Art

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

 

The art works for this day are "The Miner" by John Law, and "Into the Mirror (Remembering Marisol)" by Kerfe Roig

 

Art

 

He didn't consider his work to be art

as he sculpted rock with hydraulic skill.

Modern art left him cold, and he wasn't

a fan of Rembrandt either. 

His tunnels, like temples and catacombs,

remain; the walls scarred by centuries

of marks chiselled, hacked and drilled

that may, in some distant future time,

be discovered and pored over 

by the archaeologists of the day.

Who will analyse these historic sites

and discuss the meaning of the words

Dave is a wanker

carved in the wooden column. 

Tim Fellows 2021

Folly

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

 

The art works for this day are by Jane Cornwell and "Hoober Stand in Mist" by John Law 

 

 

 

Folly

 

They've climbed the hill, the dog and he,

to where the morning mist has thinned.

To where they see the Stand that hovers

in their view, half there, half not. 

It refutes the name that mocks its lack of use,

for purpose overrides and shames utility.

Far better its mission to remind them all

of the folly of a beaten cause.

And a Prince not much older than the man

whose dog meanders back and forth.

Who fled across the sea then disappeared

into the silent mists of history. 

 

Observing the breathless, weaving dog 

that rubs its face along the dewy grass,

he thinks that one day he will climb the Stand

for no reason he can comprehend.  

Tim Fellows 2021

 

Toads

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

 

The art work for this day is "Fly Agaric" by John Law

 

 

 

Toads

 

A dome of red

with dots of cream 

seems like the perfect place for 

toads to squat.

 

The perfect height

to pontificate 

and put to rights

the problems of the world

of toads. 

How there are 

too many frogs

around the pond these days

with their weird croaks

and mysterious froggy ways. 

The toads all nod,

slip off their stools

and disappear

into the evening gloom.

Tim Fellows 2021

 

She Breathes

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

The art work for this day are by Jane Cornwell, "Barmston looking from Fraisethorpe" by John Law, and "Distances" by Kerfe Roig 

 

She Breathes

 

deeply through the mask,
fixes her visor one more time;

another day, another thankless task

for unknown lives laid on the line

and in her hands. 

 

She pulls

on another pair of soulless gloves

and closes eyes long drained of tears

for all the hurt and absent love

that will scar so many future years

and recalls the sands

as she awakes
on cliffs above the curving coast

and tastes the ocean in her mind

where ten thousand swirling ghosts

float with her, endlessly entwined

on a fine-spun strand

She returns

to flourescence, bustling noise,

as seascapes smear and snap the thread,

and vows to fight all that destroys

her memory of the gasping dead

of this blighted land.

Tim Fellows 2021

Back from Shopping

 

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

 

The art work for this day is "Back from Shopping" by John Law, and "Badger" by Kerfe Roig

 

Back from Shopping

This 'ill gets steeper every year!

Ya not wrong, Joan!
A pause to catch their breath, then
Ooh, guess who's died!
Who?

Well, I'm asking you!
Well, we don't know. You tell us!

Ooh, ya no fun these days, Maureen.
All right, that old bloke with the dog. Who sits outside the shops.
A pregnant pause.

We've just seen 'im, Maureen. You said hello!
Ooh, so I did. I'm losin' mi marbles, like mi mam did.
You two are 'opeless. Let's get goin', I've got to get our Charlotte 'ome
Tell 'em about that thing, nan! In the garden.
Ooh, yes. You'll never guess what worrin ar garden last neet. 

Dunno - a Peepin' Tom?
All three ladies laugh.
What's a peepintom, nan?

Never you mind, luv. No, it worra badger. A big 'un.
Ooh, I don't like them. Big things. Don't like 'em being killed, though.
No. 

No. 

They stop for breath and Joan lights a fag. 

Joan, who was it?
Who was what?
Who died?

Another pause and exhale of smoke. 

Dunno, can't remember now. 

 

Tim Fellows 2021

 

孤独な月 (Lonely moon)

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

The art works for this day are by Jane Cornwell, "Inner Truth" by Kerfe Roig and "Autumn Fruits" by John Law

 

 

 

 

孤独な月

A solo renga

 

Solitary moon

smoothly phased the passing time
as our seasons turned.

Starlight, forged in distant fire, 

cannot reach this room, this life,

or her hand, cold to my touch.

 

Autumn fruits have come;
rain-filled, juice-drenched, succulent.
They quickly perish. 

Bloodless fingers hold a wreath

in winter white. Graveyard gates

are covered in uncaring frost. 

 

Grasses grow, trees bend

in the gales of spring, tides ebb

and flow, rocks erode.

The sun seeks my skin, summer

will not come this year. I shun

its warmth, reject its healing. 

Do not wait for me. 

Beyond moon and furthest stars.
I will never come. 

Tim Fellows 2021

The Old Tree

Written for Paul Brookes' ekphrastic challenge - one poem a day in April 2021. 

The pieces for this day are by Jane Cornwell and John Law

 

 

The Old Tree

The old tree felt a profound sadness.

It had seen so much, so many summers

and winters.

Its leaves had come and gone, its girth

expanding ring by ring.
There had always been creatures that

lived their brief lives in and around it.

Other trees had gone too, felled

by gales and axe, but it was spared. 

For the first time, the weight that pulled

on its branch reminded it that its roots

no longer drank the way they did. 

Its core felt dry and empty. 

Soon, it thought, I will return 

to the earth, leaving only a shell. 

Tim Fellows 2021