Fly

Fly; to change rapidly and unexpectedly from one state or position to another

Farelewell Berlin (for now)

I spy with my little eye.....

Tenerife, Berlin, Landan baby spreading the word.....! 

Thank you to my sticker spreading sidekicks x

banished to the land of butter - a parting gift

architecture of the soul

Go raibh maith agat my friend sunny bean sailor Captain Sylver Jones

(sylviasouffriau.wordpress.com)

lullaby

This misty cloud hanging on the hill tops like it can’t let go, 

Can’t drift and fly, cannot get light enough, and cannot let the light in.

Left behind in a bland misty world, kettering, wind bettering.

There are whales in this sky, night clouds–swim,

vessels of night poems, carrying words form the dark,

whispering to be heard 

and then sleep.

Kleines Ausstellung ab Galerie 'Dr Holzbein-Schmitt'
Köpenicker Str, Berlin
Danke Thomas

celebrate (it all)

a thing about things in windows

very excited to see these arrive today.....STICKERS! Everyone loves a sticker....

here to there

nowhere

now there

here

Happy Easter all

playing with Josef Albers colour papers

"A continued use of disliked colours will teach that preferences and dislikes - as in life so with colour - usually result from prejudices, from lack of experience and insight."

Josef Albers - Interaction of colour

Some Memories - Spain

                                               J's Poem

weekend studio

in Neukoln

Work in progress...

"Freedom 

hows that working for you babe 

hows that working for you? 

did you figure it out, did you figure it out, did you figure it out?"

Thank you for the inspiration !!! (Chk Chk Chk)

Lido, Berlin 5/03

Solitude; I have forgotten the way there, 

although it changes every time anyway, 

it hides, 

or have I born a fear for it? 

Some memories (Berlin)

You have filled this vast emptiness with silence.

Embrace me, seep into me, think for me - 

now stones fill the empty spaces, between them and I and you.

dogs bark, 

pigeons, 

wind, 

after a long dark train, 

bicycle bell, 

coffee cup, 

bed springs, 

cold cold cold, 

all lined up in a row, feeling small, barely existing now. I am death but I am breathing. Memory becomes life again.

Save it, you must save this, bright light, dark hole, that space behind his ear, 

let the tree grow into your room, tiredness nights, endless days, fear...

Can you hear it come? 

And then watch it go

Some memories

A whole day reading poems, trying to get drunk, so that something might happen, love in the wind or a kiss from the rain. That ladies heart in the dark all around you, give yourself up and see this one line 

“how the heart works as a weight against flight” (Moira Linehan, If no moon)

Some memories

A bird sings in a cage down the back of the bus,

and a woman cries down Grafton street,

her glasses magnifying her big wet tears.

At the train station,

 a man on a fold up bicycle,

 gives me fresh lime leaves and a warm hardboiled egg, 

and a musician waits there, with three guitars.