Showing posts from January, 2015

Miss May Miller

Born in February they called her May A Co-op secretary in her dancing days
And something broke, Something snapped, Something too heavy, Something choked, Something something something…
They didn't talk of such things in the good old days And May was hidden, hidden away With all the other hidden aways and for always – Hidden and away.
And yet May is missed, Miss May Miller missed, An absence, A tear In the fabric of all of it, This stuff, This existence, The Universe shifts for May, Always a Miss, May is missed.
So yes, cast a clout as May is out – But hold on…
A fancy, a flight, I know, But I picture our May, Not hidden, not away, And she says ‘Let it snow’, And falls that fine powder, In our sight Ashes and Dust Of the purest white
And if you listen closely you can hear May whisper lovingly: 'thank you dear'

Work: fulfilling or painfully necessary?

Work is life is work is life - are you doing it for the they or for your you? If your life is not totally constrained by circumstance, then take a little time out to watch this video and perhaps make some changes:

Discovered at the frankly astounding

Simon Schama's Power of Art

I spent the last week doped up and knackered on penicillin as a result of getting myself falling-over Thanatos drunk before Festivus. However, especially given this is the second dose, I realised that I would be semi-comatose and hinged the week around Simon Shama's Power of Art. I'm so glad that I did. Simon is an effervescent, eloquent and perceptive commentator and his presence is always authentic. The format is to hone in on a single artist and a single work, but building up such informative context that the chosen artist/work is slowly revealed to us as epiphany - just brilliant. Simon presents the following artists/works, the words are mine based on his...

The killer Caravaggio  Stalks the streets With dagger, sword and brush  He is suspended Into our own murderous age Repenting even to us

O Cavaliere To find a look of pain You burnt your own body  And did the very same  Slashing the face of your lover Saint Teresa in ecstasy

On the banks of the Rhine Where craft meets i…