Mangsa poem by Don Bennett

I am Mangsa

I want to learn,


I want to prosper.

I want to grow old.

I want to know how you

Have come to have

So much

And I so little.Image


OK It’s your turn ..

I am going to share some of my recent drawings with all of my friends and give you all a chance to speak to or from the  heart  of your chosen character. I will make it worth your while , if your short ( no more than a page long) prose or poem is chosen. Here are some of my most expressive characters. What do you think they are thinking? What would you say to them?ImageImageImageImageImage

Looking for Comments

OK.. Now that I have developed some consistency in this blogging business .. I hope to get some comments from my adoring fans. Need to choose a winning story..(all poems so far) 

Please help get this dialogue going.

Armchair Hippie painting. Poem by Jerry Jordison ,THE armchair hippie!

I was an armchair hippie
During the war in ‘Nam.
I read Time and Life.
I cheered Ruban
And was awed by Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert.
My hair was long.
I made peace symbols in the snow.
Inuits, back from school in the south,
Shared their hash with me.
Friends grew the weed
In grandma’s flower pot,
And made brownies during the darkless nights.
I protested pollution in the Northwest Territories,
And wrote to Trudeau;
And wrote words of wisdom:
I shot an arrow in the air
And it stayed there.
Unwrap the parcel of water,
Keep the stamps,
And drink it.
Peal a million Balloons
And breath the fresh air.
Psychedelic man!
During my programmed holidays I bought music:
Cat Stevens, Simon and Garfunkel,
Grateful Dead, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd.
I dug it!
I wore bell bottoms, painted T-shirts,
Bought incense and black candles.
During the winter we would fondue
With wisps of smoke entwining our noses.
I was at Woodstock – in my head –
Sliding in the mud,
Number nine, number nine.
My stereo never stopped:
Country Joe and the Fish.
Far-out man!


Beneath the Mask -Pastel on Watercolour

THE CLOWN   Poem by Ann MargetsonImage
Is that anger that I see, or a broken heart?
A clown should be happy and so do his part
To bring a smile or some laughter to those around
So what trouble in the clown’s heart can be found?

A clown should romp, and do funny somersaults,
Run fast being chased then, too suddenly halt
And whoever is chasing him collide and fall,
But you poor clown seem to have no humour at all.

Is it a broken heart? Or a great burden of hurt and pain?
Or are you just grumpy, not wanting to smile again?
Please let me help you, do you need a tear wiping away?
Maybe you will smile on some brighter, fairer day.

My heart bleeds for you, let me hold your hand,
Come join the Circus feeling, dance along with the band.
I am sure there is a smile hiding away somewhere,
Look up and see the sun brightly shining up there.

EXOTIQUE – pastels on watercolour

    EXOTIC    Poem by Ann MargetsonImage

Will I be beautiful? What will happen to me?
Where does my future lie, what will I be?
I am swaddled in silk to make me look good,
Maybe the highest bidder will at least give me food.

I am only a child would love to run about and play,
But my parents have put me as a grown up on display,
I do not like my lovely clothes they just  mock who I am,
I just hope someone will love me, that is my only plan.

Look at me and pity me, think, What is she going through?
This girl so finely dressed is pleading quietly to you,
Save me from sorrow, save me from pain and sin
Open up your heart and home. Let me come in.