Zentangle #art

I’ve been away concentrating on my fundraising and have also put together a new video of crafts for this quarter.   Since I was knee deep in files, I wanted to add certain things to my art/sketches category like these Zentangle projects.   I have been practising for a year.  This form helps with meditation and concentration, and has been a boon in all of that to help me focus and think only of the moment.  There are no good or bad tangles, I have since learned.   And, it is what it is.  So, slowly, I am trying to apply that with regard to life, and *stuff*.

Black ink and pencil shading Zentangle box frame commissioned for Mother’s Day.

mother's day zentangle VID

Instead of tangling on pads of paper, I wanted to find other mediums to use: e.g wooden plaques, varnished, bottles etc –  making more of a lasting keepsake.

zentangle on wooden plaque vID

One of the donations I received was a box full of lovely smooth wood, (I made into bookmarks) unlike the plaque, which ripped my pen nibs to shreds,  these were a treat to work.  So calming.  I even ventured into colour on some, which for me is rare.

zentangle bookmark VID

Excuse my photography.  It was very late, I was very tired and didn’t even spot the blurriness due to my own.

 

 

Song for a Bluebird

I’m starting another year fundraising for CRUK, and painting my socks off again for my first event on 23rd February.  Sorry I haven’t been able to get around to your blogs and good works yet.  I hope you all have a lovely Valentine’s day,  loving one another, and many others.  Be kind and careful.   Here are some of my hearts for you from last year’s painting spree.  Take care.

Dedicating this old chestnut on Valentine’s day to my lovely husband, Jay.  Love you.

Walk me to the end
of love – let us be love.

Fold me where the
seams are stitched,

edges brought closer
till there is no end.

Play me till the piano
aches, when drifting sighs

start dancing, and crooning
violins stop playing.

Lift me like a hope
seeking light from dust,

hold me with your beauty
like a soul on fire –

let me be the risk you take,
dance me to the edge

then wait with me until the end
of love, let us be love.