For The Weekend

Haiku Heights..Happy New Year!

 

A Happy New Year
to everyone who comments
on my silly poems

Messy Artists...Messy Minds?

" Like an exotic bird she has spread her motifs  for her paintings all about her  in her magic cave of beguiling chaos"- Jeffrey Smart

 

Margaret Olley 1923 - 2011

 

Barry Pearce curator of the Art gallery of NSW believes the sublime jumble of of the artist's home resonates her personality, one which celebrates the ordinariness of daily life." Her paintings are a rejoicing of the moment and the shambolic nature of life. That is the gift she gives to us in her paintings. Every room in the house groans with dusty catalogues. Her clutter is becoming increasingly dangerous. There are now only tracks through to where she wants to go."

 

 

 

 

 

Francis Bacon's Studio South Kensington London

 

Margaret Olley's Paddington Studio. 

 

 

 

Margaret Olley at work in her Studio Paddington Sydney

Interview with Margaret Olley (  Excerpt )
 

" I would rather paint than cope with rubbish. You can spend your entire life cleaning the house ..I would rather do other things although I do have a cleaner who comes once a fortnight and all she does is the floors.."

Does she blanche when she walks in?

"No, she's Greek. She's very good!"

ROFL
Well I  guess I am never going to be famous if this type of mess is a prerequisite. My bourgeoise and religious hangups (cleanliness is next to Godliness")  are afflictions that I welcome and are appreciated by those I live with:)

Tumbledowns Puss - 3WW

Sad Puss In Search Of A Less Chaotic Study.
Window supported by Xavier Herbert's " Poor Fellow My Country"

i'm a tad sad little puss alone in the outback
surrounded by tedious textas pencils crammed packed
i'm a letter opener by skill and by trade
but the postman is long time dead buried in the shade

the house is full of creaks and groans
should have been detonated reduced to stones
no limbering up trees using claws as hooks
stuck in dusty study packed with heavy big  books

i will escape to the city and live in a flat
where I might meet expensive pens, interesting  sophisticats
who live in tidiness minimal elegance colour restrained
with air conditioning ,foxtel and a live in maid

We  all knew
it would be tough this year
Even all the yellow roses
candlelight and loveliness
Did not do the trick

It rained and stormed
yesterday for Christmas
A pall
shadowed the yuletide event
in spite of attempts at being jolly


It wasn't the weather

The sun is shining today
But the light is a little dimmer
without you Ruth

without your laughter
without your iced fruitcake
without your generosity
without your kindness

Did you have to be so nice!

For The Weekend

Haiku Heights

snow is sun's lover
melted by her loveliness
to a mere puddle

hey let's go skiing
Val d'isere on Christmas eve
see you there gorgeous

be my snow lover
i will bring the sunshine and
you can bring the booze

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL

Christmas - 3WW

 

an echo
of sadness
of hardship
reverberates
in the moment

the cold stable
wooden doors
creaking

animals
softly moaning
shuffling
in the straw

on this night
a love was born
that will haunt
the world forever

Haiku Heights

 

no one is at home

our wish has come true we can

keep all the presents

 

 

how can I tell her

these are the divorce papers

not her xmas wish

 

 

 

he was a mistake

i'm going to send him back

to the wish fairy

 

what will daddy say

i wish we had not seen this

mummy hates reindeers

 

 

who is this dreamboat

looks familiar i would say

on cosmo's wish list

Mark Lang

For The Weekend

The Road To Berry...3WW

Lloyd Rees
It had been years
since she took the
road to Berry
Her life had always
lead her relentlessly
North
never
South

Driving a borrowed
turbo charger winding
through the venus  mounds
made famous
 by Rees and Whitely




She streaked along
to her favourite music
Happy to be alive

Berry had changed
The world had caught up
No longer a sweet little village
its conference centres and
concrete excrescences were
an abnormal blight upon
its once peachy skin
with few remaining gems

At a little craft shop
she ordered a lavish treat
 a devonshire tea
settling in to daydream
and stare at the passersby
Not even the rude
thin lipped waitress
could spoil her nice day

Luxuriating in strawberry jam
and clotted cream scones
She looked up and saw it

The Sign
It said 863 kms to ...

A dark cloud crossed the sun
and suddenly a leaden sadness
dangled weighing down her eyelids
She wanted to crawl into bed
and stay submerged for several months

It was happening again


Brett Whitely

                      

Terra Firma

i wandered lonely
as a cloud being careful
not to touch the ground


you're living in the clouds
they said
not a good place for a person's head
you'll never fit in if you stay like that
you must be practical and matter of fact

grounded grounded grounded
was the ringing in my ears
grounded grounded grounded
or it's the valley of tears my dear

stuck in terra firma such an awful place to be
fixated  overrun with naval gazers
not star gazers or moon trippers are we
mean and petty vicious and trite
so much cruelty acting out of spite

misery was the morning song
interminable nights and the days
oh so long

 so I hopped back on the milky way
said goodbye and stayed that way
moon beam dancing in the clouds
will return to earth for my burial
in a shroud

For The Weekend

A Quatern Message In A Bottle

She sat looking out to the sea
Espied a wine bottle with glee
An expensive one bought from a store
Washed up and in tact to the shore

The letter the colour of tea
She sat looking out to the sea
The printing was old and quite feint
An elegant script with a taint

Feeling so sad and quite proper
Forced it back in with a stopper
She sat looking out to the sea
T' was a lover's ode to cherie

Floating it back out on the wave
Bobbing ebbing to a shell cave
For someone who wants it not me
She sat looking out to the sea

whine that splinters glass
she is the end of the world
a slick welsh blow in

fake sincerity
delivered with earnestness
lies - second nature

a redhead's revenge
instigates a coup d'etat
laughs then nicks the crown

a nation swindled
her house of cards will topple
writing on the wall

next election - out
the end of her world is nigh
back to union crims

Dame Elizabeth Murdoch 1909 - 2012

She had been a widow for sixty years
The gorgeous brave 'babe with arms'
who followed her heart at 19
for a much older man
Her love for her husband
gave her strength
every day of her long life

Compassionate kind generous
intelligent humorous humble
and irresistibly charming
a great great Grandmother
with 73 direct descendants
who occasionally
" took the slipper"
to her very famous son.

A modern day Saint
A refined lovely woman
not without
A cheeky twinkle with the faintest hint
of Aussie irreverence

Our revered philanthropist
Champion of the Arts and
Angel to our sick children

Dame Elizabeth Murdoch
You will be missed
Our nation will mourn you
R. I. P.

Dverse Three Word Wednesday

with the flood
the harvest
turned to mushy fluid
the battle for survival
begins

reap what you sow
we did that
didn't work out

do unto to others
as you would have them
do unto you
we did that too
didn't work out either

For the Weekend...Secret Confessions

i miss being young
some teenage dreamers never
 grow up completely

i should be ashamed
at watching this sugar frost
crap but i love it

turning my nose up
sneering at the ordin'ry
in secret i'm one

i still do the moves
the singing with the hairbrush
i'm a star star star

i hide kierkegaard
in case they think i'm a nerd
which i also am

Haiku Heights

 

thunder clouds rumble

eyes flash lightning bolts of pain 

hell hath no fury

 

like a woman scorned

the thick black sky bursts apart

unleashing demons