Exhibition - Treasure Hunting - June 21st - July 21st 2013 - Burrinja

Audiolinks: click on this icon

  

to hear poetry and additional information about each sculpture.

  A View to Adventure

Postcard in the mail 

“tiger spotted from elephant’s back” 

His Grandad in safari suit 

Camera at the ready 

From the jungles of Ceylon 

To the wide African skies 

This boys own view of the world 

Seen through the old man’s eyes

       The History Between Us

It has been a time, my friend

Half our lives

Now bittersweet with reminiscence

Of times we burned

Luminous in the sunshine of youth

Of whose embers

Still warm me to this very day

Of times broken

Sharp as chards

And us picking up the pieces

Off the kitchen floor

Of times distant

Whose only threads

Were our thoughts for one another

Holding on across the silence

And of times familiar

Smiling at us

Over coffee or wine

Whilst bringing the world in close

These time I treasure, my friend

They walk beside me when I’m alone

They hold my hand in the dark

They are the glint in my eye

And the belly in my laugh

They are the music to each and every dance I dance

May we, my friend

Be together still

For there are so many times
Yet to fill

       Feet of Iron

There were feet of earth

Black

Like river silt

Coming up between the toes

Old feet

Whose prints lay not upon the landscape

But in it

Still

There to see for all who take the time to look

There came feet of iron

Restless striding feet

Making tracks like tractors

From over the mountain

Bright and clean, forever seeking new soil

On which to tread

Down toward the valley they came

Leaving nothing in their wake

But such a heavy footprint

For the river was calling

As it will

An ancient call

To all who walk its banks

To stand

Still

Within the flow

And for a moment these feet of iron

Stopped

And let the black river silt

Come up between the toes

Slowly corroding

All that they had known

The river is patient

And knows that these feet of iron

May well become

Feet of earth again  

       In Spire

You must strive to find your inner light

For passion is something worth the fight

       The Window Makers Tools

I open the chest

And uncover the heart of the man

Wrapped carefully in oiled cloth

Softened over the years

It smells of greased iron

Sawdust and linseed

Carefully laid out

In layers of concealment

Made long ago and made to last

A view through the window makers past

       Taking Flight

She

Who’s crouched on the threshold

Waiting for the updraft

To lift her body

Clear

She

Whose past has kept her

Wing and earth bound

Gravity holding her

Dreams

She

Who yearns for the skies

Feels the weight of her world

Slip from her like old

Skin

She

Who is taking flight

       

Man of the House

He stands

Like Atlas

Holding up his world

All of his domains

Teetering in a fine display

Of balance and poise

From the outside

The audience may marvel

But to him

It always feels like a circus

       Flower

Time to uproot

To re-pot

Trim the deadwood

Clear the debris

So we may find

A more sheltered

Place to be

       Poet’s Leaf

The graceful line of stem and vein

Arched to charm the misty rain

Or give shelter to the nimble birds

It is here I come to find the words

A Drop of Dew

The next morning is sharp

Pellucid

Slicing night and day

In one clean cut

My eyes focus

On a drop of rolling dew

Dazzling in the dawn sun’s ray

And I am left to marvel

How a single drop

Can wash so much away

Kin

What has ben given

Is not owned

There are no deeds to this place upon the shore

No titles to its secrets

It is not given by hand

But by inference

Year after year of example

Repeated like the tides

Until its rhythm becomes my very breath

And I hear your voice when I speak

I see your footprint behind me when I walk

My face is morphing before me in the mirror

Just as yours did to his

And I find myself

Upon this beach

With a fist full of sand

And feel it running through my fingers

To my own sons outstretched hand

    Family Tree

There was a man who found a place

From this place there grew a tree

From this tree he built a house

From this house a family

From this family there shot a branch

From this branch there came a man

This man who had a debt to pay

He set his roots and vowed to stay

You can hear him still

Pitching his case

Making this world a better place