I was reading a post last year called ‘The Janitor’ by Bendedspoon on her excellent blog and no. 6 on the list really made me think.
6. LEAVE A LEGACY. It doesn’t matter if you live 2 thousand years or twenty. What matters is how you fill the space between the dates on your gravestone. Let your wisdom live and multiply in each life that you touch.
It made me think about the the space between our birthdate and our deathdate – our lives. ’Please mind the Gap’ is a warning issued on the London underground before boarding the train. It’s also a metaphor for the many pitfalls we encounter on our journey throughout life.
From conception to womb - Please mind the gap.. From cradle to spoon - Please mind the gap! From totter to school - Please mind the gap! From childhood to fool - Please mind the gap from fool to regret - Please mind the gap From dawn to sunset - Please mind the gap From happiness tears - Please mind the gap From wilderness years - Please mind the gap From faith to despair - Please mind the gap From substance to air - Please mind the gap From health to old age - Please mind the gap From epic to page - Please mind the gap From daylight to night - Please mind the gap From blindness to sight - Please mind the gap From deafness to grasp - Please mind the gap From shouting to gasp - Please mind the gap From labours last test - Please mind the gap To lifes final rest - Please mind the gap!
To ‘mind the gap’ a little too much and not take any chances at all in life would result in a pretty boring and unfulfilling existence . But would we be ‘safe’? Not necessarily, fate has a way of filling those gaps when and with the unexpected…..
This challenge could prove to be a real challenge as it takes an abstract form of sculpture as its source of inspiration. But what are thoughts – if not abstractions? and where does inspiration come from anyway? The challenge is to write a poem or Haiku about what I have entitled ‘The Hepworth Echo’ – using your own creative voice as the echo. You can use any of Hepworths pierced sculptures pictures as a prompt (there are many) or just write about what you think the above pierced sculpture is trying to convey. This could be a message from the past, a prediction for the future, what you think lies within the space or even what you think the artist or the actual sculpture is saying. The poem can be serious, humourous, short or lengthy. If you are stuck for inspiration or don’t know much about Hepworth and her sculpture, just go over to my Echostains blog and have a look at these posts;-
The idea behind the challenges is to publicise Bookstains is as well as having creative fun, so therefore it is imperative that the poet link to Bookstains to further the challenge.
In return the poem is copied to the challenges particular page which is open indeffinitely and the poets own website mentioned with a link and the poem critiqued on not only Bookstains but also on the poets own blog or website.
If you wouldn’t put the poem on your own blog, please don’t send it to mine and expect me to promote it. This is a genuine challenge – so please play fair:-
Our next contribution is a Haiku from Hames 1977. His blog is full of the most profound and original poetry. once read you will soon be hooked on this poet who I rate as one of the finest. Please look
Next we have a fantastic poem by Adam Dustus – you really must check out his blog – and One Stop Poetry
The Serpent Coil
Fetal positioned squinting eyes Beginning life shock—that burning light Swaddled in newspaper sterility Spinning backward, sleet rain, movie reels flipping Maddening sway, she shifts her hips Fool me blush and licking lips In totem stockings run from pain This living through Your bit insane
Metallic tasting molars Tin foiled, tempered stealing Collide in scope stains as Color wheels spinning Through imagined laughter of Goethe Inspiration from Whitman Lucky to be alive Once again
Crawling clumsily through nothingness Past streaming years, recalling anger, swallowed tears Among the branded tracks & spineless backs Wrenched in clutching sadness, shading leaves Serpentine madness, mineral evergreen Quivering half-bent upon bathroom floor Eying grime, filth clings to belly When the walls cave your heart Unmoved, mind stirring Forgetting all that past as learning This lowly love When song born again
Apple stands, seedless core Black almond shaped smoker’s trache Peeling back the serpent coil Piano wire fangs puncture Harp string strung out desire Reddened to appeal, bon appétit Search to feel when incomplete These corrosives kill Through core of earth Our sphere surreal Until dusk from birth
I love seeing how diverse and how original and imaginative we all are! Here’s another wonderful take on the Hepworth echo – its from 47whitebuffalo. You must check out her blog – it’s full of her original art, poetry, music and political issues and much more:-)
swift circular motion same entrance exit wounds clean inside out bullets irony human lives coyote dies life cycle echo
I am really loving this challenge! So many individualistic and original poems! Here’s another take on the Hepworth Echo – and its yet another a fab one:-) It’s by gospelwriter whose blog Turtle Memoirs is a poetical delight – please be sure to visit
Heart of Harmony
oh if these strings
were flexible, alive and finely-tuned
I could play you an air
would
melt your gut,
echo eternal overtones of heart,
a melody heard fleetingly in youth,
now long neglected in pursuit
of fickle tangibles
what would you?
be wished away for what they think you’re worth,
or alive again, for what they knew you were?
I have just recieved another wonderful poem for this challenge from Eelco Bruinsma who has a wonderful cultural blog called Thoughts and Things - well worth looking at1
” It might be mathematical … Highly unlikely
It could be psychological … But only slightly
Turned upon itself, like a suicidal wasp A blind soothsayer, injecting its venom With the strings of its harp right through its exoskeleton.
Obviously!
The messenger has killed himself.
But then …
It surely must be mythological … quite rightly.
Certainly not!
Since it clearly derives From Greek Tragedy It is tragedy enshrined In an endless cabinet Not a chest, but a chestnut, White on the inside, wooden on the outside, Like, … ….
By God almighty!
It’s a coffin!
The organic form, The Apollinic nut, The finish, the refinement, The Sybillic enigmatic sign,
It’s a string-bearer, A bearer of Truth and Falsity, A proposition
Adam Dustus who has a wonderful poetry blog kindly suggested a poetry challenge which featured this painting – The Coinnoissoir’ by Norman Rockwell. I have called the challenge ‘The Art of Progress’ because of the corresponding post I wrote over on Echostains - which also provides a link for this challenge. Clicking any of the paintings will take you over there to see what I’ve written about this painting and the other two - and why I think they represent ‘progress’. The challenge is to write a poem or Haiku about ‘progress’. You can use any of the pictures as a prompt or just write about ‘progress’ itself. The poem can be serious, humourous, short or lengthy.
The Railway Station by William Powell Frith, RA. 1862
Please note;-
The idea behind the challenges is to publicise Bookstains (as well as having creative fun) so therefore it is imperative that the poet link to Bookstains to further the challenge.
In return the poem is copied to the challenges particular page and the poets own website mentioned with a link and the poem critiqued on not only Bookstains but also on the poets own blog or website.
If you wouldn’t put the poem on your own blog, please don’t send it to mine and expect me to promote it. This is a genuine challenge – so please play fair:-)
I wracked my brains trying to decide which painting to go with, but just couldn’t decide. So, I thought I would just write a short Acrostic poem about progress itself and what it means. Sometimes progress is no such thing. It can be two steps forward then two steps back – so in effect you can go all around the houses to end up in the same place! Sometimes we over complicate the simplest of things – sometimes the old way can be the best. Sometimes the act of being seen to be progressing – progression for progressions sake can actually be destructive.
Jessicasjapes who has a wonderful poetry and prose blog has contributed this poem based upon Frith’s painting ‘The Railway’ Thanks Jessica!
The Railway Station by William Powell Frith 1862.
I stand on the station,
my eyes assaulted by the throng:
The fretting lady, flushed and hyperventilating,
begging with unladylike candour,
a loved pet dog to carry onboard,
her remonstrances ignored by officious officialdom.
The bossy family, self centred and fraught,
hurrying behind a flustered porter,
luggage heaving en masse,
loyal wife dragging indulged children.
The foreign tourist, feigning ignorance,
reluctant to submit precious monies,
the cabbie insistent and world-weary,
outstretched hand insistent.
The brave warrior heroes, uniformed and disciplined,
fighting red-eyed mistiness,
parting loved ones for distant fields of fire,
love torn for country and family.
The wedding party, tearful with happiness,
wishing everlasting good fortune,
excited whispers deafened by announcements,
a bride departing for a new chapter.
The schoolboys, motherly embraced,
hiding embarassment and apprenhension,
a fresh scholarly challenge awaiting,
far from the warm bosom of home.
The professional criminal, outfoxed and undone,
restrained within a foot of freedom,
apprended in full view of tired wife,
a future apart within walls.
A railway scene in 2010?
No, a flashback memory of 1862.
Our third contribution is from turtle memoirs. Please check out this wonderful creative blog! The poem is called ‘Coinnoisseur’ and it is based upon the Rockwell painting.
Call me a connoisseur of love.
I stand in front of modern paintings,
study them till eyes go thick with tears
and paint runs thin again—fast and faster
colour flows to colour back in time, now there
it is, no there, and there… and ever further back
to reconstruction of first moments, the big bang
of creativity that gives me now, this universe
before me. Outside of time I realize futility
in such thinking—how can there be start
or endpoint to what’s circular?
New eyes fit patchwork pieces back together.
I gaze in wonder at this painter’s perfect rendering of vision.
Where is the love the artist felt in painting?
Does it live in colour, easel, frame? Is it light
that shines now in my heart, a knowledge new,
this vision of my own?—All that and more…
A patchwork quilt of moments fuelled by
an inner flame lit long before we knew
the boundaries of time, now waiting
on our rediscovery of desire to keep
forever burning our love creations,
to pass forward, let them linger
in an other’s senses, light
another’s hearth.
Black. I’ve always liked black. Black is the colour of the mysteries after all. Gothic architecture, Gothic music, Gothic clothes – who wouldn’t? Plus it’s getting close to Halloween – and I have to work when I should be partying! However, I do LOVE colour – bright colours! Turquise and pinks – bright colours uplift and make you feel happy, they can really raise your spirit and make you feel glad to be alive. I wrote this poem last year. I don’t know why I’ve never published it on my blog until now.
Ara by the way is a meeting of Goths for an evening of Gothic metal. it is held in a church and is not a religious meeting – just people listening to music and having a good time. As you can imagine, being dressed in pink doesn’t really qualify for membership in this instance:-)
PS My last Poetry Challenge is ‘Weeping Woman why do you Weep’
PLUS
What the Dickens? poetry challenge has just started on my page here
For details about how to enter (and see the contributions so far, please click The Weeping Woman) Don’t forget to mention Bookstains with a back to link to me when you enter:)
PS There’s a lovely Memorial Haiku page over on the HAIKUDOODLE blog. Please remember loved ones and contribute a Haiku
This poetry challenge is about the smile of the famous Mona Lisa painted by Leonardo Da Vinci. The lady’s smile (and it has been said that she may not be all ‘she’ seems) is one of the most enigmatic smiles ever painted. To submit your poem or haiku which can be as profound, humorous, long or short as you like, either submit in the comments section here or send it by email to me and I will put it on this page. You can use the logo on your blog – but please link to me:) The challenge is write a poem or a haiku about that smile, or the lady or the relationship between the artist and the lady. Here’s mine:-
I’ve been dead so many times
that all the secrets of the grave
blur and roll and rumble
through my soft sideway stare
and impossible smile
beyond the flash and comprehension
of my fanny-packed audience
I’m not the spectacle
they think I am
just another ghost
stuck between limbo
and hell
wishing I could fade
into the cold mountains
at my back
or at least rise up
turn away
and relearn the pleasure
of strolling down
smooth winding paths
into the hard blue water
crashing along my shore
Our 6th poem is by Adam Dustus – who has a wonderful blog, full of poems, writings and very clever and inspirational photography! Find himHERE
Knowing What He Didn’t Know
Her eyes couldn’t help but glow
Knowing what he didn’t know
There is someone missing
From cradling arms
Lisa’s lips hath subtle charm
Under cover of dark dress
For life she holds a child blessed
Our next poem (No:7) is from Gabriela Abalo. She has a lovely blog with short stories, and poetry – her blog has the apt title ‘Embracing who we are’.Please check it out:)
Essence
I am an eternal freak The keeper of an everlasting mystery Which is the secret of my vanishing grim? Light or darkness makes a difference Sometimes you see it Sometimes you don’t
Games of your mind Mirror of your emotions I am me and I am you A light hearted-woman Or a Hermaphrodite? To hold the enigma Is my stigma
I am my master in disguise If you really look you can see we are alike I am not the mother I am not the son Since I am both and none
I am his masterpiece His life companion His mirror Not his darkest secret But his portrait of humankind
I am left and right Masculine and feminine Good and bad The one with two faces Who smiles and cries At the same time
Yesterday, today and tomorrow I am the world’s sorrow I keep a mystery that none can borrow
I am Mona Lisa So they say, so you say I am La Gioconda The one with the most famous, elegant smile The entire world will ever talk about
Poem number 8 is a sonnet! It has been contributed by Steve, whose blog Heednotsteve is enough to cheer anyone up with his wit, rhymes and life observations – please give it a visit:)
As Lisa sat, some centuries ago, she surely didn’t hold a careful pose. For, even as the artist placed her so, she must’ve licked her lips or scratched her nose
or blinked her eyes or shifted in her seat, if only while the artist looked away, his eyes returning, every time, to greet her pose, unchanged, throughout the stifling day.
The artist would’ve known, but could ignore her minor change in posture. For the light revealed to him composite truths. And, more, his brush obeyed those vagaries of sight.
Enigma never lived in Mona’s smile. It stems, instead, from Leonardo’s guile.
i didn’t know him well, in fact hardly at all and i’d never before sat to pose. his idea was silly, really off the wall ~to paint me on a stool without my clothes. he said he was interested only in my eyes, of course i knew there was something more. his brushes and oil were just a disguise and he wanted my clothes to drop to the floor. i decided to humor him with a very sly smile and sat there quietly while he wondered why. but my lips were tightly sealed all the while never telling him he’d left open his fly. i never knew what the fuss was about, people have questioned my smile for years. yes, his fly was open but nothing flew out or else i’d have been laughing until there were tears so all this time I’ve heard experts bicker about the real reason behind my smile but really, I must say it was more of a snicker and everyone missed it by a mile.
The challenge is to watch the very short video that features all Van Gogh’s self-portrait and imagine what the artist might be trying to convey through these portraits – in other words if he could speak – what do you think he would he want to say to us? Alternatively you could just write a poem about Van Gogh the man or his work. The poem can be as profound as you want, or as daft as you like:) it can be long, short or even a haiku.
Please note;-
The idea behind the challenges is to publicise Bookstains (as well as having creative fun) so therefore it is imperative that the poet link to Bookstains to further the challenge.
In return the poem is copied to the challenges particular page and the poets own website mentioned with a link and the poem critiqued on not only Bookstains but also on the poets own blog or website.
If you wouldn’t put the poem on your own blog, please don’t send it to mine and expect me to promote it. This is a genuine challenge – please play fair:-)
Please post your poems either under comments – or if you prefer sent me an email and I’ll put them on.
Here’s the first of the poems! this one is by Kserverny aka Artswebshow. please check out his blog it’s fantastic!
.
Oh why did the ladies never love me.
.
As i sit here in my velvet chair.
Chains of smoke swirl around me.
My dinner left lingering by the door.
Painting for the purpose of inner peace.
My thoughts, they say.
Oh why did the ladies never love me?
Life looks back in fall.
.
Relying for my income on dear little brother.
Oh the shame, it makes me insane.
I burn and cut for you people.
Yet none will look my way.
Stewing in my little bed.
Oh why did the ladies never love me?
Life looks back in fall.
.
The tormented candle flickers softly now.
Obsessive working grips me tight.
No interest gained off local peers.
I fear my end is in sight.
I softly said.
Oh why did the ladies never love me?
Life looks down in winter.
.
People tread upon the floor.
Above the sunflowers fill them with awe.
Such a valuable epiphany,
Of a time travelled long before.
The painting remains silent.
Ladies flock around him.
Standing proudly on the wall.
POEM NO: 2 is bybended spoonwho has a very upbeat and positive website – guaranteed to raise a smile (this is the second time he’s made my day! Please check him out:)
Poem No:3 is by Linda Kruschkewho has a lovely homely and welcoming blog! please check it out:)
Vincent Could Have Told You
Faces change
My face changes
With the seasons
With my mood
I paint a changing me
But I remain
Beneath the face
What I call God
That which is love
It does not change
Poem No:4 is by Debbie Fellerwhose blog has ‘simple poems and simple faith’ please check it out!
I paint from the mirror
turning away to hide
my bad side
the eyes remain
unchanged.
Poem No:5 is by opoetoo who has a great blog full of poetry and musings – please give it a visit and you won’t be disappointed!
Ground /between stones
I feel the world turn
In your face
Of clay on canvas
…………………………Rotating
………Pushing
up through the hard ground
Corn for crows to pluck and pillage
……………………… Corn enough
to feed the wonder of this planet
Poem No: 6 is by Adam Dustus who is a novelist, poet and graphic artist. He has a very well established blog and there’s lots to interest poets, writers and artists alike! Well worth a visit!
Light stricken, anxious eyes
Painting beautiful expressions sublime
Puddling tears that Starry Night
Too late, my work now recognized
Could not foresee what happened to me
Now millions on sales tags
Downloads to computer screens
Broadcasts of honors in stellar HD
Even documentaries all about me
Scandals, art thieves,
Dedicated museum wings
Sunflower posters
Mass produced grief…
Yet curation now kind
Since I razed my prime
They think priceless being
A tortured mind
Only my faces and work survive
Absinthesizing swirls refined
Depression claimed another life
Still art without end
Beyond my time
Poem No: 7 is from Steve whose blog‘Heednotsteve’ has a bit about everything (but mostly fiction and poetry). its a good one so please give it a visit!
I know you
or at least
I know
your face
pale forehead
and faint brow,
high cheeks
your somber face
the contours
and creases
of it
backwards to me, convenient
set mouth
and the eyes,
I know the eyes
unflinching – I’ve never seen them closed
I know
your face
your sad
serious
face
hopeful and doubtful
as if
I might tell you
something
about you
as if you might
by patient
scrutiny
know me
PoemNo:8 is by Fireblossom. Her blog Shay’s word garden is full of original poetry. Check it out!
Vince, hi.
Um…
What? Oh, I’m fine. You’re sweet to ask.
So…
What up?
“Dawg”. Ha ha.
Are you, like, still doing drawings and stuff?
Yeah? You’re pretty good. Seriously, dude.
You should, like, maybe take a class or something.
Have you ever signed up for an art class? No?
I think the community college offers them.
I took, I don’t know, some computer thing there once…it was okay, I guess.
I met Rick there.
Yeah, Rick, this guy I’m seeing, or like, we’re hanging out and that.
Look, Vince, I need to tell you,
You’re a nice guy and all. Some girl is out there for you.
No kidding, a lot of girls really like beards. For real!
My friend, she’s totally all about dudes who look like these mountain men or something.
Hey, I didn’t mean…
It looks good. No lie.
But, Vince,
I’m not really into art or that, and Rick, he’s kind of into the whole surfer, keg party thing.
Well, what I mean is,
Um…
Here’s your ear.
I wrapped it in, I don’t know, this napkin from Chicken Shack.
I didn’t, like, use it at all, it’s clean.
Maybe they can re-attach it?
But dude, seriously,
Don’t, like, send me the other one or anything, you know?
It’s gross, I have to be honest with you.
Really thoughtful,
But,
Gross. As hell.
What were you thinking?
Oh, c’mon,
Don’t go all crumpled looking,
My dog does that and I can’t deal.
He’s at my mom’s now…
Well, I know, like you care, right? I just ramble, whatever.
Sorry.
So, check out those art classes.
Maybe you could even sell one of your paintings?
Use the money to buy a new jacket or something.
Good luck, Vince.
I gotta run, Rick hates it if I keep him waiting.
Peace, out.
And no more ears!
Later, dude!
(walk
walk
walk
keys
car door slamming
engine starting
lipstick adjustment in rearview mirror)
*sigh*
What a fucking nut case!
Poem No: 9 is our first Haiku and its contributed by the wonderful Eva from the equally wonderfully artistic and poetical blog 47whitebuffalo. There’s lots of goodies there – please call in:)
eyes catching light play
all ways fleeting here to there
oranges splashing blues
Our 10th poem is by Dawn Runs Amok (D.C. McKenzie) who has a lovely poetry and music blog here. The poem is called Fou Roux. The author is an avid fan of Vincent Van Gogh and this was written especially for the 120th memorial of the artists’ death.
Fou Roux ~the redheaded madman
~by D.C. McKenzie
i.
Thirty good and wholesome
townspeople of Arles, neighbors all,
have had your yellow house closed by the cops
And you, Vincent, saw your worst fear come to pass
as, at last, you were hauled off to the Asylum.
There it took three days of solitary
confinement to regain your Self.
Gauguin is gone. It is true, Paul has left:
but not before it was too late
to stop the juggernaut of sorrow and arrest. (and by the way, Paul Gauguin
you windbag, you…cross-eyed thief,
it had been raining for days on end—
how did you hear his footstep
so soft behind you in the downpour?
In the darkness, without lamp or light—
how did you see the blade with which
you claim Vincent menaced you so?)
ii.
You are scared now, Vincent…aren’t you?
All about you are the insane and their keepers.
Have you come to believe the vicious gossip?
Has it truly come to that at the last? Madness?
Or is it a worse ailment? Failure.
Not as an artist before the public,
that fickle beast, you know too well
it was never really about acceptance
rather, a failure to render your vision into reality.
That, I fear, is what broke you—so finally, so completely.
Now, you are surrounded by chaos and heartbreak.
Bedlam brimming in broken minds: without order, without colour,
as if you have been cast upon a fey, monochrome wind.
Alas too, the sky above you has become foreboding,
pressing upon you as much so as the pressure of poverty
skulking in the shade. For to be a burden upon Theo
and his family is a thing you loathe most of all.
There is so much that I will never understand.
Yet, this I truly know, Vincent:
Hunger is nothing next to Emptiness (don’t believe? try it.)
—a hideous non-thing that steals away our very senses.
Of emptiness there can be no solace.
It is a thing every suicide instinctively knows.
In the end, it is not loneliness, but emptiness
which we seek to escape; and by which we are undone.
iii.
The sky, hitherto your collaborator,
your vista upon a far too vivid Now, is shuttered.
It has become a coffer of looming cobalt clouds.
In this Now, even absinthe and spirits cannot ease the pain
or bring surcease to the seizure and the sorrow.
Smiling a scarecrow smile to even behold it—
the sunlight which was once your gilded muse,
once your benevolent ally in a hostile world,
huddles forlorn in your cell
caught in a corner of the ceiling
where your brush cannot reach.
A sun that is present only amidst fields
populated by an unkindness of crows.
Furrowed ground lies beneath hulking slate-blue skies
and wheat sheaves, bound into pyre-like haystacks,
which you have roughly carved in cadmium and ochre
on a canvas barely able to withstand your demands.
Although they make much of the crows,
it is the blackviolet vault of the sky
which brings a stab of empathy
for the agony and despair of your last days.
Thunderclouds roiling greyblue
broken by oblique rays of a mantled, yet majestic, sun.
Oh, they make much of the crows, but…no, Vincent,
it is the turmoil of the skies that signaled your peril.
Wheat Field with Crows~Auvers 1890
Our 11th poem is a Haiku from Abigail Parker who does a Haiku a day all the year around! her blog is here
In the night cafe
Reeling orange and absinthe green
Half-drunk, I step back.
Heres a Haiku from Tigerbritewhose interesting blog has a poetry section as well as posts about The Tree of Life and the planet Cyberluz! Please take a look!
It has been said that first impressions are always the truest and that you should always go by your first impression when you meet someone for the first time. For most people, the only way they have of ‘meeting’ a celebrity will be through the media and the only clues we have on this (real) person is what what has been written about them – what we read.
We are able to pass judgement on these people when we see them being interviewed, but sometimes our opinion will be clouded by what we already know (or think we know) about them from the newspapers. The media can make or break a celebrity. It can place you high on a pinnacle – only to knock you down when it suits. It can make ordinary people Gods – and then be so disappointed when they don’t live up to their hype – mete out punishment….
This is an experiment I did from The Artswebshow. It was great fun! What you do is tune in to the music and just type – let that poetry run free in a free-flowing way. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t rhyme (half of mine doesn’t, in fact you can see the self-consciousness in the first half where it does;)) Please try it – you will be surprised to see what happens!
I wrote this free verse poem some time ago and came across it agin today. So inspired by the William Butler Yeats poem that I have posted on echostains, and shamefaced about not posting anything on here for a while (but I am going to post a book review tomorrow) – here is the poem. The inspiration for this poem is one of musing about what happens about the soul after we die and everlasting life really.
Where the Root ends
A root of star was broken off
Flung far away out into space
My vehicle to get between the gaps that bridge our worlds.
I slid,
I hurtled down
Headlong down times chasms,
Bolstering my fall with lifetimes long and earnest,
Burnishing my death with dreams of everlasting life.
The inspiration for this poem came from a collection of netsuke I saw recently in the Victoria and Albert Museum London. Because the Japanese costume has no pockets small everyday objects were carried in pouches or boxes suspended on a cord secreted behind the obi (belt). The netsuke was tied to the other end to prevent slippage. These little intricately carved objects act as weight. They are works of art in themselves and very beautiful to look at as well as being practical.
I was struck by the way a netsuke could be used as a metaphor for life. The balance, weight – even the threads all speak about life and our experiences.
Life in suspension: the weight of cares tugging at the threads, unravelling and crashing the graven image – shattering. It inspired me to write something, a poem perhaps. What could be more fitting than a Haiku.
