Seeing the new green of Spring;
Hearing sounds of the forest;
Crunching of snow underfoot;
The smell of earth after rain;
Cool touch of breeze on hot skin;
Heartfelt bonds of belonging.
Photography
Italian Hibiscus
We arrived in Rarotonga, Cook Islands in the early hours of the morning, buds seemed to be scattered on every surface in our room. We awoke to the sight of fully opened brilliant red blooms. Since that day Hibiscus flowers remind me of the tropics.
I was pleased to see these beauties in Sorrento, Italy.
Marvellous light
In the midst of dank intestinal twists,
A fetid cavernous abyss lies, where
Forgotten rheumy eyed daemons languish.
In the gloom, glowering grotesque gremlins
Grab ghostly globules from around a tomb.
Glistening silver threads of ectoplasm,
Crisscross overhead caught in pinprick shafts
Of moonlight. Crystalline walls emit a
Faint rose pink light, gently pulsing, adding
Incorporeal warmth to the womb like room.
Rise from the depths of despair, grasp the flame
Within, shine it on the sinuous path,
Marvel in the power of inner light.
(c) Robert Jones 2013, All Rights Reserved
Magnolia bouquet
Plenty of sun, not too much wind and a week in time.
The blooms smell as good as they look!
The magic of music
What is music but a collection of sounds and vibrations? For me it is more than that, it is two letters away from magic. At a personal level it has the power to bring pleasure, connect people together, invoke emotions and memories. Collectively it can represent a sense of belonging and national pride. It is inclusive of all age groups and generations.
Childhood
My first memory of classical music was filing into assembly at Welsh House Farm Junior and Infant School to the sound Greig’s Peer Gynt and Holst’s Planet Suite with background crackles and pops of mono vinyl recordings, it was the late 1960s after all.
Count Dracula
My appreciation of music grew during my time at secondary school in the ’70s. I remember a formative moment aged 11, as if it were yesterday of being totally captivated by Camille Saint-Saëns’ Danse Macabre. Mr Lancaster, our teacher asked us to draw what we heard. I’m sure he told us the story behind the piece as I drew a churchyard scene at night, including graves opening, skeletons appearing and a cockerel heralding the dawn. This experience resonated with me on so many different levels as I had an unhealthy fascination with horror stories and the legends of Vlad the Impaler.
An unholy din
I drove my family to the brink of despair with my attempt at learning to play the violin. Even today I am convinced that the peripatetic teacher disappeared suddenly as a result of the squeals, squawks and squalls from an instrument that in the right hands can bring joy and sadness to listeners.
Knowing my limits
I accept the fact that my musical talents are limited so I have settled into the role of appreciator. Luckily for me Birmingham City Library had a huge collection of vinyl recordings that I took full advantage in borrowing. It was a special moment after a couple of decades and living a dream that I saw Puccini’s Madame Butterfly and Holst’s Planet’s performed at the Sydney Opera House.
Even now I’m carried along on the waves of the sound of the strings when listening to Barber’s Adagio, the mournful troughs and sweeping crescendos connect with my spirit. The magic of music has been part of my world for as long as I can remember, it brings me peace.
Winter pink
A walk from Lewisham to Dulwich Hill and back today provided plenty of photo opportunities. I couldn’t resist cherry blossom against a deep blue sky.
The magnolia blooms in the garden have begun to open, capturing images of them is becoming an obsession.
A taxing day
Paperwork
Yesterday trickled like water through my fingers. Our first job was to set up the dining table; the perfect surface to get everything together for the annual tax return. We sorted 12 months worth of receipts into categories ready for data entry and then the motivation to complete the task evaporated.
Spring’s just around the corner
Already the flowers on west facing magnolias are changing from magenta to pale pink while some maple trees haven’t fully shaken off their leaves from last year. Early flowing jasmine buds, tinged with pink look ready to set loose waves of intoxicating fragrance upon the streets of Sydney.
The beautiful blue skied sunny day typical for Winter in Sydney could not be wasted by staying indoors. Following a couple of false starts we walked with Stan from Lewisham, through the suburbs of Petersham, Stanmore, Newtown and Erskineville. We stopped briefly at parks and trees for Stan to mark and connect with our route.
Relief from the dusty road
After walking for five kilometres we were ready for lunch at Bitton, a French inspired cafe in Alexandria. An outside table and a bottle of Baron Edmond de Rothschild Les Laurets, Puisseguin-Saint-Emilion were the perfect accompaniment to slow roasted pork shoulder with fennel slaw and a salmon burger. We did not really need the bread and pudding with sauce Anglaise or rhubarb tart, but it is still Winter after all!
Following lunch it took just over one hour to walk home through Erskineville, Newtown, Marrickville and Petersham. An afternoon nap and the satisfaction of a ten kilometres round trip were the perfect tonic to ease my hot feet.
View toward Erskineville from Bitton Cafe.
Rekindle the inner light
Thoughts of health and work fill every moment;
I think that I’ve strayed so far from the track.
Days of confusion and discontentment;
I believe that I won’t find my way back.
A chorus of raucous cockatoos squark,
In reply to my thoughts as they fly by.
Walk in urban sprawl that pretends to talk
Of civilisation; a dot, a lie
In the wilderness within and around,
Terra Australis my chosen home found.
Walk home at dusk as showers start.
Tree shape standing against rose-pink sky, shifts;
Reminds me of micro-macro tension.
The shroud of fog that clouds my vision lifts,
Providing a glimpse of comprehension;
Explore the Universe within my heart!
Finding my creative voice through blogging
For as long as I can remember I have felt a yearning to create. Conforming to the expectations of society led me to follow predictable jobs and safe paths. I directed my creative talents to cooking and cake decorating. As my confidence grew I branched out into painting and photography. More recently I have begun to write poetry. When it comes to my creations I am my harshest critic so I need objective feedback from others. I am going to share with you the steps I followed to engage critics of my work.
Creative path
I began my writing journey by creating an annual newsletter to let friends and family in the UK know what life was like in Australia. As my circle of friends in Australia grew I tried to keep in touch everyone using Facebook. I quickly realised that this was great for keeping track of photos but not much use for written work.
Next I tried Twitter, this has a much wider target group, but the 140 characters length of tweets proved even more limiting. I found salvation in the form of blogging – I signed up for an account with WordPress in September 2012. I belong to a virtual family in the blogosphere. Over 350 people around the world follow my blog. As my posts feed into Facebook and Twitter the exposure of the blog has grown to 1,925 directly linked people plus anyone else who stumbles across it while surfing the web.
No looking back
I have stopped reading the daily news, preferring instead to spend time catching up with the 500+ blogs I follow. I ‘like’, ‘comment’, ‘reblog’ and ‘ping back’ to posts that inspire me. So far I have found blogging to be the best platform for me to share my creative thoughts. Reaching an unbiased audience who is willing to provide constructive criticism helps me to grow, to improve and provides an opportunity to connect with others around the world.
Thank you for reading my blog,
Robert
Opera Moon
86% waxing Gibbous Moon taken with iPhone 5
