………..at a Summer Wedding Party
………..at a Summer Wedding Party
Spring is just around the corner here in the UK and we have Easter this weekend for those who celebrate it. However, it’s actually snowing in northern Scotland today and not at all typical weather for the end of March.
I want to wish everyone out there a very happy Spring Holiday. It’s a good time to look to the future with hope and optimism and to celebrate all the wonderful things that make life worth living. Spring is a time of renewal, growth and positive change. There’s a different energy abroad, a time to seize each day.
I took this photo at the local pet shop….Easter eggs for cats! Hope it makes you smile!
There’s a question I’m often asked about my art and poetry; why am I so interested in dark subject matter when I could be writing and making images about ‘happy stuff’?
I’m not sure if I choose my themes or they choose me. Inevitably my work reflects my life, my view of the world. From early childhood I’ve experienced pain and trauma growing up within a dysfunctional family where I never felt safe and also at the hands of an uncaring medical establishment that treats disabled people as expendable. Although I’ve been lucky enough to have love, friendship and joy in my life, it’s always been within the context of a threatening world. I’ve spent most of my life in ‘survival mode’.
It’s important to me that my creative work tries to expose the truth as I see it. I want to confront my reality head on, with all its flaws and sores. I don’t want to retreat into a rose tinted bubble and pretend life is perfect which is what the State would prefer us to do. It’s much easier to control a population that doesn’t ask difficult questions. Of course, it’s also essential to maintain a positive attitude and a sense of humour. To see into the dark we also need some light. Before you descend into the subterranean depths of your pain make sure you have a torch.
An attraction to the dark side of life may be a tendency among creative people. There certainly seems to be a link between poetry and pain. There’s a higher rate of depression, addiction and even suicide amongst poets. Flick through any poetry book and you will find more poems about loss and pain than happiness. Personally, I find cheerful ditties about love and rainbows rather tedious. Misery is far more fascinating! Perhaps truly happy people (if they actually exist in the real world) do not feel the need to agonise over choosing the right words in the right order on a piece of paper. They’re probably too busy doing whatever it is that normal, happy people are supposed to do, making money, having sex and playing football or whatever (no disrespect to rich, sexy footballers intended!)
One of the reasons I write poetry and make art is the hope that sharing my experiences may help others in similar situations. It’s comforting to know you are not the only one with difficult thoughts and feelings. We can all learn from one another, we can all gain strength from one another. We don’t have to be alone. That is the beauty and power of art.
buckles and bends
a bandage of rain
the shore. The sea watches,
murmurs peace man
or cries life sucks!
One after the other
they come seeking;
white camper vans
celebratory as iced
party cakes sprinkled
with cycles, paddles,
canoes, fishing tackle,
picnic hampers crammed
with yummy goodies;
coachloads of pixelated
tourists, heads turning
in syncopated rhythm,
weary in uniform
Ford Transits; tinted salesmen
swaying on hangers
in Vauxhall Astras.
The sea watches,
curious in turquoise
or flirty with plutonium frills.
Always too cold for swimming
beyond the no-man’s
land scarred with ruins
and new builds.
One after the other;
the vintage Harleys,
the butt naked
the goggling Euros,
the English salt
and vinegar families
all seeking the lights
of John o’Groats.
For the city that speeds, tail to nose
to a scalloped shore and meets with light.
For the city in frozen motion, tarnished
wings poised to embrace the night.
For the city that parties with a glittering heart
but is never satisfied and every morning seeks
enlightenment, the river unwinding
a scrambled horizon to the rising sun.
For the city that guards south from north,
brick to chink, indivisible, a fortress spawning
iron ships for capitalist wars.
The great angel grounded hope
for these iridescent folk seeking stars
and rainbow moons shining in the gutters
of wet streets between discarded kebabs and shit.
The city folk way too stupid, way too smart
to give up looking for an out, in black and white
running easy, gunning for a fight, living
for another goal and one more Saturday night.
For the city where shops are poly-chrome heaven
and bars ooze overflow. The coffee bubbles
froth and bile, the stories spike with rhyme
and folk soak in the sun at picnic tables
while dogs scamper on green swards.
Rebels serenade and lovers dance
unashamed, in the city, for the city,
for the brave.