Abstract, Sky On Canvas

Now, here we see
Brilliant white
Deftly dappled
Onto a consistent blue wash.

Painterly,
Thick,
White strokes
Can be seen
In the foreground there;

An abstract piece.
But one can instantly tell
What this is;

An Empty landscape-
Composition brilliant,
Though formed of nothing.

I simply can't wait to view tomorrow's work!

Farmer Goodman's Busy Day

Morning
Sun ascending
Another clear day
Sunlight pours in,
Slowly filling the room
Of the farmer and his wife
Their quiet dose softly brakes

Time to wake!
To shout,
To work,
To raise the animals-
feed them,
milk them,
care for them,
Kill them.

But Breakfast first
And a hearty one:
Black pudding, scab
Eggs, amniotic juices
And other fine stuff.
Blood spurts onto the farmer's black apron
Li'lle basturd!
The wife chuckles
What a scene.

The day begins
Men are called to the barn
A brief briefing
Then all scatter
Eruption of activity
Money must be made,
So seeds are sown;
Vehicles are fuelled and driven about
Harvests are cultivated

A cow's solitary breast is sucked
By cold, sterile, rubber mouths
The mother thinks 'good, calves'
But the milking machinery is soulless;
The silver brilliance makes her squint
She sees little.
Unnatural, uncomfortable, uncouth.
These cows lives are drained,
Then the "husk" dumped.
'They have their purpose'.
But don't we all?

The lambs are lonely
Enough food, yes
But would humans be happy with just this?
A minuscule pen
Motherless
so many small, innocent, child orphans
"3 year old raped then murdered in brutal attack"
'A Despicably horrendous disgrace! A human life cut so short!'
60 1 year olds taken to be murdered
'They're just animals- dumb, yummy, stupid animals'
Sliced up
Saws scream out ecstatic, hysterical laughter
With their human operators
Both thirsty for infantile blood
It paints the place.
And yet the victims entered smiling, fine
Only a little sickness from the van ride

Nothing more.

More money for the farmer then!
Very good- British farming flourishes still!
Excellent
?
He has finished his hard day
Enough cash-by-killing for today then?
No, my friends. Not for this fine fellow.

The wife prepares the evening meal
The farmer enters
She kisses him, his whiskers bristling her
She chuckles as he growls words into her ear
The beef will be overcooked
He likes his meat tender
Juicy
Blood soaked
Enjoys the odour of the daily cull
The meat is not wasted though-
The dog, he enjoys fresh meat;
No waste there then
Just one animal for another
'Just like in nature'
Though not at all

"Then for afters a bitta whisky-
Finest blend,
12 years matured,
Though only one glass mind yous,
tonight's the 'unt
Wanta be sober for tha'!"

Nighttime
Oh, what a night, too!
So many farmers
Out for a good time
And what better way
Than to pop off a few rounds
At your very own birds
(You would have thought
that one would retain life
if one has responsibility over it,
But not our compassionate heroes,
not them)
Pop, pop, pop
"Cheering
Not allowed
Don't wannuh stir 'em up more'n needs be"
Delight overruns the massacre
Fulfillment through power
'Their birds, why not?'
Boom, BOOM, BOOM!
More and more innocents slaughtered. No reason given,
Just a bit of fun
'It's OK- they're all eaten'
No- very, very few.
Most lie bleeding
Necks broken
Legs shattered by the shots
They couldn't escape
Low intelligence
Though not far off their killers

Ironic
The killers deserve to be killed
Yet only those worthy of life lose it prematurely

It is tragic
It is repugnant
It is what makes the world turn.

Ah, The Buddhist Life

Nobody worries me
Nothing ever troubles me
For I am a Buddhist you see!

And if I am good
(If I'm very very good)
Then I will some get bright greens for my tea

But if I plant flowers
In the Dalai Llama's trousers
Well
Then there is no pudding for a week for me

So
Why don't you join me?
We both shall be Buddhists jaunty
Oh
Then we will all live oh so happily

A Summer's Day Borrowed By March

Today the Sun shines
More than it has in a long time
My clothes are thin and brightly coloured
Like the rays of the blazing ripe apricot Sun

Everyone seems renewed, refreshed
Nobody frowns today
Adults laugh
Babies gurgle contentedly
All is bright and beautiful

I entered a shopping precinct.
Darkness.
Smoke.
Cloying scents.
Recycled air.

I am outside again
Oxygen fresh, wholesome
Makes me feel vital
I am alive

Some people laugh at my clothes
I have entertained them
Good
Giving is everything today

Another commercial centre.
It was claustrophobia inducing.
There were smells of toilets,
Excremental artifice.
I yearn to be strolling outside...

Oh the beauteous fragrances of open air
Are surrounding me
And I welcome them
While flowers- Chrysanthemum, Lilac, Hyacinth?
It doesn't matter
All become life-affirming flora for today.

Oh, but everyday could be as today is!
Warm, gentle Sun embracing,
Soft such early morning sounds echoing,
Flowers pleasantly perfuming.

Oh, if only every one could be today!
Then I would feel my life entirely well spent,
Thereby never fearing death.

Extract from Today (20/02/07)

and as I was sitting on that red brick, moss-surfaced wall I felt content, quiet and at ease with myself. This was largely due to the spectacle unfolding itself before me.
I saw a young girl dressed in trim, blue uniform (must attend the Shrewsbury Grammar, I told myself) seeming to possess a youthfully careless step. She seemed happy, even if only to be travelling to this perfunctory duty. Perhaps I envied her a little. Only a minor pang, but certainly present, nonetheless. She appeared to be an effortless optimist; I could tell this even from the few fleeting moments for which I viewed her.
Many others appeared, in their own time- An aggressive glance cast at me by a twenty year old (I guessed), an old workmate with whom I chatted briefly, an elderly lad (fifty, sixty) waddled out of her home with silent dignity and with this same low level of volume, modestly lowered her bags onto the ground next to her neighbour’s. She was dressed in garments similar in hue to those of the schoolgirl I had seen a little while ago, the formality of the apparel bridging a generational gap. Another person passes by me now, around the same age as the scowling twenty-year-old. She glances at me for a second then continues on her journey- probably a light sojourn to the nearest newsagent’s- milk, bread, Telegraph, home housework, greet husband, prepare dinner, bed, repeat. I quietly contemplate this to myself. Or, my imagination talking now, is there a darker motive to her route?
Then I consider this lady for a second time. She did have a sense of contained and controlled (yet visible to one such as I) urgency in her consistent step pattern; A rigid rhythm. Perhaps, then, some sexual urgency to arrive at this significant destination? Yes, her heels, clack, clack, clacking, on the ground lacked the leisurely softness of sound that I expected from a lady of her age. Ha, huh, hmmm… Well, that’s my mental exercise out of the way for today.
I am beginning to feel a worrying pang of sudden displacement. The slow monotonous roars of cars bores me. Bicycles remind me that I don’t get enough exercise. I no longer enjoy the presence of those around me, I see this now. As I hear jarring shoes against the hard concrete path, nearing me, I move my eyes toward them, my head retaining its stasis. My hood obscures my face from their view, I think, and them from mine. I am an uninvited guest in this daily show of routine; A condescended upon voyeur. Well, they’re worse than me in their own socially accepted form, anyway.
My nose drips. The extreme coldness of the wall on which I sit has now permeated all fabric to my buttocks. I am scheduled to meet someone in- oh darnit FIVE minutes! It’s time for me to leave, become one of these I have been watching in their