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blue

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blue on the orange cloud

blue

Isa,
rune of ice,
written as I,
in prey to time, there,
motionless;
found in blue boreal forest,
rooted inside depth of winter,
where frost records
prints of our souls in icicles.
As you descend into
our world,
trees bear homage to
your static sense of ego –
they may recite those words for
snow, so many eyes
deep in cold air,
born of lone
clouds in
a blind
sky.
That woman’s voice in
the forest, with
a piano,
calls
for
her child
somebody
turn in a snowflake.

© Nat Hall 2015

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2 Comments

August 26, 2015 · 11:20 pm

Chalk n’ Cheese 

 
I love bruck. 

…Not any bruck. The one you find washed off from the sea – the one that can be recycled into artistic  meaningfulness  – rubbish turned creative with a strong sense of place.

Somebody’s work that awakes your senses, makes you whisper “wow” and lights up your own imagination. 

Shetland’s main Gallery based in Weisdale – Bonhoga – has a knack to attract a palette of artistic minds in order to please everyone (interested in the Creative Industries).

Two great examples notably include Malakoff and Shadowed Valley – two distinct exhibitions recently viewed in this micro-hub.

Art is subjective. Art is a dialogue, a connection between two minds via a product or a medium. It talks to you, or it does not… It feels as whimsical as an orb in the forest. In any case, let us allow such encounters in order to write our stories. 🙂

   
   

   
     

Above, that transformed bruck from our island-based collective… 

   
   

   
     

Something different for everyone 🙂

4 Comments

June 7, 2015 · 4:35 pm

Democracy

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May 17, 2015 · 1:26 pm

Poetry by Candlelight

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March 28, 2014 · 1:23 pm

Traveler’s Tale

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Inside fibreglass shaking shack,
the world drives by –
three yellow
upper
case
letters
tells me
stories from the lay-by,
where hordes of footprints
without shoes still haunt immutable tarmac…

Inside fibreglass shaking shack,
gales glide & sing –
each arpeggio
hiss around
panes
to
find
their way
with hydro poles,
headless quartets with mono strings…

Inside fibreglass shaking shack,
I watch time vanish
without shame –
where
ravens hang
above
my
head,
like messengers of
the unknown.

Inside fibreglass shaking shack,
I gradually despair –
nothing’s in
sight,
not the
Night Bus
Harry once took,
not even mentioned in a book…
I still wonder if the driver
never bothered at
the junction.

—————– Lerwick, 3 Jan 2014

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January 3, 2014 · 3:59 pm

Ice Age

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Ice Age

in absence of your human warmth,
I feel heart from wandering
wolf that
trudges through
silent snowflakes, still
framed icicles from a sky,
once forgotten
as they
touch down.
I
without
one
never makes 2.
Will be looking for
long shadows, howling echoes
around Yule, since you ran
away from the
pack.

Sandwick, 8 Dec 2013

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December 8, 2013 · 3:42 am

Grab an oar

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From Boat Show to the magic of a voe, as we call those long inlets of water here. Some look like mini-mini-fjords… May ended with a brand new adventure, as the Whiteness & Weisdale Rowing Club welcomed the poet in their Veteran Ladies’ Team. Natural progression, you might think. I once said “yes” to “Humblyband”… So,
I grabbed an oar to learn to row in unison with five other lasses. I now feel at ease on the silky waters of the North Atlantic – that’s beyond da Shoormal 😉

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June 5, 2013 · 11:28 am