Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Troubles in the "House"

I could easily have titled this "free ticket to trouble” but out of respect for certain members, I will refrain from doing just that.

My parents have never been people to sit and plot trouble at the expense of others. Well, that is what they would like to think... but we know better.

I guess blackmailing their grownup children has nothing to do with having the time to tell us how they are getting old and close to the day that their bodies will be carried off to the Long Tees. Imagine that! Where did they get that from, we ask? The picture popping into my mind strangely resembles a lively Tuscan villa complete with a plaza, burning candles and shady corners with lots and lots of long trees. I guess the similarity lies in the peaceful picture both images create...

If not for the trees, they are in the midst of a full-blown raging war against the “oh so godless, turkey & filthy” pig farming boozing, apparently bigamist neighbor who himself does seem to live an odd existence. Lucky for them he now decided to go in search of another neighborhood. I expect the hedge between him and my parents will soon be undergoing some sort of exorcism and the spraying of some kind of cleansing, Holy Water.

Over the past couple of weeks, months actually our parents started up a feud with their church. That's right, against their very own herd of sheep, or congregation. The minister apparently did not notify church members that they were going to build a “mothers-room” at exactly the same spot where my parents sit every Sunday... According to my parents the church is an old monument, but I wonder if their plight had more than one edge to it? Have you ever tried shooing a blathering rebellious lamb into a camp? would not even try that, without getting away all bruised and pitiful.

When I phoned them last night, I believed they were held at gunpoint - mom whispered into the phone and finally I realized the deacons had come to them, trying to talk out matters. The next morning the minister followed in their shoes and before my father could pull out yet another long list of grievances; it was decided to call it a day.

The minister admitted that he would have resigned anyway, but as an answer to his prayers was called up by another congregation. There was one thing he and my parents agreed on however: more than mere love, belief or hope will be needed for this small-town church.

I will happily suggest that three long trees be planted at the front gate of this impressive old church: in memory of a rather young & daft minister and two well-rooted residents who never failed to keep their children, neighbours and an old fashioned church on their toes and knees...

Does all parents have this ability to install in their children feelings of inferiority, amusement, incapability of living independently, being ashamed of them sometimes, angry at their ways, frustrated with their stubborn thinking and proud altogether for who they are and what they believe in...

I wonder if we will ever manage to walk in and follow their legacy? I can only guess the answer will be found one day following the little path that leads to their restful long trees...

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

This Life

Bare feet treading on shiny, frosted glass
- Green and hard just like chalk and
Heading over square patches and land
But soft to the touch of lime-stones
- comes the call of the buzzard and the red-kite
sharp and distinct the echoes of their flight
traveling far and high in the light;
- a duet reaches deep blue agate & granite...

Scattered purple petals falling free
- into the Great River and Ravine
Trickling into the constant rhythm of life,
- Who will hear the murmur of little streams?
Wings beating against the constant rush of air
the shadow touching distant blue hills
- swerving ever higher into the air...

Small lives, big lives
Who is such as an oyster who lives
- below the cave and above the sea-current?
Caught between Oronsey and Galtrigal
a life of tides and spring
Will it be watched over by Maidens of the isles
- Alone or gathered up in the arms of kelp?

Not far from the Talisker's Watch
- A rock alive in the waves
The human mind begins to grip the simple truth
- Of Understanding
Fragments of what we are meant to see
- visited by the truth, but frequently unseen
And we remember once again, to let go of some
- hold on to some
And forget why and which way
we were inclined to go...

In This Life.

Thoughts of White

On a misty, dark rainy day,
I sat down and started painting
on a paper blank and white as snow
And there, in middle May
the scene became alive with summer seas
shaping land of rivers and pontoons
and something strange happened then...

We took a walk and stopped by the marshlands
with the burning-red match-stick poplar
Rooted in a vast and barren landscape,
touching white winter grass,
its dark brown bark defrosted
from the harsh winter sun...

Equally familiar were islands of Dragon kings
Ghosts from the books of fairy folk mystery
Resting beneath crystal blue-bells
And the ghostly white garments of hawthorns,
embraced by wild willowy mulberry vines
Colors flirting amongst autumn leafs
on a canvas spookily white and alive

Blue, green and bold fluorescent stripes
Of mountains, crayon white clouds and;
Acrylic flaming skies and who am I
Merely a painter of words and worlds
That does not seem to meet, but
for the thin white line seperating them?

And am I to know it, see it all?”
all these colours in my vision and veins
and to know such things as that;
Without grasping or deeply knowing
why I am so strangely alive.

Silly Poem

Dogs & Roses

My cat is in love with me...
I’m in love with a bee that's in love with a fermented cherry
William Wallace the Warrior Fly refused to die tonight
Sticky sweet silly stuff...
What would Einstein say of that?

The dog’s nose sniffed the Port,
Waffling excitedly, cross-eyed breed
Brian Ferry singing of French love,
OBS and a jeera-roasted bird
A very jolly trio of winter blues...

Colourful display of paper blankets
Never seen the cat play piano too
And oh, singing and purring nearly snoring…
So loudly it woke the ugly merry herring
And Mulberry fermented cheese with rocket…
Who would have believed that was it...