Tag: poetry

Artistic Inspiration

News from my world of Art, and it was wonderful to discover that my painting, ‘Rural Market’, won an Honourable Mention Award in the 2023 Teravarna Art Competition.

Rural Market; by Susie Williamson

This piece is from my collection of African inspired landscapes depicted in my Abstract Landscapes blog – click here. These pieces are painted from memory, thought, feeling… work motivated quite simply to remember friends from a time I lived and worked on the continent in 1999 into early 2000s, including three years in South Africa. Those friendships inspired the following poetic conversation…

Abesifazane base-Afrika

You were meant to be guardians of your homeland…

Not suffer to be stifled by cruel apartheid,

The greed, the violence, the pillage and rape,

Of your gifted ancestral lands.

*

You were meant to sing the chorus of your homeland…

You were not meant to face your name replaced,

Your identity scarred by language stripped,

Your songs and prayers denied.

*

You were meant to know freedom in your stride…

You were not meant to suffer the indignity of poverty,

To see with clouded eyes from your tin roofed shack,

As the lights flicker off.

*

You were meant to sow fertile soil of Africa…

You were not meant to strain on mountainous terrain,

Rock littered earth, soil too thin to harvest,

Lingering memories of forced evictions.

*

You were meant to be proud of your ancestral lands…

Not suffer shame-filled hungry pangs,

Belly empty, mouth watering, looking down over vast fields of crops,

Where your homes once stood.

*

You were meant to carve the future for your children…

Not be shackled to a fate of criminal debt,

While you walk cracked earth, parched droughts, breathing fumes,

Of industries of the rich.

*

You were meant to know peace in Africa’s sun…

You were not meant to know the violence of desolation,

Cool breath of fear, as gunshots chime through the midnight hour,

And a distant scream rings.

*

You were meant to smear red earth and white clay on your skin…

Your blood was not meant to stain that earth,

These were not meant to be your stories,

You are the keeper of your stories,

And you sing with heads held back and mouths wide, as your notes carry far and wide, in a tune…

POWERFUL ENOUGH TO SWAY THE MOUNTAIN.

I still sway in the harmony of your song, and feel the tremors of the steps you take,

Your words remain on the tip of my tongue, my pen is poised with the rise and fall of your name,

My heart swells with your fears, your hopes and your dreams…

But…

…you are the keeper of your story,

While my brush sweeps on canvas to house memories of you,

Shared times we aspired and I cherish your smile…

Sicula ngesizulu,

Abesifazane base-Afrika,

Ekhaya e-Afrika,

Iningizimu Afrika,

Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika.

Happy New Year 2023!!!

With each new year comes a brand new book with blank pages just waiting to be filled, and I wonder what the new year will bring. In many ways, 2022 has been bursting with creativity, and it has been fun looking back on some of the highlights.

Most recently, it’s been wonderful to see my piece, Desert Flower, exhibited with Art Show International.

I often think that the process of creating my intricate, hand-painted mosaics, is as much a part of the art as the end result, and this one holds particular personal significance, as it was painted while staying with my dad when he was ill. The patience involved in the painstaking process of painting mosaic effect is something I know he would have appreciated. Art is significant, in all its forms. The smallest book can be the greatest gift. A painting can hold a world. Desert Flower was inspired by the deserts of Sudan, which I maintain great fondness for, from when I lived there many years ago. It’s a place that inspired another painting, Tuti Island. Deserts and the life I found there, also find their way into my stories:

‘The line of the horizon transformed into great mountainous peaks, cloaked in shades of orange with the setting of the sun. It was almost dark by the time we reached the first slopes on a path that abruptly grew steep. In the shadow of splintering crags and sheer cliff faces we meandered narrow paths, the soft thumps of the camels’ padded feet, and occasional whip cracks echoing around deep canyons. Like the desert, this was a barren landscape. I thought of the stories I had grown up with, thought of the picture my great grandmother had painted, and imagined a time when people had climbed these same mountain passes on a pilgrimage, imagined their footsteps still echoing where camels now trod.’ Return of the Mantra

My life is also enriched by the creative endeavours of others, in all its artforms, which in turn inspires me to continue finding routes to share my own. My re-kindled passion for poetry saw me invited to be featured poet for the night at a local favourite open mic event, which was great fun.

And of course it has been great to get out and about with my books, Blood Gift Chronicles, either in person, or online (thank you Covid!). And, as is customary, the new year will begin with scheduling for more, so plenty to look forward to.

In contrast, it’s always good to take the time for some R&R and a breath of fresh air. I’ll leave you with some photos of a recent trip to Haldon forest, where scores of real-life Xmas trees live, watched over by a robin or two.

Wishing Everyone a Happy, Healthy & Peaceful New Year…

xxx

A Touch of Nature

Mia is the in-house monitor for season changes. From sun worshipper during the heatwave, to couch potato, taking to her red blanket when Autumn arrives.

After a summer of family grief and the upheaval that comes with it, summer passed in the blink of an eye or a hazy wave, dependent on the moment. So before all the leaves have disappeared from the trees, I thought I’d revisit a recent outing to a local reserve, lovely Dunsford.

We’re so grateful to Devon Wildlife Trust for maintaining these pockets of nature, an outing so magical it inspired a poem:

Dunsford; by Susie Williamson 

Walk with me,

You who feels troubles plenty,

Weighed with thoughts of disconnection,

Bring your heavy steps,

Across the swathes of Clifford Bridge,

Spy the magic from afar,

Allow your mind, your thoughts and all that you are,

To embrace,

Open your heart to the wonders abound,

Dunsford Reverse, nature’s ground,

Where coppices grow, regrow, recycle, renew refresh,

Tune your senses to the cool, crisp clarity of nature’s drug,

Eyes wide to the magic like a heady rush,

In this place of vivid tones,

And transient joy through valley slopes,

Cast your eye,

Over crystal clear waters of the River Teign,

With a rushing flow felt deep within,

Your cells alive with the sounds of a watery dance,

Spy the slender pickings of a native dipper,

The distant tap of a kingfisher,

And in a moment your heart skips a beat,

To hear an otter’s indomitable squeak,

You pause,

Beneath the arched boughs of a sycamore tree,

A place of nature’s unity,

Leaves touch glassy water with the lightest kiss,

While tumbled-down steeples of jagged rocks,

Cloudy crystal granite shards defend the shores,

Watched by passing deer from slopes up high,

Through dappling fronds their furtive spy,

Grants a wish,

For those who look beyond the pale,

To where sun and moon cast dreamlike rays,

Too soon for springtime daffodils,

But climb woodland heights for magicked sights,

And long-tailed tits like dragonflies,

Acorns beneath giant ferns like trees,

Half-eaten in this woodland sanctity

Passersby,

Feel the brush of air from a tawnies wing,

The distant sound of a goosander’s song,

Climb through hazel, oak and hawthorn,

Barbs to give a friendly scratch,

While reaching heady woodland heights,

Breathe the view of this vast valley,

Home to bracken slopes and fallow deer,

And know, our connective tissue.

One World

Just over two months in the new house and it’s feeling like home. Mia continues to be outwitted by the resident squirrel on its hunt for buried nuts, and I’ve discovered a wonderfully bizarre monkey puzzle tree on my regular walk.

In other news, the street is being put on trial for food waste recycling. In the spirit of every little helps the environment, we’re all hoping it stays. Of course, we need many more big helps, and like people all over the world, I watched the events of COP26 unfold on the news. And so, to continue with last week’s theme of climate change, I thought I would share a recent poem inspired by global talks and the dedicated activists demanding we all do better in fighting the looming calamity.

Fight the Calamity; By Susie Williamson

Are humans really the superior species,

Skilled in reasoning, language, solving difficulties?

Introspection is seen as one of our strengths,

So what came of the Paris Agreement?

Did we tighten our belts, get smart, or continue in decadence,

Turning a blind eye to owed recompense?

 

Cop26 comes round and the truth will be told,

To climate activists around the globe.

The suited and booted leading with false ideations,

Reckless in the knife-edge survival of Africa, and those island nations.

It’s not 1.5 or even 2, but a roadmap to 2.7 degrees,

Yet again, the same nations will be on their knees.

 

Or under water; some are already there,

Vanishing islands and coastlines, but with new gas fields, who cares?

Until Mia Mottley steps up and takes to the mic,

Calm and considered, but with words set to strike.

This PM of Barbados speaks for those without choices,

For the powerless, angry, despairing voices.

 

Her message is clear, her intent at the heart,

National solutions just don’t work.

Are we really so blinded and hardened, deaf to the cries,

So willing to turn our backs on countless lives?

So adept at othering, we seem to be,

Price tags on people, scrap humanity.

 

We talk peace and prosperity here in the west,

A blanket omittance of nations oppressed,

Prosperity, illusion if only one third prospers,

While the rest of the globe cowers and suffers.

In the face of calamitous threats, life under siege,

When will global leaders fess up and lead?

 

Will they mourn us on the front line? Eddy Grant once said.

Not when pound signs are favoured over existential dread.

Voice, ambition, action is lacklustre so it seems,

In solving global crises of climate refugees.

Will the path of greed harvest our common destruction?

Or will we choose survival via temperature reduction?

 

There’s no time, we’re at that fork in the road,

The train’s ready, horn blasts, all aboard!

Code red G7, G20, wake up at the COP,

1.5 to survive, 2 degrees and no backstop.

Just death to Barbuda, Kenya, Mozambique,

Antigua, Fiji, The Maldives,

Try harder the people of Samoa holler,

Don’t we treasure Barbados and the people of Dominica?

Tuvalu is sinking, it’s happening now,

Don’t sigh, don’t shrug, don’t sit back and ask, how?

Central banks work in trillions, too huge to fit in our heads,

We have answers, resources, so make a watertight pledge.

Sign up to the global peace army,

Say no to death, and yes to humanity.

***