#20 go into each day not knowing ---> impossible to see out when you're in the picture

20^th January, 2020

20

go into each day not knowing

(my unsubtle art)

to each day not knowing

how things vanish and go under

how blue dry the sky’s speech

                in the season

                called nibbling

                wallabies come

G# is a looming cavernous note

(Ab, on the other hand)

delicate light to which we fall

the principle must be going too far

(especially when you get between)

and on from

to challenge the integrity of any surface

(kookaburras are up for excitement

and cheeky buggers too)

to let a thing take its own time

making a map from

a fantasy of top branches

the plan is a legend

shows everything fell

(surprising the size of words

their impact)

and how is it in the deeps?

paint, I mean

and the liberal daub over

which words should follow along

bubble back

?

ARE THE WORDS OF THE MOMENT HERE?

cage one if caught

find haiku in

bodies of water

blessed with event

birds have a lot to say

consider the image content

                seen things

                next to each

                and I agree

forgetting which bit of the day I am in

garden it all up – five acres

some days died

and gone to heaven

each day, never revealed

a mind too subtle for itself

for worlding

I will come more to the middle of things

speak with creatures

some days love falls in with me

it could be the day

let’s come out of mourning

get on with the job

how things vanish and go under

to each unknowing

stare at the newspaper

same all day

how long ago was that?

it’s inward of habits

I will learn to lap  

must be a spot left

with what strange desperation scratch?

just this little canvas

in on which I’m known

how will I lead to conclusion?

where will I come to rest?

questions after questions

words under over words

impossible to see out

when you’re in the picture

2^nd draft … start at the end, work back, discard

impossible to see out

when you’re in the picture

                in a season

                called nibbling

                wallabies come

how blue dry the sky’s speech after

daub and slide where wet still

scratch wings up

(bower bird, wagtail, groundling wren)

and make blue too!

call colours out

some days love falls in with me

delicate light to which we fall

green barely back

kookaburras are there for excitement

principle must be going too far

in a fantasy of top branches

let a thing take its own time  

cloud colour drifting

cage words if caught

are those of the moment with us?

consider

                seen things

                next to each

                and I agree

inward of habits

must be a spot left

just this little canvas

in on I’m known

forgetting which bit of the day am in

but come to the middle of things

how they vanish

go under

sun hue

and trunk rise

crop close

be paws up for

it could be the day

the plan is a legend

shows everything fell

(surprising the size of words

their impact)

some days died

and gone to heaven

speak with the creatures there

find haiku in

bodies of water

blessed with event

birds have a lot to say

and a senryu left over:

stare at the newspaper

same all day

how long ago was that?

I go to destroy the picture now