The Creative Playground

After 'L'Aquilone' by Giovanni Pascoli (1855-1912)

Air from another life and time and place,
Pale blue heavenly air is supporting
A white wing beating high against the breeze,

And yes, it is a kite! As when one afternoon
All of us there trooped out
Among the briar hedges and stripped thorn,

I take my stand again, halt opposite
Anahorish Hill to scan the blue,
Back in that field to launch our long-tailed comet.

And now it hovers, tugs, veers, dives askew,
Lifts itself, goes with the wind until
It rises to loud cheers from us below.

Rises, and my hand is like a spindle
Unspooling, the kite a thin-stemmed flower
Climbing and carrying, carrying farther, higher

The longing in the breast and planted feet
And gazing face and heart of the kite flier
Until string breaks and—separate, elate—

The kite takes off, itself alone, a windfall.
Seamus Heaney
Submitted: Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Playing House (Arrest)

today
i pretended fo be a butterfly
emerged from my cocoon
flying on my own
recognizance
until i remembered
what that word really meant
and fell to the ground
like the slug i am
bound to the laws
of nature
and my monitoring ankle bracelet
i'll try again tomorrow

Ed Meredith
September 9 2013

your environment and influences are what make up your tools. if youve got a fairly simple and happy life, youll have a nice, clean canvas and your paints all in order. creating something beautiful out of what comes across as perfection itself is a pretty simple task indeed. if youre environment is anything less than simple and life is a bit hard, you could have a rip in your canvas and your paints could be just about all dried up. but that doesnt mean that you cant create something beautiful out of the negative. its just going to be a more difficult task. life is about choices. it doesnt matter whats in your life, it matters what you do with it. i always admire the people who have gone through hell because they are the ones that come out scared broken and bruised but alive and well with a greater appreciation for the things in life that we take for granted. they understand making something out of nothing and finding beauty in garbage instead of having everything handed to them. you gotta be a little bit more creative is all. life hands you apples and you decide what to do with them; eat them quietly, throw them away, make a pie or make a pie and throw it at someone. life is one big perspective and interpretation that can and will change depending on the day. we arent weak, just a little blind here and there. sometimes all it takes is a kind hand to push back the curtains and allow us to see the light with which we will get up and go outside instead of staying inside and sulking. life is a perspective with a million different angles depending on who you ask and on what day you ask. we cant control it; life just happens. but you have all the power in the world to control how you let it affect you. try to remember that the next time youre having a poopy day. we keep swimming because thats all you really can do; keep swimming and hope for a better day but dont ever forget the pain because the pain is what made you amazing, understanding and appreciative if you let it instead of letting it consume you and turn you bitter and cold. so if life hands you a bunch of apples, what are you going to do with them??

Amanda, along time ago i had an apple with a worm so i let it live there...


The Garden Sweet

awaken
dream a moment
recall the garden sweet
see the shadow within the shadow
that holds the essence
of truth and dream
escape the thunderous sounds of thought
and enter the quiet creation
of all that is pure
grasp both ends of the eternal
and shape it into infinity
witness the dark turn light
the solid transparent
swim
in the life giving waters
springing from the fertile
join the still oneness
that moves in a blur of delight
and stand in the peaceful procession of now
dream a moment
awaken
and be the garden sweet


Ed Meredith
May Day 2012

Recall Of Childhood Playground

i was totally free to do whatever i wanted naturally in the good old days

i
ran naked
on bare feet
on muddy streets
under heavy rains
chased and fought with other kids
in the run-‘n-catch games

i
yelled
jiggled
laughed
plunged into the river
under blazing sun

no
more
fun games
in the callous world of adults
full of control from cowardice insecurity
lies, tricks, and deceptions for personal gains
my innocence is lost
my trust is eroded

i would be sent for a psychiatrist’s assessment if i took my clothes off and ran on any city street on any day whether it rains or shines

why is it so wrong in the adult world?

2013-09-09

Echo to Ed's playing House


Um, What days?


I slug these days
Caterpillar treads
Wings that crawl
cast those encasements
break that spell
I emerge...

Dah Dah.... Dah!

Winged tortoise
Head in my shell
Flying coconut
I am he!!
Lol


(c) Jason Christopher
9th September 2013

Imagine That

I play
In another dimension.
Color trailing garden vines
Climbing around my mind.
There all things are possible,
Every completely improbable
Conception of my wild imagination.

Karen Newell
9/9/13

Playing With Time

My battery is just about to die but before it does just like to say hello to all you kids!!!! Haha. Great stuff. One thing I have noticed though, instead of playing fully we are mostly comparing play with rules and regulations. Freedom with restraint. I don,t know how to get around this but let's have a go for the sake of art...always...Do we really want to see naked men running across the posts haha. I think roger sweezey must play art a lot just dawned on me how much fun he must have. But hopefully we will get to the soul of play and why we should never forget to play even in the direst of circumstances.

What is it about our egos that argue with us as we try to find our way? As soon as I finished the last post, I reminded myself, my ego did, that childhood can also be filled with shadows and darkness, it's not ALL play. But for our post it's a place just to play, ok there may be some fights and skirmishes and fallings out, but ultimately we will discover the importance of play through art and discussion without the trappings of our different cultures and traditions the passed down familiar traits etc..is that possible????

I am not her anymore
I am me
Me is allowed to be the person she thought she could be
When the teacher played the guitar
In the garden of daisies
In the church grounds
And we had not a care
And made those flower chains
That was me
The dreamer
Why suddenly
Did I hide that moment from critical eyes
And shy away from my life?

Go lower
Recede
Muck up
It's your childhood needs....

Vik Muniz Wasteland Trailer
look up this on youtube

Ok I give up. What's the cryptic MSG here Maria!? Lol, er
I did have a look and found so many hits I was lost and quite frankly, some were such heavy going documentaries Id need an energy drink to survive the first 2 minute.... Gawd....

But if this is the right work
http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=uXG7v5N83x4

What a talented playground crew indeed!! I must go rummage, empty my bins into the girls garde n below for a few months.... And go for it! :-) as if...

Listen for it in the intro & again @ 4:06 in my video, Philip....


~ Carmen Hathaway ~

I 've seen this before Carmen but it was wonderful to see it again, very creative video. I feel that the cards were her playing time. Wasn't she a stunner when she was younger? I love the old sepia colours though, they seemed to make film stars out of everyone.

Philip, what I thought was awater colour painting was digital, I was going to comment on the great brushstrokes giving the effect of splashing water.
The colours really express the sea foam , the struggle beneath. I constantly make the mistake of referring to your painting but I don't think you actually do paint, or do you? I'm intrigued, I know from what you say that you are a photographer so i can't work out why I keep thinking this. :))))

Am, always so deeply moved by this video, Carmen, and I don't always play the sound, I just watch her eyes, and now have seen some I'd missed before......I wonder how it was for her, at the end, surrounded quietly by her material and ghostly memories........did she reach out to you.? You were very precious to her, Carmen...as a child, you were 'hers' and part of her.........it is like me and my Emilie.........the bond is so sweet.....the love so enduring............I hope Emilie will be by my side 'then'.....though always in spirit..........I 'know' the child.................you were' known' 'that' way, too..............precious..............it's so different now, in my now time...........you are a beautiful daughter/grandgirl, Carmen.............Emilie will be the same, for me, no matter what ! Thanks...............

Viv, glad you have that relationship...so special x
Philip yes, I have often felt like I am walking down this long and winding road with a flimsy cloth holding lets say vegetables, a staple diet, and every now and again one or two fall out and roll across the road and I have to pick them up otherwise I may just be left with the potatoes, And I can't choose between them, but I feel that some of them have slipped out without my knowing. And I havn't eaten fully all of one group, just bites here and there. Infact the onions, which I never could like as a child, I now love, above almost all of the others.
They all feel a bit heavier now and the road could end at any moment, or become to rough so that I will have to discard some of them and maybe only keep one type.
The question I really wanted to ask I suppose is have you painted anything, and what was it? :)

Appreciate your thoughtful feedback on Arcana -- Philip, Vivian & Maria.

Being commissioned to create this video was an incredible opportunity -- Oma finally had her moment in the sun :)



~ Carmen Hathaway ~

Philip, can't wait to see your first painting..I'm sure we will all be hanging on for that!:)
yes, a set up is important but not always necessary, as i think Viet may tell you. Some artists studios are a field, a watercolour pad, couple of paintbrushes, bottle of water and a several small watercolour paints. a Moveable feast.
The set up I have at the moment, spare room, I will have to surrender for my mum who is coming to stay for a while I have. priorities! It is my space for writing, painting, some photography and studying. Its a mess most of the time but also the great escape.Don't know where I am going to put it all...stressful to think i have to pack half myself up for a while. I suppose thats when the camera will be used moreso.
the video would not play :(
Carmen :))))

Yay! just posted my first assignment off. Now time for play. The new gamemaking a poem from a found poem or piece of prose.
his one is from the found poem Die Lorelei, Heinrich Heine posted by Philip.


Of sorrow that fills
The air,
gleaming
In fading,
passing time.
Most wondrous, appealing
Enraptured with a wild ache,
I think by and by,
the waves
found poetry
I learned,
this..day.

This doesn't seem to be working!

Maria we don't want to work at it we want to;

Play

it's all child's play
i wouldn't have it
any other way
a least not today
when every moment
is fresh anew
with future and past
all askew
the game is now
here and forever
and played like there is
never
a never

Ed Meredith
13 September 2013

haha Ed, I meant FAA. My page would not load. I think the thread is working really well.

Maria my mistake... LOL

When i read that "Not Working" post i made the assumption that you were disappointed at a perceived restraint in our posts
i also assumed that you preferred the "play" posted here would be pure like what we imagine or romanticize child's play to be…

i think child's play is serious stuff, after all it's the business of children and they only know that's what they do, and do it without any thought given…
their job i think is to experience the everything of everything in it's purest form of the new and surprised… "OMG THAT"S MY HAND!! - IT'S MINE, IT"S MINE!!!"
But the adult world unfortunately or maybe fortunately encroaches and places the pressures and insecurities of cultural and historical baggage of becoming a responsible Adult upon the child. and play changes for better or worse...
i think the job of the child within us all, is to resist being overcome by those influences and play in any form it can to keep the adult the child has become, curious, youthful, and content…
i play everyday, and if not always outwardly, i play within my mind with events and ordinary things (if there is such a thing as ordinary)… the world is magical and mysterious with so many things to discover…
yesterday/today/whenever, i played with icicles…

:))) Don't know if they have a national poetry day in Australia..have to check that one out.

Another echo to Saigon's image and thoughts.

Written in the Dust..

Let me draw on your wing
dull moth,
allow me to sign my name
for eternity
in gold or silver ink,
but you hover nervously toward the light,
as I,
together
we will soon turn to dust
but while there's time
sit contemplative on some
lit window
and let me...
let me colour you beautiful
with my soul ink
for all the world to see
as you journey
through time zones
before we both
drop in dust.

Maria Disley 5/10/2013

x2

Life is sometimes
all but some sweet silhouettes
passing in time..
Snatch them!

Rhyme Or No Rhyme (To all poets on the UK’s National Poetry Day)

it’s more or less
life is a mess
please take your time
to make it rhyme

for those poems
its good for them
just use a sword
chop those damned words
make a bonfire
for winter nites

why do you mind?
her eyes are blind
the world is deaf
like a dull leaf
the rest’s fucked up
with their own cup

no one would care
no one would dare
challenge poets
nothing we get
no one would gain
nothing would change

it rhymes or not
it’s a hot pot
to cook poems
yummy for ‘em

where is U Kay?
what’s poetry?
what day is it?
I must admit
I love poems
could I join ‘em?


Poe Ed
2013-10-04

Wow two (2) echoes for my work and an irresistible poem from Senor Viet Tran! Thank you all!

An Unrhymed World

am I crazy?
it ain’t cozy
playing with both
those fatal swords
and spiky words

a samurai
not in right mind
can chop his life
and a poet
in his bad mood
could lose his head

what is the heck
why i expect
in my poems
everything would rhyme
in good rhythms

i take those words
out of my sight
i throw sharp swords
no cruel fights

is it O Kay?
i keep my way
you make your day
whether it rhymes
or it's un-rhymed

Poe Ed
2013-10-05

Life is sometimes
all but some sweet silhouettes
passing in time..
Snatch them!

Maria Disley

An echo to Maria’s verse


Life In Motion

on
the stream
of passing time
life could be all, something, or nothing
depending on
what one could take
and how much air one would inhale
from
it

in
its
essence
life is neutral
it
gives
neither sweet
nor bitter
tastes

so breathe every instant of the galloping time
and totally ignore
any dark
shadow
of it

Thao Chuong
2013-10-06

Viet, I am reading with interest your recent poetry. At the same time I am creating a 3d canvas using recycled materials if poss. plastic cups etc. FYI there's a white canvas with an assortment of plastic cups placed on top. I am arranging and rearranging...and thinking about the poetry..some of the small cups have fallen over...natural I am thinking...its a mish mash at the moment but I hope something comes out of it...will post when its finished :))
Ah! maybe I should put a silhouette at the bottom of each cup? Hmmm! Maybe a silhouette of poet friends..that would be saying something...I may keep adding to this post.... If anyone of the poets would like to send a silhouette of themselves I could shrink it and try it out..

Hahahahahahahaha Never seen it before! After about 2 minutes I thought, 'what is this baloney! But, thought it must be something worth watching for Philip to post. I lost a bit while cooking, returned and saw a man with no legs, so rewound it, and from then on was just captivated....then burst out laughing at the truth...and nostalgia...thanks for that lovely disruption. :))

GONE

Mosquitos at dusk
as cold green leaves brushed against our faces
in strange streets
no wheels
we took long walks after dinner
walking off grief
wearing out our souls
as mosquitos sauntered and bit!
stone faced
my arms encircled the earth
to pick hawthorn from English summer hedgerows
I could smell them 4,000 miles away


Maria Disley 8/10/13

The bus rails upstairs on the double decker
shone grubby under the light
he steadied her on the spiral staircase
held her waist
as the bus brakes screamed softly to a stop.
Secretly, saying goodnight in the recess of the hawthorn hedge,
a last cigarette,
a kiss
as the fog sailed between the trees
lighting up the glistening concrete
at their romantic feet,
the fog drifted
revealed him,
a billow of gusted grey hair
a furied face,
and a road between them.
He'd caught her red handed,
blind to innocence,
and the boy ran.
And the old man in an instant
felt his own youth
rebel
tearing at his guts.

@ Philip and Maria.
I enjoyed the awesome video and romantic poems. Thanks for sharing


Two Minutes In A Life

trapped
under water
he held his breath about two minutes
but it last forever

at
the very
last second
he was panic
as he ran out of air in his congested chest
if he had had an extra two minutes to untangle the trapping rope around his waist
he would have been
alive
by
now

two
minutes
it's not too long
and doesn't seem too much
just enough to burn a cigarette

it's ironic
man often wastes his lifetime for many nonsense things - he really don't need
yet, he always complains
he has no time
for anything

what man probably needs in life is but
a two minutes extra
to save his last
breath

Thao Chuong
2013-10-08

Very effective last stanza Viet! :)




Infront of words
and behind them
are more words
in different languages
inaccessible.
unalignible
shadows
glimpsed
only in the stutter, the lisp, the Freudian slip,
The subconscious is alerted
but can do nothing
except, leave it be
and move on
in the shiver of the transparent shadow
and wonder who is the trespasser?

OUT IN THE COUNTRY

Far from the fast pace of the city lights.
Out in the country, a family enjoys the perfect life.

A husband and wife, with two precious gifts from above.
Chose a life in the country to raise their family with love.

Tho city folk think they have the world in their hands.
A country family is at peace, living out on God’s land.

A day in the country begins long before the sun.
With children that rise early, looking forward to a day of fun.

Out in the country there is always work to be done.
But they do it together and the kids have room to run.

Boys work side by side with their dads through the day.
Learning skills and life lessons, mixed with a little fun and play.

Girls bond with their moms, learning how to primp, cook and sew.
But most of the time, they just want to saddle their horse and go.

Kids raised in the country have pure minds and hearts.
They’re taught hard work and honesty, traits that set them apart.

Girls raised in the country chase horses instead of boys.
And boys invent games, instead of begging for toys.

They’re content with what they have because their home is filled with love.
Their family has a solid foundation, because they live according to God above.

Kids will be kids and they can all find trouble.
You just pray you raised them right, and be there when they stumble.

Country folk watch their kids grow and consider themselves lucky.
To have polite, loving kids…..
that were raised in the country.

WRANGLER SENSE
I'VE NEVER GIVEN MUCH THOUGHT TO FASHION AND TREND
SOME SAY CLOTHES MAKE A MAN, SO THEY MIX, MATCH AND BLEND

I HAVE NEVER UNDERSTOOD WHAT ALL THE FUSS IS ABOUT
FOLKS SPEND HOURS GETTING DRESSED BEFORE THEY LEAVE TO GO OUT

NOW OUT ON THE RANCH WE HAVE A SLIGHT DIFFERENT VIEW
OUR CLOTHES ARE MADE FOR WORKING, DESIGNED FOR THE WORK WE DO

ALL MEN PUT ON THEIR PANTS ONE LEG AT A TIME EACH DAY
BUT IT SEEMS MINE WERE MADE TO FIT IN A MORE COMMON SENSE WAY

THESE YOUNGIN'S WALK AROUND IN THE ODDEST THINGS I EVER SAW
WITH THEIR PANTS WASTES DEFYING ALL OF GRAVITIES LAWS

AND THE CROTCH HANGING DOWN CLEAR TO THE BACKS OF THEIR KNEES
SHOWING MORE OF THEIR REARS, THEN A MAN CARES TO SEE

I PONDER IN MY HEAD, HOW THESE YOUNGIN'S GET THROUGH A DAY
HOW CAN THEY GET ANYTHING DONE, WITH THEIR PANTS FITTING THAT WAY

NOW OUT ON THE RANCH WE WEAR OUR PANTS LIKE A MAN SHOULD
WEARIN' ANYTHING BUT WRANGLERS, A WORKING COWBOY NEVER WOULD

THO WOMEN SEE IT DIFFERENT THE TERM COWBOY CUT
HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HOW THEY FIT MY BUTT

THEY FIT LIKE A GLOVE TO PROTECT WHAT I'VE GOT
I WONT ELABORATE, YOU CAN JUST GIVE IT SOME THOUGHT

THE RIDE CAN SOMETIMES BE ROUGH, WHEN I'M OUT ON MY HORSE
IF I HAD ON BAGGY PANTS, THE RIDE SURE WOULD BE WORSE

OUT ON THE RANCH WE'RE SURROUNDED BY BARBED FENCE
THAT I HAVE TO CLIMB OVER SO TIGHT PANTS MAKE SENSE

WHEN YOU FACE A BARBED FENCE WITH LEGS THAT LACK AN INCH OF CLEARANCE
WEARING PANTS WITH A SAGGY CROTCH, COULD ALLOW PAINFUL INTERFERENCE

THERE ARE TIMES ON THE RANCH A MAN MUST MOVE WITH GREAT SPEED
LIKE WHEN A MEAN MOMMA COW RUNS HIM DOWN AND HAS HIM TREE'D

I SURE DON'T NEED BURDENED WITH PANTS THAT FIT LIKE A SACK
CUZ I'D LIKELY HAVE THAT MOMMA COW STOMPING MY BACK

I THINK OF THOSE WORDS "THE CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN"
WELL MY COWBOY CUT WRANGLERS INSURE THAT I STAY A MAN!

Thanks Michelle for the descriptive poetry on country life you obviously wouldn't change it for anything!:))

When the hammer hits the nail
driving it underground into the vault of the wood
its head
aches
but its strength
holds the wood
that is its job..
Soon the wood splits
is weathered
and the nail rusts
and is replaced.

Maria Disley 13/10/2013

Safe

Barbed wire runs for miles across fields and meadows up and down hills,
I watch the caught animal hair blow in the breeze
The red tip of the barb
that carved its warning into its flesh
DANGER KEEP OUT
The dumb animals skip away to safer pastures
but never forget the scars
of their masters making
for their safety.


Maria Disley 13/10/2013

The free birds screech and caw and sing
in the trees around the field
the dogs howl, long slow and hungry
like ships coming into the harbour on foggy nights
every town or village hears
they know
but hardly stir
indifference
fills the air,
like an age old dawn.

Maria Disley 13/10/2013

Echoing Michelle's love of the country life and Philip's amazing posts of Gaea.


The sound of it
lies in the curves of a conch shell,
murmuring nature,
holding her echoes of the wayward lamb's cry
on the cliff edge,
her lighthouse love songs
her yearnings
The sounds that words spoil
upon mother nature's soil.

Maria Disley 13/10/2013

Blue Moon Senyru

the last moon i saw
was as blue as blue can be
but then so was i

http://youtu.be/T3FFOju3VM0

http://youtu.be/vG16V1OAwMI

http://youtu.be/MOFIwO3e_cc

Ed, after treble posting, it was interesting listening to all the different versions of blue moon. never listened to this guy before, though I have heard his name. I like this version too.
What a sensitive soul to post your blue moon poem :)

Ah yes Mel Tormé the "Velvet Fog"... he was still on the jukeboxes when when i was a teenager...

Dear Ed....I'm worried about you. You're not looking well.........

Sorry didn't mean to make you feel older than you were feeling..seems like I can't say anything right today..:)) but that photo of you in Viet's new book OMG you are so handsome!:))