Homework w/e 28.11.11 - SKETCHES ON THE WALL
Posted: Wed Nov 16, 2011 8:10 am
SKETCHES ON THE WALL
The grey and grainy texture showed faces from different times
though some things there were familiar to me.
I recognized the outline of the range of distant hills,
the gnarled twisted limbs of the old apple tree.
The photos showed a little boy in fancy pants and collar
with a sailors hat perched on his snow blond hair.
A boy and dog together posing in their Sunday best
both spruced up a treat - a much loved family pair.
The boy was my great uncle and the dog his faithful friend
who he often drew, quite often causing strife.
For his father thought that drawing was a sissy thing to do,
there’s no time for fripperies in farming life.
But the boy would never settle down to farming things and such
it was the World he planned to farm when he grew up.
He scribbled horses onto walls and drew on scraps of paper
and many, many times he sketched the pup.
And now sitting here quietly with a fresh coffee in hand
and the scent of new mown grass around me drifting.
I turn the pages of a book and marvel at the drawings
at their beauty and their style, truly uplifting.
Lorikeets with plumage red and green in bottlebrush trees feasting
leap from the pages with such clarity
with every feather quite detailed, and every blossom drifting
downwards sketched with details very clear to see .
But then I come across the sketch I really love the best
I have known it all my life - it’s an old friend.
A prancing horse, an outline, one he scribbled on a wall
the original though faded, on the shed where sheep are penned.
And though we’ve never met in life – in spirit we are joined
and I feel his presence very close today .
I marvel at a talent that war cut short in its prime;
all that’s left now are old photographs and sketches aged and grey.
Maureen Clifford © 11/11
The grey and grainy texture showed faces from different times
though some things there were familiar to me.
I recognized the outline of the range of distant hills,
the gnarled twisted limbs of the old apple tree.
The photos showed a little boy in fancy pants and collar
with a sailors hat perched on his snow blond hair.
A boy and dog together posing in their Sunday best
both spruced up a treat - a much loved family pair.
The boy was my great uncle and the dog his faithful friend
who he often drew, quite often causing strife.
For his father thought that drawing was a sissy thing to do,
there’s no time for fripperies in farming life.
But the boy would never settle down to farming things and such
it was the World he planned to farm when he grew up.
He scribbled horses onto walls and drew on scraps of paper
and many, many times he sketched the pup.
And now sitting here quietly with a fresh coffee in hand
and the scent of new mown grass around me drifting.
I turn the pages of a book and marvel at the drawings
at their beauty and their style, truly uplifting.
Lorikeets with plumage red and green in bottlebrush trees feasting
leap from the pages with such clarity
with every feather quite detailed, and every blossom drifting
downwards sketched with details very clear to see .
But then I come across the sketch I really love the best
I have known it all my life - it’s an old friend.
A prancing horse, an outline, one he scribbled on a wall
the original though faded, on the shed where sheep are penned.
And though we’ve never met in life – in spirit we are joined
and I feel his presence very close today .
I marvel at a talent that war cut short in its prime;
all that’s left now are old photographs and sketches aged and grey.
Maureen Clifford © 11/11