Homework w/e 2nd October......belatedly! The Scene.
Posted: Wed Oct 11, 2017 8:12 pm
Sorry folks, needed a bit more time on this one.
I am currently in Dubai with my newest grandbaby...
Vincent Crash Cooper. Home next week.
The Scene.
The homestead wasn’t there in my recalling of my home,
the only roofs of green then were the canopies of trees.
The livestock wasn’t tame in my recalling of my youth,
one’s confines not of wire and wood but dreamtime legacies.
The brushstrokes on her canvas freeze a single point in time-
and so much more expressive than on celluloid or screen,
but still it is imprisoned by dimension’s finite space,
a lifetime of forevers though, unfurl a different scene.
There’s some may say the past is but a blurry retrospect
disjointed in a vague and hazy sequence of events.
Dressed in darkness with too frequent flashes of regret,
and won’t know peace till hope persists, despondency relents.
I found my peace within that vale as generations have,
my schooling was beneath the copse in gum tree’s dappled shade.
It’s where I learned our dances, art and totem’s potent rule,
the great creator serpent’s greatest handiwork arrayed.
Beyond the blue of eucalypt-adorned low lying hills,
begins a plain so vast that simply no-one can express,
with paint or pen or film or other medium of art,
the way the sea of grass would gently sway with soft caress.
So, when I look upon the work in progress by her hand,
I see beyond the edges where the colours bleed and run
I see beneath the oils where the pencil sketch now hides
and see a place where possums thrive and wild dingoes run.
I am currently in Dubai with my newest grandbaby...
Vincent Crash Cooper. Home next week.
The Scene.
The homestead wasn’t there in my recalling of my home,
the only roofs of green then were the canopies of trees.
The livestock wasn’t tame in my recalling of my youth,
one’s confines not of wire and wood but dreamtime legacies.
The brushstrokes on her canvas freeze a single point in time-
and so much more expressive than on celluloid or screen,
but still it is imprisoned by dimension’s finite space,
a lifetime of forevers though, unfurl a different scene.
There’s some may say the past is but a blurry retrospect
disjointed in a vague and hazy sequence of events.
Dressed in darkness with too frequent flashes of regret,
and won’t know peace till hope persists, despondency relents.
I found my peace within that vale as generations have,
my schooling was beneath the copse in gum tree’s dappled shade.
It’s where I learned our dances, art and totem’s potent rule,
the great creator serpent’s greatest handiwork arrayed.
Beyond the blue of eucalypt-adorned low lying hills,
begins a plain so vast that simply no-one can express,
with paint or pen or film or other medium of art,
the way the sea of grass would gently sway with soft caress.
So, when I look upon the work in progress by her hand,
I see beyond the edges where the colours bleed and run
I see beneath the oils where the pencil sketch now hides
and see a place where possums thrive and wild dingoes run.
