Creative Sparks

Pattern, Shape, Texture and Inspiration

 

Tell-a-tale Patterns on a wall
Shape and Texture all enthral
tell it all

I speak to myself
of myself
as I write
the blueprints of rules
should guide
not govern
flair and skill
for good or ill
let inspiration be found
in the scope
of my vision
natural occurrences
instances
of the imagination
mind’s saturation
sculpted by sea feather
weather-assisted
twisted
by time

stones
worn and
moulded
bruised and folded
by the breeze
these
speak to me in telling verse
ideas diverse
intersperse
my thoughts
broaching themes
word streams
new memes

this tree
disguised
surprised
anthropomorphised
attributes
of patterned roots
suits my style
brindled
dappled
nature’s offshoots
veinlike
skein-like

And then
the shortfall
inspiration stalls
until that wall
enthralls
recalls
my pitfalls
windfalls
then my palette
revives
thrives again
and in its archives
My muse is revived

Thus
this new view
a breakthrough
the connective tissue
come to rescue
my mind-block’s
black box
and to resuscitate
my failing powers
of inventiveness

meaningless
yet meaningful
but tension taut
and overwrought
linked by thought chains
succoured by mind games
built into high rise blocks
of language fodder
ever odder

eroded
exploded
colour coded

oil-spoiled
and rainbow-coated
wordless surface
followed now with purpose
and augmented clues from

(

such as this
plaster-disaster
a certain
crack in the curtain
a remix, fix
new tricks
new script suggested

dream instances
silent witnesses
to my imagination’s
flights
those dizzy heights
of know-my-rights
endeavour
hinting at the next
text

the creative process
to which I’ll succumb
and produce this
my next pennyless
poetic income

Lanturnes
rictameter
diamonds and pyramids
drape
and shape
my poems
mechanical poetry
composed to formula
but adding
when it comes to the crunch
a knockout punch
not all about pattern
because convention
needs to be coloured
by considered thought
wrought
from life
wrenched
from strife
moulded
by meaning
seen and felt
through my muse’s lens
into gems
of terse
verse

nothing worse
than the curse
of banality
pattern
controlled by reason
liberated by
inspiration
Calliope’s lifeblood

Nature’s example
Of how Creation
Life
Followed by Death
Followed by Re-birth
is accomplished

 

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© Photographs copyright – all by WHB in various locations – Orkneys, Argyll (Scotland), Devon, Essex, Surrey, Sussex (England),  Stavanger (Norway). 

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The Writing’s On The Wall

(Verses using idiomatic expressions)

It’s all over bar the shouting,
Pride goes before a fall;
Another nail in the coffin,
The writing’s on the wall.

“You’ve not a hope in hell’, they said,
“You’re doomed to sink like a stone;
Abandon hope who enters here.”
But the devil looks after his own.

I will not beat about the bush,
Nor bark up that wrong tree.
Yes, it’s back to square one I go,
‘Twixt devil and deep blue sea.

Some time I’ll bite the bullet again,
But till the bitter end
Blood, sweat and tears it is for me
Till I am round the bend.

No I’m not about to bite the dust,
Nor to push up the daisies,
For I am still alive and kicking,
Singing my own  life’s praises.

Yes, the cleft stick that I am in
Is just a cock-and-bull story,
For I will last till the cows come home
In my Land of Hope and Glory.

And when the hue and cry are over
Then I’m  off to the Land of Nod.
When those hell’s bells have sounded.
All’s still in the lap of the gods.

Yes, every dog will have its day,
The writing is on the wall.
Every cloud has a silver lining,
I’m not heading for a fall.

Unconsidered Trifle #4. STOP!

WELL  – THE WALL DID STOP HIM/HER !!!

STOP – DANGER AHEAD !!!

 

“Too late I saw the sign.

I was texting at the time.

It’s going to cost me dear,

… I blame the weather here.”

 

Photographs taken in Walton-on-Thames, Surrey, U.K. 2010   . . .  W.H.B.

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