Underground Carpark



What I’d like is to
Hide in an underground car park,
To lie hidden and sleeping,
My body in a car parking space.

At the centre of everything
Nothing is important
Except to be and to love

I can drift
I can strive
I can work really hard every day
Driving, eating, teaching, researching
What does it mean?

It may mean nothing
It may mean everything
I want to listen more
Give me ears to hear.

Be calm
Be still
Rest

It has been a long year
A recovery year
A year of bright buds of hope
A year of finishing things
I give thanks for the year that has been
I ask again – every step, every breath
Every heart-beat, be with me.

And now let me sleep again
In my car parking space
Deep underground.




Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Collect Art Publication July 2023

Image
 First published in Collect Arts Summer 2023 edition Stone all the flowers   The year of the art school tutorials. The difficult woman you are to me, and the difficulty I present to you. The year of my recovery and your husband’s death.   Your husband fails and worsens through the days of our trimesters together. As he weakens and declines, I grow incrementally stronger. As if terrible fatalistic scales of balance, set and reset.   Do not cheat her. Give her a full measure of time and experiences with him. Pressed down, shaken together and overflowing. She, in the face of all this decay   Chooses to destroy flowers with stones. Until their purple hearts stained the cartridge with their elemental pigments.   She cuts the flowers only to waste them in the parching sun. It is the cycle of being and unbeing, the grass withers and the flower fades (Isiah 40:8). She decides to press her flowers till their lungs burst on fine co...
Read more
Image
Blackbird Egg Time slows down in the Victorian mirror. She is haunted by every face that checked themselves in the glass. She is on the cusp. A life about to begin in earnest, on the tipping point of adulthood. On the apex of future relationships, sexuality and desire. “Yes” she says, “that’s me in the mirror”, long brown hair, grey-blue eyes. She is just an ordinary brown bird. But common or garden blackbirds create sky eggs, objects of beauty and desire. Each one speckled slightly differently in the genus. If only she can create of herself such an object of yearning, her small brownness will be worth the transformation. On the Hall-stand crafted in a grand antique style, are a collection of blackbird’s eggs. Saved in small glass containers with their lids tight shut. Through the glass she sees pale blue specked eggs, broken with raggedy edges. The armoire ominously overshadows her slight fourteen year old self. Whom she sees reflected back in multiple mirrors, framed in the warm glea...
Read more

An exhibition of poetry and visual art at Mare Street London.

Image
 Angel Andrea - charcoal drawing on cartridge, A1, Frances-Ann Norton It is wonderful to be working with instagram@alicemaryjelaska once again in the Pop-up-space Hackney, Mare St, London. for an exhibition of visual art and poetry in February 2024. The theme was Tea and Friendship.  Angel Tea   The pictures on my phone divide into days, events, trips, workshops. Important, in-focus ones are instagrammed, facebooked and tweeted.   What about the in-betweeny photos? The ones that are unchosen, abstract, blurred, accidental handbag shots. These need further study, they are more than they first appear, less than rejects. They represent moments of autoethnographic honesty, unheard dialogue, fear, tears, tech-impatience or pure love. So interesting and to be banked for another day, a future art-investigation-project. When I seek to unravel and analyse these images, make meaning out of them… I see the visitation of the Angel of Communities, in the corners and on the edges ...
Read more