roles
actor
& audience
can hear me speak
centre stage
& seated
always
performing . always
observing . fool's
hat & motley
collar & tie . watch
entrances , make
exits
roles actor & audience can hear me speak centre stage & seated always performing . always observing . fool's hat & motley collar & tie . watch entrances , make exits
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Welcome to Caroline, pianist. See our blog, the collaboration, . red . the pianist, the dancer, the artist. .we need a film maker. the music is here...... https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCIiJfsm8orl8IOsUYFeg0jw/feed clouds clouds sit above this island as stanzas sit upon a page silken bloomers of thought now freed from consideration as they drift and elongate I cannot grasp their meaning but I will read them again slowly: slowly an unstoppable theory of everything ‘to accept what we do not understand; to wait calmly for what awaits us’ m.c.escher going on all the time: writing itself: composing: evolving: generating: regenerating: ideas en masse formulating: stretching belief: cracking reality: its fabric glimpsed for a instant: its bones geodesic: glittering: impossible: surreal as an upward waterfall: supernatural velocity: too much to bear: a fast spreading mould: assuming every surface: a pandemic virus: an unstoppable theory of everything: faster than thought; quick as a lizard’s eye; a wonder yet: a horror movie speeded up: a-what-it-is-will-be-what-it-was-in-less-time-than-a-bees-wing; bigger, better; more sophisticated: new words: old words with new meanings: foams: folds: chaos: constant streaming: dreams for the dreamers: a thousand thoughts on a pin’s head: semantics; gambits and grandmasters: chessboard-reptiles; honeycomb-larvae: bee-fish-bird-cube-building: seamless: logical: no fulcrum; no rest; no turning point: it all goes on changing; it all comes together; water running uphill: a hand from the page; writing itself: a salamander: leaves floating on water: a shadow of a tree; gravity: relativity: no belief necessary: no charnel house; a new kind of science: from the Balcony to the Belvedere: with a new way of seeing: with the air and with water: with dread and with healing……….. ……….it was much the best thing for the second that it lasted: we looked at God: God smiled back stripped bare... when you tread upon a stage you are naked but wear the cloak of another's words when your own words are read on the page there is no cloak... beachcombings (i)... the storm brought fresh stories to the shore and the driftwood moved on the sun bleach forced its fire to the sand and the driftwood moved on the wind blade tore into the dune and the driftwood moved on the sea swell engulfed the beach and the driftwood moved on the storm brought fresh stories to the shore and the driftwood told some shadows... The man approaches an open doorway that leads to dimly perceived shadows. Peeling paint exposes bleached edges on the panels of the door. It hangs from the bent rust-laden iron of its one remaining hinge. A collection of tin cans in a heap props the once-welcoming portal in a permanent, disturbingly human, slouch. It is, perhaps, the spirit of the old bothan’s bouncer, guardian of illicit pleasures once enjoyed within. Its drunken, lurching, seedy menace is well-matched to the man himself. The stench of mustily morose furnishings draws the man towards its almost-sweet mixture of damp-slimed paper, rotting wood and stale sugar-drink. Shadows swallow him. * Links - http://berneraybardachd.wordpress.com/ www.facebook.com/padruigmacillechiar and www.goodreads.com/author/show/6885355.Peter_Kerr The Clown Widow Pale as pan, she stares at the certificate, longs to scratch out the cause, scribble in what she has always known. Even leaving the church in a veil, daisies in her hand raining in his small car chasing the sun, she knew the end. One night his plates just stopped spinning, the moon fell with a crack. Kitchen Alchemy It is time to brew potions with sticky hands feel for that plumpness which spells pick me, pluck berries that stain lips, bruise fingertips reach for the big pan, the one on the shelf at the back of the cupboard, in the pantry, time for the alchemy of the rolling boil, for incanting Grandma’s chutney spells, stir soups with wooden spoon. Time to forage, cut back, bottle, freeze for those dull half-lit days harvest the season in its proper time, ready for the next, with you in its flow. Flight I imagined sitting on the roof with hands no longer over my ears always about to drop off when through the wall bullet voices exploded, stuttered crabs snapped at each other with codependent claws the roof was peace wrapped in velvet ready to fly with snoop-cat under my arm winking our wingtips like aeroplanes feeling the moon-pull us loop de loop till we were ready to come back down gently onto the cherry tree in its full ball-gown pink landing in silk tassel grass that slid through your fingers tickled your knees as we sneaked back to bed a trail of petals floating from our fur they were still at it of course. Fair Exchange You lent me favours paid me compliments slipped your arm through mine said I tipped you the wink but it was just dust in my eye the warmth I have for those I like
thought you could steal one until I dinted your pride I told you after the dine and wine that I bat for the other side. It’s in the Words words like succulence tumescence, moistness ripe, plump ones that ripple off lips smooth silky. Yes that’s it, but say them softly sibilantly sslowly
on the tongue juicily, tooty-fruitily whisper them closely play those consonants like strings pluck them pizzicato utter them stutter them urgent hot tight taste words like berries fondle them in your mouth till they burst. Apple Bite said he I might said she You’ve a right said he I mustn’t said she Trust said he Just one said she Mmmmm said she Must share said she Munch said she Crunch said he Again said she Yum said he NOW GET THE HELL OUT OF MY GARDEN Deva Lipstick mouth, sex-pot, hot-spot, painted pout. Plucks her strings pizzicato. Quattro Stagioni under lamplight, quick as rain diamonds spattering the pavements. This is her serenade, her swansong-abandon-moment. Her only audience - night’s echo. Her hair-fall cascades through winter, spring, summer mind-dives with swifts, makes careful footprints in snow, scoops gulps of sweetness with every crescendo, glissando; scoops it into the blossom purse she keeps beneath her ribs, between her thighs. Overture and Praise-singers I enter Iona with an, eek she's here! as a guillemot tucks its inky nib beneath the waves saunter through overtures of sparrow cheeps tsee tsee twisks and tooth comb rasps filter up from marsh grass a pair of reed buntings skitter by him, in his black and white suit her, in dowdy brown tweed. On this lacuna of time suspension even crows whistle while they work geese graze and chuckle. In the abbey cloister starlings chat, peck squeeze into corbel crannies a flock of sanctimonious white doves flap holy wings to the heavenly heights of St Columba's bell tower slip through its pearly bars. On fine tooth comb – corncrake apparently day and night their raspy chorus threads waves and dark in never-ending praise. * note www.rachaelclyne.com ‘Clyne’s poems are as earthy, rich, feral as the landscapes she writes about. Woven through all of them is the theme of digging to the bedrock, the bones – of human, of land. Her concerns are territory, boundaries, fences – and how we might slip through the wires. At times, as in the final poem, she achieves a near-shapeshift before our eyes.’ Roselle Angwin Wilfred Benskine - Roberts
from Blaenau Ffestiniog, Wales. .our youngest artist. quote . one thought . leads to another, torn paper may be fish. important work or less. crumpled, a memory of silk. to place in reverence or start the fire. we have learned not to believe all we think. sbm. Tracey Watkins, artist from Newport, Studied MFA at Cardiff Metropolitan University. Donation for the Cabinet of Curiousity at Theatr Harlech. ' wasp' ( decayed) materials :- plasticine, cotton, thread, paint, staple, bubble wrap, bottle. Mim has sent work for the 'cabinet meeting' in the Green Room. Posted in Richmond USA for Theatre Harlech Wales, the Cabinet Pudding. About herself she says.... I read, I write, I take photos, I make art, I cook, I bake, I travel, I learn, life is good. www.mim4art.blogspot.com Mim Golub Scalin Collaboration works.
Johann Botha -Pretoria Sonja Benskin Mesher - Llanelltyd leonard. an interchange 7.7.2014. 13.07 leonard wrote in medieval rhyme, a scrivener, fond of the waltz, too. i shall learn to. and wear a river's disguise water's way. shall we not see thee dancing? i shall walk in the way and you may call us dancing meandering thoughts, consequences, a pas de deux many may see us dance, few will hear the music in and out of season. sbm & jb. |