tea time with my mad-hatter

Craig and I went out to tea time down near christ church today.  It was a much needed break from the grind.  Craig took pictures and I sketched a bit.

Lucien Pissaro

This gorgeous exhibit in the upstairs of the Ashmolean has eaten hours of my life.  I can't really say I'm upset about it either. Absolutely crushing on these prints.

this is what my kids will be like one day:

The Wild Goose Chase

 On my run yesterday i came across this cute little goose who was just having a nice little time by herself... swimming around in the canal outside christ church.

Being cute

Then these stupid meanie geese flew in from nowhere land... like some sort of gang.

And they were completely awful and mean to the nice little goose, chasing her away and honking and being generally obnoxious.

And then she was all sad by herself. and i tried to chase the mean geese away but they were not at all afraid of me. poor little goose. i think i may have gotten all together too emotionally involved in the whole thing, but how could you not?

The Poetry of a former Prose writer

I’m not sure all poems are meant to be read

Aloud.  Private. Stumbling. So exposed.

When the words meet the ears, sound rather dead,

The elegant lines on the page sound posed.

But maybe it’s not in the “being read”

Maybe the problem lies with the reader.

Much of the poem is the way words are said

Destroying the rhyme, slaughtering meter.

Roots of poetry mingle with music,

But not everyone is the best singer.

An audience creates bad acoustics,

Even great poems brought down via flingers.

The life of the art is nurtured by those

Who protect their poems from readers of prose.




Not part of the poem: yeah i didnt know flingers was a word either, but it is... look it up. hey you get desperate when you have to rhyme with singer and i didnt want to have to change the end rhyme.

castles and fields

Morning Wandering Part one