I am Mangsa
I want to learn,
Read,write.
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.
Mangsa poem by Don Bennett
Reply
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?
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.
Mischief in a Blue Hat -pastel on watercolour: “My Sister’s Hat” – poem by Susan Welch
Aside
My Sister’s Hat by Susan Welch
I am always happy when I wear my sister’s hat
I can hear her voice
Telling me to be happy
That she would see me again
Now her pain is over
She smiled
I think of her when I wear my sister’s hat
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.
Cool!
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.
and
Unwrap the parcel of water,
Keep the stamps,
And drink it.
and
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.
Cool!
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 Margetson
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 Margetson
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.
Joe the painting : Broken Window the poem
Old Joe -Cobalt Treasure : Acrylic on glass and canvas
Poem: Broken Window by Ann Margetson
The painting of Joe crutch smiling through
his broken window pane,
With cobwebs draping where some glass
still remained, is of great fame.
His real name was Joe Yonoshefsky, I hope
I have spelled it right
To those who knew him many different tales
come to light.
The broken window happened on one cold
winter’s day
When a boy named Al threw a snowball
by chance his way,
The boy was scared but all Joe said with
a curious smile
Thank you boy I needed more ventilation and
this will do for awhile.
He needed crutches to get around for
a bad cripple was he,
The tale is told, that his father threw him
down the stairs in fury.
The ladies said he was always a gentleman
and very polite
Even though he was scary and always looked
a terrible sight.
He said it was home made grape juice
he drank for his health
Yet it smelt rather strong and he never
had any worldly wealth.
Most children were scared of him called
him names and ran away,
But I would have loved to have known him
a Cobalt character many people still say.
The Question
Image
This is the photo that goes with Carole Touzin’s poem
PAINTING: The Question
POEM by Carole Touzin
Please…
A child’s grieving thoughts on love and life
Misconstrued shame and guilt
In the midst of despair
Dark clouds invading the mind
The soul’s whisper of hope unheard
“Where are mommy and daddy?
Where have they gone without telling me?
Where do I go?
I was theirs to keep
Where do I belong now?
Where do I go?
Will others want me?
What did I do?
Please…”
And the universe is silent
As if turning it’s back on a child.
What will we do?
Please….
tynasilver 