I wanted to do an illo that accompanies Tim’s beautiful Seasons poem. I love the last line and it made me think of things lurking under the landscape about to awake. The picture in my head didn’t quite turn into the picture that ended up on screen (and I used the tablet, so it looks like my style but is an untidy version). Continue reading
A distant memory, but for October’s Indian revival.
Autumn came and went and came again
Pushed aside, for a time, by the Indian’s warmth.
But now he’s gone and, taking hold more firmly,
The season’s true players fall in orchestral swirls to the leaf-littered stage,
While others rise in fairy-tale shapes and colours and smells,
Through reds, golds and browns of dank forest floors.
Grey-cold mists, damp and drifting, fade day into grainy, dull, formlessness –
Winter waits, its bated, ice-cold breath –
This is the rough illustration (work in progress) that accompanies Tim’s lovely TP’s dream verse below:
Some more verses from two chapters of the ‘Tale of the Twaddlepuss Merlin’ for those following the trials and tribulations of this curious, lovable creature…
With his eyes growing heavy he needed to sleep
So he lay on his moss-covered bed,
Where he slept very still for the rest of the night,
Just a twitch of the nose in his head.
Though deep was his sleep for so tired was he,
Behind those brown Twaddlepuss eyes
He was dreaming of cliffs with mates all around
Beneath ocean-blue, Merlin-filled skies.
SEARCHING THE BAY
As he slowly emerged from his home on the cliff,
The Twaddlepuss greeted the day,
Straining his eyes in the bright morning light
To see what there was in the bay.
And there he saw guillemots, puffins and gulls,
Razorbills, fulmars and more,
Flying and fishing and making such noise
From the cliffs that surrounded the shore.
… next time, selections from Twaddlepuss Merlin chapters ‘The Unsellfish Shellfish’ and ‘Searching through the Seasons’.
Slightly swaying like white, lace-topped guardsmen,
Lines the emerald footpath
And draws the little, wandering people,
Along its shadowed, whispering funnel, to a distant wonderland,
Far from mum’s front door.
No more hot apple pies and comforting hugs if you go too far.
Is that the sound of a flute they hear carried on the breeze?
And who’s that way down there among the trees, Mr Tumnus?
He’s not what he seems.
Better turn back –
But it’s just too beautiful not to go a little bit farther…
‘They’re late for their tea.
I wonder where they might be?’
By Tim Guest
Well I finally managed to finish off the illustration that I sketched for my first post. It’s taken a while over a few evenings (mainly because I couldn’t stop adding in bugs and spiders, or making tea and watching telly). This is Tim’s Poem below in case it’s hard to read on the image:
Window-ledge allotments by Tim Guest
Mr Smith grows peas and pansies in his window box,
While Mrs Jones’ garden chives are ‘watered’ by a fox.
And on a sunny window ledge, up in North West One,
Are juicy, ripening strawberries, grown by Mr Dunn.
And down in deepest Tooting, aubergine’s the thing,
For the finest brindal bhajis, made by Mrs Singh.
And all across the city neighbours grow and pick their own,
From their window-ledge allotments – in the comfort of their home.
Click here to view the image without the text.
So many days, in these times of multimedia, multi-sensory-input, instant communicatioins and instant client expectations, seem to end with the same words – “What a day!” I find a break from client work by penning a simple line or two of rhyme, good or bad, keeps me sane – at least for some of the time! A good friend and colleague, Norbert, recently dropped me an email: “Excellent, thanks, that will be my birthday gift (tomorrow)! I’m ooto from 3pm today, going down (with ‘wife’s name’) to Dublin to meet tonight the alumni society of Bocconi university (where I did my MBA), a whole evening of Italian speaking and eating, then stay in swanky Dalkey in the Fitzpatrick castle hotel, then onto Powerscourt tomorrow for a day out, it’s gonna be sunny. Let’s talk Monday!”
Sounded like a good birthday plan. So, 10 minutes later I’d kept my sanity and sent him – he’s French, by the way – a birthday ditty, below…and then back to work! Ho hum…
A Birthday Poem for Norbert
Norbert ‘as ‘is burseday
The same time evurrrie year,
And zis year’s no exception
And ‘is plans, from what I ‘ear,
Are filled wis green linguini,
Bolognese and more,
And a castle by the shore.
A stately home with treasures,
A European charm,
A stroll through sculpted gardens,
With his lady on his arm!
‘APPY BURSEDAY, MONSIEUR!
Not a masterpiece, but rhyme can be fun for kids ‘of all ages’.
A further short, three-verse extract from the above poem, which describes the ‘aloneness’ of this strange creature after the disappearance of all fellow Twaddlepuss Merlins from his little island, and his subsequent attempts to call out to sea attempting to attract the attention of his mate and other Merlins, who might be travelling past. The poem follows him as seasons pass, at night, at day, in stormy weather and as he dreams and, finally, as he makes a breakthrough in his quest with the help of some friendly sea creatures.
The Twaddlepuss Merlin looked far out to sea
As he called to attract his mate,
And he kept on calling his sad, soulful sound
Even though it was terribly late.
Across towering cliff tops and tall crashing waves
The Twaddlepuss’ call could be heard,
A call that was not of the usual sort
Like a cat, or a dog, or a bird.
Not a donkey or horse, a pig, or a cow
Even came close to the sound,
That rose from deep in the Merlin’s heart
In the hope that his mate could be found.
….more to come in the weeks ahead. Happy Easter.:-)