Monday, 25 September 2017

Telling a story

I have been drawing in the hills - returning to a favourite perch. Today I took my flask of coffee and the dog, my head still in its own fog - my reactions in slow motion.




I apologise to the minibus driver who must have thought I was ignorant - not ignorant just slow of brain.

I have been trying to capture the mood of the hills which strangely mirror my internal life.






A large queen bumble bee climbs into my drawing tin - she is dark with the drawing in of the year
I am such a foolish man
I want to cry - repent - be washed

Sheep bleat
A recorded voice drifts up from Dan - yr - Ogof

Ravens meet overhead
Waters meet underground

Underground is where I wish to be
To hide my bones

But today the sun lifts the hills into a reverie




Paul

Sunday, 17 September 2017

Storytelling




I had a great day yesterday along with fellow artists, spinners and weavers, musicians and story tellers at Craig y Nos Country Park in the Story Telling Festival. I was going to read some of my prose in poets corner, but bottled out. Instead I wrote this about the day :

Sunshine and shadows on a page
I hear of the Canadian shores of Vancouver Island
Spiders being hand fed bluebottles
Spinning and fiddling echoing in the park.

Dogs
Dog's dinners
Dog's biscuits
Flowering shirts
Leaves leaving trees.

Cold
Colder
Cold
Until the sun shines and the ale flows.

The stories and musicians and the physicians of Myddfai
Magicians and tumblers juggle and giggle
Words and strings, beats and flutings
Telling how the Welsh love legends
Stories with unhappy endings
Yearnings and unfulfilled longings.

The light fades and the tent lights twinkle
Heart warmed by 'Chameleon' coffee and connected conversations
I blend into the night
Unseen.










Paul