Sarah Turton

31 daYs of Poetry #31

2012-02-11T00:01:00.001Z

Grace

and the summer rain

washes the dreariness

and slough off my skin,

skip under it,

no race for home.

And the sharp

taste of

tomato leaves,

as they burgeon

towards yellow heavens.

Clouds in races

to new places,

the violet

flush of a

visiting plant,

invited by the unkempt

of a tangled garden.

Grace sings

at the table,

for the work

of unseen hands,

pulling vegetables

across soily rows

and lettuce

hiding under plastic.

Reminiscing green pastures,

where cows can roam

and chew on natures cud

and be free,

of brown dustbowl pens.

Herded along miles of

rail fences, to be fed

by their own kind.

And instead wash

clear,

dip deep into crystal

streams,

dripping across

a purple

spattered snout.

Lie, flicking tails

under trees,

a rhythmic

chew on the cud,

sleeping in the afternoons

and life we know

was made for siesta

and rest.

With the pleasure

of skipping,

heels clicking

across meadows.

Grace,

the spring of

the earth after

sunshine and rain.

Aporia

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #30

2012-02-10T00:01:00.001Z

Pause.

Pause

and tickle.

The stream of peace

runs over my banks

all yesteryear

yesterday

a minute ago.

As all

is moved into

black and white

til blip,

a lost signal

on the tv screen.

Where we birth

Into technicolor waves

Ripple and crash

Shush and drag.

All is present

In Benny Hill

speed dream coats,

a lift of the lips

move back, move back.

Until all that is left is

the whirl of grey

merged black and white.

And a fresh new page.

31 daYs of Poetry #29

2012-02-09T00:01:00.006Z

Distant Suns

The giants came

as angels across

midnight sky

scrawled hieroglyphs

across ancient tomb.

And a vision

never uttered in breath

of first thought

the lights from below

as the object

covers the sun

and the dark angels

come.

Cause a fight

descendents think

they have already won.

31 daYs of Poetry #28

2012-02-08T00:01:00.001Z

Expanding Dots

Expanding dots on windshield

murring into crazy fairground mirrors

top of the green and grey

from the quarry face.

Recline, bask to watch

the splatters on sun roof

and pull of cigarette.

underside of seagulls are charcoaled to black.

Back inside the caravan,

rain runs like a stream,

waves dip like horses

on a carousel ride.

Want to eat it all up and remember.

April 2009

31 daYs of Poetry #27

2012-02-07T00:01:00.001Z

Cornwall revisited

The blow and puff of the gas,feeling of being watched

attentive, seagull on the caravan opposite

comparisons past.

A red slashed no smoking sign

the long arm of the law

reached tickly

sticky here.

Rush of rooks,

pushed out from spindly trees

dance a chorus

before the sun decides to hide.

The machine silence

hits me first

listening to birds chatter

as they settle.

And the sea, there is always the sea.

A Spanish guitar in a corner

resting for years

and clipping nail shears.

An appreciation at last

of time spent playing

before fingers too soft to play.

The bird’s still whistling,

a good red,

chocolate cake

coffee boiled in a pan.

Sitting, chairs,

floor, another place,

trying to refind my place.

A restless moving

between reading, radio,

t.v finding a spot to settle.

And a realisation that

I will do anything

to be somewhere that is here.

How scrunched and shrouded

in my city life

how small,

ingrained with it all.

Still the birds sing.

Seagulls float across the air,

And there is the blue grey of the sea.

V isit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #26

2012-02-06T00:01:00.005Z

Playing hookey

Sweet toffee popcorn,

waves,

boom and shish

falcon tugged.

Kite,

on invisible elastic,

rocks, violet smudge,

mint.

Perfect fluffy clouds,

hang like mobiles

over a bed of

black burned gorse.

January 2011

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #25

2012-02-05T00:01:00.001Z

Where India is my knee

Each time is beginning again,
starting again,
where three lights in a window
make a birthday cake to the innocent eye.

And lie,
or truth,
the kind I knew once
knee deep in shit in a pig sty.

When I was a girl
and the sun ran rivers across my face.

The dichotomy of innocence
where love and hate of money
makes greed.

Or if I am universe divine
then India is my knee
what hurts you hurts me.

In hush places,
children see streams
in the dirty water rushing along gulleys.

And their scrawled unlawful
writing on all the walls

is a beautiful rainbow mummy,
because I did it just for you.

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #24

2012-02-04T00:01:00.000Z

Nov 2010 list of U.S patents connected to chemtrailing here
Watch What in the world are they spraying? - here

Mythos
We are being flooded,
rain justs keeps
on a coming,
where the sun has gone,
conspiracy theories
will tell,
chemtrails,
criss crossing
blue skies,
leaving clouds for weeks
and waking with
wheezing breath,
and a bad taste.

Fibres hang
thick on the wire,
and I don't bother
because it's
all just conspiracy
like the fluoride
in the water
I drink with
my morning cup of tea,
used to calm prison communities
and aspartame in soft
drinks for children
a slow acting poison,
and so much information.

It's early, 6.40 am
on this grey day
better if I went back
to bed,
close my eyes
sink deep into
the green silk
borders of
a white pillow
and sleep.

In dreams sylphs,
float wisp across the
sky like angels,
eating chemicals,
carry them away
in basket clouds
dispersing arsenic,
and barium,
and wing on the haze
of mythos
into the pastel
of clear skies.

If you enjoyed reading this please

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #23

2012-02-03T00:01:00.002Z

Intelligent Design

Why do the flowers die mummy?
There is a pout in the words,
It's getting cold,
See, all the leaves
are falling off the trees too.

Smudge pastels into dusky pink,
litters of red, gold sunshine,
strewn, clambering over falls.

Don't worry,
they'll all be back in the spring.

But why do they die?

So they can be born again.

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #22

2012-02-02T00:01:00.001Z

The Man in Black

A clatter metallic,
breaks across the recently stilled car
and the creepy surprise of silence on the moor.

"Oy get off my car you!"
Retreats in a shroud to name call from the white crossed tree.

Four steps on, aubergine fern and duck speckled stone,
a scrape on metallic,
edgy curiosity, flights back.

Cawks and flatters at the windscreen,
doomsayer unslung,
cloak and claw.

Too busy scrabble pecking and
fighting his own reflection.

Visit my art shop or bookshop

To My Old Master

2012-02-01T13:03:00.000Z

To My Old Master

My Memories Free Scrapbooking Software Giveaway

2012-02-01T00:01:00.012Z

When My Memories got in contact with me recently and asked if I would like to host a giveaway and write a review for 'My Memories Suite Scrapbooking Software', a tool for creating digital scrapbooks, photobooks, cards, calenders and gifts in return for a free download of the software, I was delighted.

I had planned to make calenders inspired by my series 31 daYs of Inspirations but I hadn't been able to use the software I had and so put the idea to one side. The mail told me the software was easy to use, so I agreed to test it.

The good news is, it is.

It was really easy to install, my level of computer geekiness is on the low side, so, so far so good.

I must admit to being a little overwhelmed when I saw how many resources and tools it had as I had allowed myself an afternoon to make something to go with this post.

However, once I got started it was very straightforward and you can really have fun adding all the little embellishments, buttons, bows, flowers, hearts, to name just a few.

We have lots of lots of drawings and paintings that the girls have made so my next project will be to make them into a scrapbook for the girls to keep, I'll post it up when it's finished. I think in todays digital age it is also a great tool to collate and scrapbook pictures to send to friends and relatives, which is probably the most obvious application.
The software has a large range of templates or you can get a bit more adventurous, as I did and create your own.
You can also go to the website, become a member and get a package every month, download lots of lovely freebies like this add on pack by Stephanie Ogren,

or buy packs for a few dollars.

I would recommend this to an absolute beginner as a great way of getting started with creativity software and as an opening to creativity tool and I can also see that as you become more proficient with it, it can also be used for sophisticated projects.

This is what I made in a few hours, completely from scratch,without templates and with a little imagination on a cold spring afternoon and having just downloaded the programme.

Please click on the image to download or print it for free

Now to the giveaway, My Memories have given me a free copy of My Memories Suite to give away to readers of this blog.

Prize

My Memories Suite Software value $39.97

Rules

To enter go to www.MyMemories.com and choose your favourite digital paper pack or layout then leave a comment on the bottom of this post saying which ones you would choose. If you also join as a follower to Sarah Turton's Creative Ecology you will gain an extra entry.

This giveaway will be open to entries for one week from Wednesday, 1st February 2012, 00.01 GMT until Tuesday 7th February 2012, Midnight GMT, so remember to get your entries in before then.

The winner will have 48hrs to respond to claim their prize, after which time if no contact is made another winner will be drawn.

If having visited the site you're all ready to order the software at $39.97, My Memories have supplied a special promotional code, below, which gives you a $10 discount off the software and a $10 coupon to use in the MyMemories.com store.

Don't forget to use the code

STMMMS83802

Good luck! I'll be announcing and informing the winner Wednesday 8th February 2012

Competition closed

31 daYs of Poetry #21

2012-02-01T00:00:00.000Z

The Muses

Soft strain,
insistent beat,
just out of reach,
the chop
of the knife,
slicing,
through onion.

A clashing
call,
a jolt
through
entered sleep,
pulse
and drum,
the rush
to the pen.

Air ripe on my
nose
and any pen
will do,
grab red
exhaustion,
and painting
is the hardest.

Focus, focus,
finish, finish.

World is gone,
claws leave me,
girls scream,
nappy changes,
straddle the
world divide.

Pulling they
Grab me
inside.

Sausages sizzle,
must turn,
smell of burn,
end of page,
need another one,
almost done.

Fat spatters
over paper,
they have had
me for days,
and dishes
piling in the sink.

Sea soothes me,
then,
pull and drag
brings
Them again.

The girls rush
at waves,
I am behind,
all hands
and fear,
for the pull
Of tides.

They jump
into rock
pools,
soaking trousers
and bums.

Sometimes,
kept at bay,
driving through
country lanes,
gorse
pushes out the
smell of coconut,
sun edges across
pallid skin.

I drive,
no hands
no pen,
I will remember,
remember,
Just recall it,
over and over.

And then...

silence,

tidy the home,
come back
to order,
time with girls
and all is gloss,
like it never was.

Dinners of beans,
sausage and rice
fade into
Chinese Lemon
Chicken delights.

A sleepwalker
through the night,

an often
repeated phrase
of my dad,
that I walk
around with my
eyes closed,
a stranger
to the light.

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #20

2012-01-31T00:01:00.007Z

Evolution Maybe? ~ ST

'It is not of becoming the planet's wise stewards that Earth-lovers
dream, but of a time when humans have ceased to matter.'
Straw Dogs, John Gray

One day we may be all
that is a dream,
and hope that keeps
us afloat,
belief
in consciousness,
a higher purpose,
could all be
no more
than a fleeting
dance across
tidal sands.

But Gaia,
can weather
many storms,
famines and wars,
create her own
biosphere harmony
make it simple,
allow only white
and black daisies.

And we may find,
we are nothing
more than
fleas,
riding on the back
of a black rat.

For some,
the pressure
of humanity,
moral codes,
conformation
insanity,
the lack
of human purpose,
could be a route
into recovery.
Aporia
This poem is inspired by John Gray's discussion of what it is to be human, for information on the importance of black and white daisies see James Lovelock's - Gaia and Daisyworld Theory http://www.indopedia.org/Daisyworld.html .

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #19

2012-01-30T00:01:00.002Z

Taking the is out of Being

I am a slave.

I know I am a slave,

I don't wear shackles

but I know I am a slave.

I know that equality,

has a pacifistic quality,

because some are rich some are poor,

haves and have nots,

and women are paid less than men

and fighting

for the nonsense of womens' rights,

suggest human rights.

We are fighting, fighting,

always seems to be

about that.

There is no happiness, unhappiness

right or wrong

there is only peace

they tell us

from high on that enlightened mountain.

Only peace.

And who will tell the others?

Who will tell them?

Bombed in their homes

Asleep on the road.

That the end to war is peace?

Will they tell the 'democratic' leaders

of our countries,

that there is no happiness, no unhappiness

only peace?

And who will tell the unemployed,

they will say - free enterprise

the true spirit of a capitalist

culture that does not exist.

Everyone has a choice,

if they can pay the rates, the taxes,

keep up with the law,

can buy as cheap, compete

with billionaires, millionaires,

the global corporation.

but the gap,

like the eye of a needle

is small into heaven.

And who will tell the banks

of our equality

as they reward themselves for

our losses?

and we sink and we sink

and we rescue them

and who will rescue us?

And the picketing men

stand outside factories

and British jobs for British,

and what does it mean to be British?

a state diminished

shrunken back

from colonial tyranny

to a small island

surrounded by sea.

Imploding, inwards,

imploding

and the torture of men

in no mans land

for crimes

untried

we hide,

protect the non innocent,

and threats break us in

and we don't speak,

I don't speak

because I know that I am a slave

and I am afraid.

All my life I sit in a cage,

a shadow on the wall of Plato's cave,

I don't know what it is to look outside

but appearances are/can be deceptive.

I appear to be a slave

I appear to be afraid.

Peace.

Aporia

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #18

2012-01-29T00:01:00.002Z

A Bridge between the Night

Dark nights of the soul
I reach for you,
for something,
for a moment
for life,
to become whole,
to run the bridge,
between the night.

In an ancient wood,
turn away from
the fading light,
fear and
uncertainty
and a logic's sight.

And speak to
the pink,
of a two joined
sky,
half indigo
and fading to black,
cry,
flame coloured,
in the dusk,
because I cannot,
so I must.

I turn aside
from a path
less trodden
and enter
a time
and space
to be forgotten.

But the dark night,
she whispers to me,
in tight
around my belly.
with the many lives
and deaths within me.

Dream,
a medieval castle,
a bustling kitchen,
ready for a festival,
a joke unbidden,
causes a turkey
wave cackle,
but I should
not be laughing,
for I will never
have children.

And the party,
pinks, yellows
and orange, blues,
shift in dresses,
rainbow,
chakra hues,
all facing,
as a man rises,

purple robes and

long hair flowing,

upwards in the air,
turns from
his platform
with light
streaming eyes
and I afraid
and surprised,
duck,
to a disappointed sigh.

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #17

2012-01-28T00:01:00.002Z

Talk about the freedom of love

To give only the freedom of love,

That’s an ambition.

Somewhere in the thoughts in between,

Lies that fragile peace.

Aporia

Visit my art shop or bookshop

Grace

2012-01-27T11:26:00.001Z

Thank you

For signs of spring,

snowdrop, crocus,

birds chasing eachother

under early light,

a tangible warmth to the sun.

For hope

and optimism

and the second chances

of birth

and new days.

31 daYs of Poetry #16

2012-01-27T00:01:00.001Z

Butterfly

I am dying

Every second

of every minute

of every day

I am dying.

I focus on my

dying

and suddenly,

I am living.

Aporia

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #15

2012-01-26T00:01:00.008Z

Sailing

I ache to hear my whispered name

and feel my senses softly drain.

Have stubble grazed against my flesh,

drown myself in soft caress.

Brushed face against his cheek,

A teasing tongue just out of reach.

Ride, astride his arching hips,

brush like sand under waves fingertips.

Lull myself on sinking tide

as softly over him, glide.

Lap against his sleeping form

And sail with him through every dawn.

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #14

2012-01-25T00:01:00.000Z

Painting Angels

Clanking on bicycles,

doubling on Stella,

the bicycle with the name

of a star.

Clanking along cobbled

streets

and shooting stars,

her voice washes over

me like a stream.

Grey and the

Vespa fog,

wine and cheese plates,

Pecorino, sheep milk

and whole peppercorns

dipped in honey.

Too much red wine,

hence the backy home

and a picture of her,

in black and white

astride that old bike.

Platform trainers,

she called runners

under eaves,

painting gift

tags for children

and she is

painting angels.

Aporia

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #13

2012-01-24T00:01:00.000Z

A Prayer Song

I sent a prayer out to you,

across a powdered sea

to bring you home to me.

To hear a whisper in a pearl shell ear,

Dear

to me as the crisp promise of spring,

when the blackbird sings

and journeys me to that fairy place,

where love waits with smiling face,

a willows grace,

which weeps not only with sorrow

but with joyous morrow,

for the day

when my eyes will find her fair,

that faerie girl with the rose petal hair,

skipping a tune in a woodsweet air.

I raise my arms

with the sweet haze of a births dawn

and joining yellow beak,

break into a prayer song.

Beyond the Lemon Tree

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #12

2012-01-23T00:01:00.007Z

Picture postcard

The day is like a moving

picture postcard,

perfect white tipped

rhythmic sea.

A toy boat of white and red

slides along a paper

cut groove,

Stripes of blue granite,

ivy,

aqua rolls,

sun glistened seagulls,

A backdrop, land filled haze,

I’ll stick a stamp on it,

send it to you.

Beyond the lemon Tree

Visit my art shop or bookshop

Slices of life in Iran

2012-01-22T10:00:00.000Z

Slices of life in Iran

31 daYs of Poetry #11

2012-01-22T00:01:00.000Z

...Un tink, un

tink, un tink,

the indicator blinks,

big boulders

and standing stones,

ancient feet

tread well worn paths.

Fields streaked in brown, green

and gold,

tales of old,

The Merry Maidens.

I have run and

touched their lips,

left pearl shells,

a pebble,

a penny

a gift....

Beyond the Lemon Tree

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #10

2012-01-21T00:01:00.000Z

Radiant Brow

I swim upstream with

the salmon,

find reverse currents,

wisdom, age, youth.

A search for the grail’s cup,

traverse ancient trails to find you.

Eat hazelnuts

with magic seeds at dusk,

crunching, savouring, dry

in my mouth.

Drink deep in an open well,

splashed fresh on

pimpled skin,

Rise in a sheen

of glass, sliding

across white skin.

Dawn comes

with grey clouds and silver linings,

golden fingertips brush

rainbows on a radiant brow,

droplets shaken,

splash scattered

over yellow, green grass.

Shake out ruffled feathers,

fan, softly,

sweetly,

beating dawn’s song.

Bow, duck low

and take flight,

a breaststroke through space.

Leave a fluttered echo,

in a million dawns.

Beyond the Lemon Tree

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #9

2012-01-20T00:01:00.004Z

Following Icarus

I think of you in the morning,

actually in the afternoon and evening too,

morning dew.

The sun is warm across my back,

easing out night’s cracks,

a stiff neck,

Oh what the heck!

What should I say,

to stop you from turning away?

Sing you a happy tune or

a dirge filed with gloom,

dance tantalizing

before sweet lips,

dream of a tender kiss,

flick and toss my hair,

your breath on my neck

with hot teasing air,

tie up my hair,

tease out curls,

to sit at my nape,

show the smooth curve

of a swan’s neck.

Eala.

She calls to me,

flapping out her white fans,

a spray of droplets across the surf,

as you, in full, fat, opulent glory,

a black seal,

dip and duck with the waves.

Kiss me,

tickle me with your whiskers,

I will pull on a wetsuit,

cavort with you in foam tipped waves,

sink and swirl,

melt soft like ice-cream

on a hot summer’s day.

Dip and sway.

If you kiss me,

I will burn off my feathered skin,

give up the right to fly,

plunge into water’s deep

and glistening under my plump, new rump,

I will flip and slide,

turn flippers like fans,

a spinning wheel as I surf below waves.

We will glide and dance through tides with buttered skin,

and swim out toward a druid isle,

pulling across boulders,

to bask under suns pink rays for a while,

and you will turn to me,

soft sea eyed and

a whiskered smile.

Beyond the Lemon Tree

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #8

2012-01-19T00:01:00.002Z

The Messenger

Soft day.

White clouds

across Lizard bay.

Half light and

the blackbird sings to me

of other realms.

The first guide,

she will sprightly take me

across the moving dot sea.

I will come to you,

bask in warm sunshine rays,

burn them from my insides.

White surf, foaming

slurping, crashing across

rocks, pulling pebbles

like rubber wheels on

gravel

I will travel.

Beneath this domed

Sky.

Yellow beak,

she will take me,

along ancient pathways,

to look out over the sea,

find the key.

Pass through keyholes,

fly across powder blue,

come to you.

Fan you like a breeze,

with white silken arms,

lay you down on a white feathered bed,

enfold you in careful wings,

and hold you,

beneath the purple,

gold streaked sky.

STOP SOPA strike

2012-01-18T07:28:00.002Z

click here

or here

http://americancensorship.org/

31 daYs of Poetry #7

2012-01-18T00:01:00.000Z

Camp X-Ray

Sitting under open shelters

and praying to the east,

when we will ever find peace?

Do you hate me

for the nothing I am doing?

Bloodthirsty English,

a soft hiss.

Stuck in no mans land,

the outpost of an empire

and we are not the ones

who are on trial here.

Beyond the Lemon Tree, wriiten 2004

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #6

2012-01-17T00:01:00.000Z

Britishness

What it is to be British,

a cup of tea

and curry as our favourite dish.

Beyond the Lemon Tree, written 2004

Visit my art shop or bookshop

Coming soon

2012-01-16T10:14:00.000Z

I have been offered a free copy for review and one to give away, once I have had a chance to test it, I will put up the offer with my review which should be over the next two weeks.

Happy new year dear readers.

2012 has finally arrived, I am excited to see what it will bring. Are we to see Ian R Crane's predicted staged alien invasion at the Olympics (or a real one!) or the end of time as the Mayan Calender comes to an end?
Will this be the year for world peace and a time to bring bankers to task and stop the boom and bust economy cycle, the issuance of currency as a debt and allowing private banks to create their own money? Will 2012 be the year that everyone in the world is fed, sheltered and in safety? Will this be the year that war becomes illegal? Will Ron Paul become President and be who he says he is?
Will we be honest and live in truth?

Yesterday one of our five year old girls remarked on the pretty patterns the planes were making in the sky, criss cross, criss cross, what do you think, are we being sprayed or is it a natural occurance?

It is a lovely morning, Robinson Crusoe has a girlfriend and they are skipping about the garden, we have even been lucky enough to see a bullfinch, blue jays and my new regular morning visitor the blackbird.

Hope you have a great week and are enjoying the poetry.

Sarah

31 daYs of Poetry #5

2012-01-16T00:01:00.000Z

Eve

He pressed me

up against the tree,

kissed me reverently,

in unknown places,

Arched back,

I become the tree,

he, a root reaching

upwards, toward me,

sucking water

from moist earth.

Droplets hanging on

glossed leaves,

crisp apples burst,

fall red from the tree.

He leans to take a bite,

a serpent slides over

my cracked and broken skin,

entangling me

in my own branches,

and I know.

Beyond the lemon Tree, written 2004

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #4

2012-01-15T00:01:00.000Z

Liberation

One hundred thousand^{^[1]}

souls sent to Heaven,

liberated from this

mortal coil,

all for the bargain price,

a barrel of oil.

^{^[1]} Channel 4 News 28th October 2004 reports 100,000 civilians die in Iraq conflict

Beyond the Lemon Tree, written 2004

Visit my art shop or bookshop

Earth by David Bayliss

2012-01-14T12:28:00.002Z

Enjoy

31 daYs of Poetry #3

2012-01-14T00:01:00.000Z

So much blue

Thinking

and missing,

cooking

and dodging

each other

around place mats,

studious,

no touching,

a girl,

woman,

can dream

so much blue.

Beyond the Lemon Tree

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 daYs of Poetry #2

2012-01-13T00:01:00.000Z

Shopping list

I need to get;

meat-lamb?

pasta

stuff from spice shop

veg

fruit

tobacco & papers

a life.

Beyond the Lemon Tree

Visit my art shop or bookshop

31 days of poetry #1

2012-01-12T14:20:00.000Z

Stuck

Searching,

casting a line for a

Subject,

what comes next the chicken

or the e.g?

What begins?

Write a series of beginnings.

Which shall I begin at?

Beyond the Lemon Tree

Visit my art shop or bookshop

Postcards from the edge of Xmas

2011-12-23T10:34:00.000Z

Merry Christmas and a big thank you to all readers and supporters over the last year, have a great Christmas.

Sarah Turton

Today is gonna be the day, you hear somebody say

2011-12-21T12:41:00.001Z

we need you right away

or we need you wide awake.

Post Cards

2011-12-18T14:47:00.000Z

The Cubby Hole, December 2011

Buy a stack of postcards and a box of watercolours and sit and play. I like to watch a film, listen to music, chat, be silent, day dream, work things out in my mind, enjoy the sensation of colour and the way the brush moves across the card.

The action proves that I am a creator in the most simple way possible and acts as a reminder of the things I love. This one turned out to be my favourite hidey place, out of the wind, on the cliffs in Cornwall and the place where I wrote the introduction to Beyond the Lemon Tree back in 2005.

Afterwards, you can send them to someone, scan them, collage them, write a post about them!, frame them, maybe they will inspire a story, a poem or one line that makes you happy or brings back a memory you had almost forgotten.

If you enjoyed reading this please

Visit my art shop or bookshop

Think and Keep, think and Keep

2011-12-14T14:29:00.000Z

Droning on

http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2011/12/05/us-military-sources-iran-has-missing-us-drone/

I don’t understand the finger pointing that goes on about other nations having nuclear weapons, if my neighbour had them and was aiming them at me, I’d want them too, prevention after all is better than cure (disarm, disarm). What a lot of nonsense, apparently ‘they’ are dangerous, not me’ them’, whenever my twins get up to monkey business they always say it’s not me it’s ‘her’.

As for sending out spy drones, grow up, we used to play The Professionals when we were kids, Doyle was my favourite and have spy clubs up until the point where we realised there was actually no one to spy on.

Even though I lived on a council estate, I lived there, I didn’t just visit one once, I also didn't grow up on the streets, like Aden from BB. Well actually, I walked on them to get to the shops, there was very little crime. It was a great place to be a kid.

X Factor

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/tvandradio/x-factor/8936371/Misha-B-grateful-for-X-Factor-bullying-claims.html

Misha B was set to win right up to the point where she was accused by Tulisa and Louis, the British people won’t vote for bullies, there was no way that she was going to be able to win, the people won’t vote for them, unless they’re in the government.

Tell me or don’t

I find myself thinking a lot about the values we teach our kids this week, as parents and teachers we instil the virtues of kindness, honesty, courtesy, peacefulness and fairness. I think that’s why so many people have meltdowns when they become adults and go on Prozac because they realise that the world is absolutely opposite to everything they have been taught to believe and behave.

And now I want to talk about lying as a subject very close to my heart, the first thing is that I am a liar, the second is that lying is a form of insanity. I scrape my nails across the blackboard listening to another bout of well- meaning bullsh.. I mean advice advocating the white lie.

Lies kill.

Iraq, Afghanistan, UK, USA, Russia, anyway all countries all over the world humans die very directly because of lies.

So the next time someone asks you.

“Does my bum look big in this?”

Say.” Yes it does.”

It’s like ripping off a plaster.

The added benefit to this is after a while other humans will learn to recognise that you’re going to tell ‘the truth’ and will stop asking you for advice that they already know the answer to or for which they don’t want the truth to. The good news is thanks to JLo, a big bum is fashionable these days.

Yes your bum is apparently a fashion accessory, not the place where, well you know what happens.

By the way I am not being ass-ist, as I have a big bum, I’m allowed to talk about them, in the same way black humans are allowed to say the n word because they are black.

Anyway I am a fellow human that gives me an overall stake in everyone, which means I can talk about whatever I like. So there.

Political Correctness is a tool of silencing the masses from talking about anything really important and if we can’t talk about it and share our ideas then we can’t reach an understanding and find peace and then what would we do with all the guns?

And well that’s a lot of lost profit.

So let’s go kill some more humans and make some more money.

Dreams of Poo

So, in amongst all of this, my silent readers,

Szy pointed out this week that I had a dream about shit over ten years ago. I dreamed that I was floating on a sea of shit and it was a prophetic dream because it absolutely happened. Well not absolutely but I have been walking around complaining about living in a sea of shit for the past five years. It’s not actually a sea either but it feels like it. And the nice lady from the insurance company said it’s not like I have to go past it. Er yes I did, it was outside my door in my yard.

And that’s all right then, we are still in medieval Britain, we fornicate, eat and our children play in the shit in the streets and I am only a peasant after all who used to live on a council estate, so what am I complaining about? I have an inside toilet, I can shit on it inside and watch the sewage come up in my yard, couldn’t wait to send my most precious of all precious in the world beings to go play in it. Like she said, it was cleared from time to time, what was I worried about?

I asked her around for a play date with her child. Strangely she declined.

Back to the dream, so to dream of excrement is to be lucky, no that’s not the same as living in it!

In the dream a big Gozilla creature comes under the sea, just like in the trailer and my little boat tips up over the top and lands in clean sparkling water. If I was David Ike I’d be worried about a visit from the lizard being, alien/ blue blood whatever’s, ie any government, corporate/masonic/royal body. But I’m not because the good news is, that in the dream, I realise that I am only a cartoon character.

I’ll leave you to think about that one.

The other good news is, I think I have an idea for which should be the next part to Aporia, more of that to come.

Xmas Jolly

This week we put up the Xmas tree and had a whale of a time with the kiddies putting on all the directions and sat down for a while to admire it.

Afterwards, I asked the girls if they had enjoyed their Xmas and let’s get some toilet paper and a box to wrap up all the balls and rewrap the Xmas tree and take it back.

Fortunately they got the joke, even when I told them that I would send them for child slavery to work in a sweat shop if I found them eating the chocolates off the tree before The Big Day to pay for them and several minutes later a number were found ‘accidentally’ trodden on and having to be eaten ‘already’. The youth of today.

The 99%

In the news this week, a piece about the royal cut backs.

http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/45555853/ns/today-today_people/t/queen-englands-income-frozen-until#.Tt0yFvLeLK8

‘as she (Queen) has joined the millions of others affected by the economic downturn.’ but not really though.

According to the Sunday Times, the document related to the passing of the Sovereign Grant Bill reads, “The grant levels envisaged in the early years of the new system are, in real terms (as opposed to?), below what the Royal Household spent in every one of the last 20 years.’’

And NBC says that– ‘The British Government’ pays for the Royal Family, also not really.

Attempting to address the cries of the 99% in the USA -

http://finance.yahoo.com/news/obama-billionaires-millionaires-pay-more-101300187.html

‘But one thing is a sure bet: The president will be sounding the theme many times over in his re-election bid.’ and subsequently forgetting about it, once re elected.

I never thought I would see the day where I would look to Russia Today to find out what is going on in my own country.

It seems like these days we must always look to the outside in order to look in.

Water Particles, Love & Joy

I found the wonderful artistic impression at the head of this article on http://io9.com/astronomy/

of the new earth discovered in the last year and it was so like Eala’s planet it filled me with joy.

One of the statements I often hear when talking about how things are versus how they could be is ‘Well there’s no point in thinking about it, it’s not like I/we can change anything.’

I disagree, if that were the case then why spend so much money on advertising and media to convince us of how things are and should be? Why invest so much in how we think? Why as Amazon recently observed take the time to ‘educate people to think.’ if it really doesn’t matter how we do?

‘Water Particles become Love and Joy’ is inspired by the work shown in Kymatica of the changing effects of thought on water and DNA.

It would seem that this ‘physical’ reality is not as fixed as it appears to be.

Light particles make
forms stuck on DNA
that float and take shape
long after the form has gone.

Bottles of water make
snowflake shape molecules
matching the labels
of love and joy.

Meditators in Washington DC
make a harmony,
connect as one
and crime goes down by twenty five percent.

I think and erase,
think and erase,
the positive and the negative,
cancelling into non action.

Think and keep,
think and keep,
draw, symbolise,
paint, shape words around
the thought of peace.

Rewrite my own
worn out phrases,
beauty is pain or
in the eye of the beholder.

Beauty is bliss
and for all eyes to see.

And all this lies
in quantum possibilities
until I decide and choose
waiting for my eye to fall.

And reprogramme my brain
into new possibilites,
because I am emergent
and changing and free.

To embrace
the possibility of change,

become change.

Have a great week.

If you enjoyed reading this please

Visit my art shop or bookshop

Creative Ecology - Little Book of Desires

2011-12-04T19:00:00.002Z

What would be in your book?

To make a sigil simply write down I want... I desire... along with your wish.

Next take all the vowels out and all the double consonants and make a picture that feels magical to you with the letters that are left.

A picture paints a thousand words, in this case it really can. If you want to get creative you can make all your desire sigils into a single image. You can also make up your own alphabet of symbols, to create multi - layer sigils or embed them into a piece of art.

Your unconscious will remember the desire long after you've forgotten what the symbol means and seek out opportunities to fulfill it.

Ultimately it draws in the idea of vision boarding, where you bring all the things you desire together into one place but in a more simplistic form. As it has direct access to your unconscious, then arguably, it can help circumvent the conscious obstacles you may experience such as; I don't deserve this or it's too great for me to achieve. As Freud related the unconscious is all about drive.

That's why picture/sigil advertising, subliminal messages are so powerful. Recall that seemingly random urge for a Coke, KFC, a Snickers bar?

So why not replace the M's, BMW's, VW's we're all humming about with some true wishes of our own? They can relate to your own greater good or the world at large and statements should be positive, remember the story of the parachutist who landed on a barn because he kept thinking, I don't want to go there, I don't want to go there. OOps I'm there.

Let me know how you get on, leave a comment or use the contact us button on the toolbar below.

Happy sigiling.

If you enjoyed this post please

Visit my art shop or bookshop

related posts - Human Language - Why is one so attracted to what one doesn't want?
- Creative Ecology - Is your Ecology working for you?
- Shaman Seagulls Raindancing

Plug plug

2011-11-26T09:44:00.001Z

All copies of my books are now available to read for free via my reading corner. Hardback copies of Aporia and Beyond the Lemon Tree are available to buy from all good bookshops and on the side bar, prices include free international delivery.

Happy day.

Visit my art shop or bookshop

Everyday Normal Guy you make me smile

2011-11-21T20:47:00.002Z

Check out Jon Lajoie's channel

Visit my art shop or bookshop

EU Bans Claim that Water can Prevent Dehydration

2011-11-20T09:44:00.002Z

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/eu/8897662/EU-bans-claim-that-water-can-prevent-dehydration.html

21st Century Enlightenment

2011-11-18T14:15:00.003Z

Visit my art shop or bookshop

King of Sorrow

2011-11-15T19:12:00.002Z

From the short story collection Women with Men.

If you enjoyed reading this please

Visit my art shop or bookshop

Notion of Privilege

2011-11-07T12:04:00.001Z

S.T, 2011

Floats hazily,
not quite bee, too
monotone and fat for wasp,
bump on the door and flip
laid on its back.

Tap,

of robin
heart thumps
checking
the distance,
three feet
checking the distance

I am eyed
stock and still
cigarette half cocked
between mouth and thigh.

foot, claw, tap

and gulp,
a rotund,
warm to the blush
of the belly
wing, flip, escape.

Feels miraculous,

not privileged
blessed.

If you enjoyed reading this please

Visit my art shop or bookshop

Phantom Pains

2011-11-01T13:32:00.004Z

Phantom Pains –Marginally Halloweenish

Summer Night ~ Esurio Ravens, 2011

My research recently has been following the direction of the power of the mind on the reality that we experience. Self created reality.

I have had a monster tooth ache since a week Tuesday after having a tooth filled, steadily increasing over the week until stuck at the weekend and not being able to get into an emergency dentist left me chewing painkillers like the sweets that maybe caused it in the first place.

Yesterday I spent a fair session in the dentist watching The Blue Planet (most excellent) while the dentist removed the nerve that had been caught while my tooth was filled and probably a few others and thus removing the irritation.

I spent the afternoon in pain free bliss numbed up to my eyelids until the face freeze faded away and the pain returned with a vengeance as if the irritation was still there. I know she took it out because she showed it to me. I chewed a few more pain killers and went to sleep.

This morning found me tentatively awakening to a small ache but the specific pain from the irritation has gone.

I remember many years ago hearing about an experiment where a penny was burnt in front of an experimentee and then dropped onto the palm of their hand. The human being tested didn’t know that the coin wasn’t really hot but the hand which was being filmed already produced a burn mark before the coin touched it.

I haven’t been able in a quick search to verify this experiment. It was over ten years ago I heard about it and it fascinated me.

More recently I was passed a book by Brandon Bays called ‘The Journey’ which tells Brandon’s story of how she healed herself of a melon sized tumour without surgery and with the power of the mind.

Brandon takes this notion one step further to suggest the cause of the pain to be not rooted in the physical but the emotional, perhaps long left pains from childhood. At the close of the book there are self-task pages so that own journeys can be undertaken.

This theory taken one step further begs to ask the question what is the cause of physical pain, is it the burning coin, the smoke inhaled, the sweets eaten or something written in our consciousness, in our belief about the world, something held onto waiting to be let go?

A quote from Marianne Williamson’s, A Return to Love is included in the book.

‘Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond all measure.

It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us.’

Skeleton Ship ~ S.T, 2006
click for prints

Love according to Thomas

Campbell, ‘My Big Toe’ is

the lowest form of entropy, that is

the most energy available for action

and the opposite to fear.

So the death of fear then must

herald the birth of love.

How many pains are we hiding in

our bodies, how many fears lurking,

ghoulish long after the ghost ship

has distant passed and sailed into the purple

seas of love?

Make your own ~

Monster Halloween Biscuits

made with plenty of heart by all the family, teeth crackers…

maybe.

Ingredients

Plain sifted flour,

Butter/marg (non salted is best)

Caster sugar

Mixed raisins and nuts blended

Egg yolk

Lemon juice

Water as necessary to bind the dough.

Toppings,

Egg white and milk pre bake glaze. (sugar optional)

Hats and hair melted dark chocolate

Icing sugar, squeezy icing and dye.

Cookie cutters or a knife and imagination!

Related Posts

There is nothing to fear but…

The Man In Black

Creative Living ~ Make your own

If you enjoyed reading this please

Visit my art shop or bookshop

I am not MOVING - Short Film - Occupy Wall St

2011-10-20T09:24:00.001+01:00

Aporia ~ Meeting

2011-10-01T09:02:00.001+01:00

click to read

click for prints, Mugs, etc

INspirations ~ Alchemy Gold

2011-09-27T09:41:00.007+01:00

Alchemy Gold
mixed media on plasterboard ~ S.T

Click for Prints, Mugs etc

Sweet Dreams are Really Made of P's

2011-09-21T00:01:00.001+01:00

Purpletta was watching One Tree Hill a few days ago, and one of the young ones poses the question ‘What was your dream?’

P has been thinking a lot about dreams since Fatmo appeared in one a while ago. P wonders what was one's dream when one arrived here as a newly formed purple, upright, walking calflet.

P was hanging out recently with some school children who came to visit Mr F’s farm, they were curious about P asking what age she was, (undisclosed, a lady never reveals) and if one is married - really, who would one?..

And what one does with one’s time, one explained one likes to write and the littlies asked why?

P’s first answer is that one has always loved to read, from the shampoo bottles in the bathroom, cereal packets, to the upside down letters on one’s bosses desks (did one say that? –), P has been allowed to work legally here in Moo Moo Land.

Then the 'who is talking to me while I am not even talking’ voice cut in asking if that was really the truth.

P thinks about her mission and knows that noting questions and discoveries down is useful, because sometimes there isn’t anyone for P to share it with, sometimes to share only with oneself, a little gift, one’s secret smile on an otherwise moody day, and here is something one doesn’t understand, to feel connected (to what one does not know) to some greater wisdom than oneself, this perhaps is the God one has been hearing about and something not often spoken about the soul.

P then thinks now about this wonderful physical process of watching the pen moving, making shapes over the dim white page as the night creeps in outside one’s window with the only light, hunched over, from the computer screen.

One thinks about this world.

One Tree Hill, is quite astounding one these days, a few episodics ago Brook gave her investors all their money back, even though the ladykins could have sneaked off and not, because her naughty mummy lied about how much money the company had, one can’t help wondering about the recent news of J.P Morgan showing robust balance sheets when it was borrowing the money.

One is glad to see the young ones doing the done thing, it warms one’s heart even if it is not real.

Writing, coming home to oneself. One of P’s happiest moments, so far away from one’s true home and no clues yet as to where that might be.

P, feels an urge to the left, of one’s brain saying get on with it.

So why did P love reading so much, especially all these wonderful fantasies about Narnia and Enchanted Trees?

Because quite simply, one always wanted to live in those kinds of worlds. P wanted to live the fantasy and judging by P’s recent foray into the Star Suckers documentary and Mr Potter’s huge success, so do quite a few others. An amazing and adventurous life, the goodies defeating the baddies, where animals talk and magic is possible. P thinks this world is a lot like that but P of course is part animal oneself so one has special contact.

P would like to fall in love and live happily ever after.

One wonders why one would have these kinds of dreams if they weren’t really possible. That would seem to be a very mean kind of joke.

Note for further exploration - What is the purpose and function of the imagination?

Sweet dreams from Moo.

P

If you enjoyed reading this please

Visit my art shop or bookshop

Human Language - Sigils ~ Why is one so attracted to what one doesn't want?

2011-09-19T00:01:00.003+01:00

It is somewhat disturbing one must say that one cannot stop thinking about those golden arches, one is a vegetarian after all, certainly not a cannibal. P wants it even though one knows it is wrong.

Hot on the trail of The Mystery, P has stumbled onto ancient magics, called sigils. Sigils can access the unconscious mind. P has had to switch off her television in fear for what she might do. This has only partially saved one as everywhere one walks one finds another of these wretched sigils, Logos is another word for them, though one finds no reason in them, although sometimes a rhyme if one is lucky.
P is afraid of magiKs.

The next day

Fortunately and a very large sigh of relief, P has continued her research and found some science to explain the magiKs which makes it all right. P discovered the Sigmund Freud, he is mostly talking about dreams but he told me that the 'unconscious' speaks in symbols, powerful messages trying to become conscious. Worryingly he says we are driven by the unsconscious so if all these pictures (sigils) are going into one's unconscious this perhaps explains why one is being driven unknowingly toward the very thing one wants to avoid.
One is wondering what to do about it. Suddenly the whole world looks like one hugely gigantic sigil. A massively superstructured, gynormous advertisement. P is afraid of one's unconscious desires and also of one's pocket if there are all these things making one spend money, one doesn't have.

P found the man Grant Morrison and he calls reality a hypersigil. This is something hugely different though because what he is saying is that sigils create our reality and that we are living in a hypersigil. This hypersigil is created by what we create somehow.

This definitely calls for some further study. P's notebook and pen are poised.

If you enjoyed reading this please

Visit my art shop or bookshop

Aporia ~ eBook

2011-09-18T22:14:00.005+01:00

Aporia

If you enjoyed reading this please

Visit my art shop or bookshop

A Short Intermission

2011-09-15T12:51:00.004+01:00

There's going to be a little break as, at present, there is raw sewage in my yard and I'm desperately setting about trying to find somewhere else to live (the fact that we've been living with it every other month for the last five years is perhaps a subject we'll come back to) but as it's now moved here for good until such time as someone decides to fix the drain that means we have to evacuate tout de suite.

In the meantime as it is timely readers might be interested to check on the after 9/11 section of Beyond the Lemon Tree written in 2004 which discusses the change in world view felt by many after the devastation of the twin towers and also, readers may note that the figure given back in October 2004 by UK's channel4 for civilian deaths in Iraq was 100,000 and this figure doesn't seem to have changed at all in seven years (p.37).

My work in general focuses on the question what is the nature of this reality and what are we inside of that reality, what is our ecology - to it and eachother? Is reality fixed or a subject of intention? Readers of Aporia might be interested to ask the question who or what is Bob? What do you believe Bob to be? What is the difference between knowledge and belief? Does naming change the the essence of something? The Shakespearen quote 'Does a rose by any other name smell as sweet?
Does it make any difference what language we use to define something? Is language in itself a tower of Babel construct which divides rather than necessarily uniting under commonality? Can we find these unifying concepts beyond language, areas of common ground or acceptance?

The books are available to read free of charge on the buttons at the head of the page.

Hoping some roses will arise out of all of this manure.

Have a wonderful day,

Sarah.

Thomas Campbell 'My Big Toe' Lecture

This is an interesting concept about the nature of reality/consciousness - love as the lowest form of entropy (and an opposite to fear), i.e the highest state of order and energy available for action and digital realites, reality forming as in a computer game as we walk toward sounds quite magical and full of possibility.
The idea that we cannot explain larger consciousness from our reality which is a subset and some explanations of O.B.E's. Well worth the hour's viewing.

INspirations #20 ~The Cuckoo and the Kittycat

2011-09-13T00:01:00.001+01:00

The Cuckoo and the Kittycat

If only I could see way up in the cuckoo tree,
this would turn out to be one of those silly rhymes
about life, round about.

I maybe can climb it, if I have a little courage
and no fear of heights.

Sit, bounce back on the bough,
bring a cushion,
make myself a little platform.

Sing better than a mockingbird,
which it is a sin to kill, strum guitar
when the night is dim.

Later still,
add a few walls, or not if the clime is good,
bring some rope, blankets, a little firewood.

String up a line; catch carp in the nearby lake,
kick off my shoes, toes in turf,
flick them round, flat against the solid of smelt earth.

Punt myself across in a pea green boat,
pretend the Lady of Shallot, dead but afloat.

I’d cook with a squiggle and brush with a hare
and eat with a runcible spoon, my dear,
and eat with a runcible spoon,
by the light, by the light,
of a silvery moon.

If you enjoyed reading this please

Visit my art shop or bookshop

Human Language ~ Get Branded

2011-09-12T00:01:00.014+01:00

Tara Reid recently advised Jedward to 'brand' themselves following the success of Kim Kardashian.

Sounds painful.

l http://www.fasttrackteaching.com/burns/Unit_2_Westward/U2_Beef_Cattle_Raising.html

Love will come

2011-09-11T00:26:00.003+01:00

http://www.scenicreflections.com

Love is pain waiting in possibility,

death will come and set you free.

Knowledge is pain waiting in possibility,

pain is love waiting for an opportunity,

along comes love and sets you free.

The monstrous snake Eros falls in love with Psyche

and comes down from heaven to marry for eternity.

But Love is protected by a mask of invisibility

and Psyche is doomed by her own curiosity.

One night spurred on by her kin,

she spies on Sleeping Beauty

and scarred by the flame she’s burning

to the heavens back he flees.

Pain will come and set you free.

She loses her home and her family,

sifting needles in haystacks in stacks of beans,

sent down to Hades for a box of beauty,

curiosity kills this cat,

death comes to set her free.

For once there was a man on hand, in this case fortunately,

Love returns from the heavens offering immortality.

So now she’s in the heavens waiting in possibility,

pain is love waiting for an opportunity,

she’s waiting with her love in hand to set you free.

Love will come and set you free.

Beyond the Lemon Tree

If you enjoyed reading this please

Visit my art shop or bookshop

#58 My Lovely Bubble

2011-09-11T00:01:00.001+01:00

Call me naive,
lived a long time in a bubble called hope,
or cynical of the manoeveres of double speak,
multiple voiced manipulators.

Naive is innocence?
and yes I am and both guilty at the same time
of listening when my heart knows better,
when my stomach utters.

That gut feeling.

Or is it gullibility,
and yes I am that too,
made stupid, by a life of drink,
and media, listening to multiple voices,
layering a lie over lie,
of my well tended ignorance.

Spin circles in my brain
of a logic that won't compute,
too many valid oppostitions
for the same answer.

And in the end become my
own best authority,
responsibility, take it back
and call it for my own,
and live on the right of that
or the consequences of
mistakes that are mine alone.

Live in a world
apparently full of
paedophiles, murderers
and rapists,
when the reality is that
the majority are good
living along, smooching kind,
kids, family love,
food on the table,
scraps and suppers.

Speaks of the right we have by justice,
to be humankind in our naivity,
and innocent until proven guilty.

If you enjoyed reading this please

Visit my art shop or bookshop

INspiraTIONS #35 ~Grass Wet Feet

2011-09-10T00:01:00.001+01:00

There is discovery

in the steps of children,

finding footprints

on concrete,

with grass wet feet

and plants growing

from a tiny seed,

is magic

in a miracle,

jumping on shadows

and a resisting

pull, to taste

the fat glossed

burst, of red on berries.

If you enjoyed reading this please

Visit my art shop or bookshop

# 55 Reasons to be creative part one

2011-09-08T00:01:00.004+01:00

When I’m miserable I create to cheer myself up.

It’s fortunate then from an artistic point of view that I need a lot of cheering up.

click for prints, mugs etc

#56 Dance

2011-09-07T00:01:00.002+01:00

Dance the dance

S.D. (age 4) 2011 by kind permission

of the one you want to be

Inspirations #11 ~ Twin, twin, thing

2011-09-06T00:01:00.002+01:00

twins in my belly

preparing for change...

such a girl then

Beyond the Lemon Tree ~ eBook

2011-09-05T08:01:00.005+01:00

If you enjoyed reading this please

Visit my art shop or bookshop

Inspirations #17 ~ Artist's Prayer

2011-09-04T00:01:00.003+01:00

Dear Creator,
please keep me safe,
help me create
and be always true
to myself and to you.

Keep me open,
my will unbroken,
help me to see the beauty
inside and outside of me.

Let me surrender myself
to your will
love others, love myself
and create through me
around me, and through others.

Keep me centred,
calm at peace
so that I may spread
and channel good
through me.

Keep my will always
towards your end,
keep me
among friends.

And though I
am a tiny me,
help me believe
in me.

If you enjoyed reading this please

Visit my art shop or bookshop

inspirations #31 ~ Miły Mój

2011-09-03T00:01:00.006+01:00

Listening to Maria Peszek,

singing about twins

in a language I don't know,

created by song.