Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Happy Birthday, Vi



Gypsies dance because:

In spite of its worries,
In spite of its fears,
In spite of its sorrows,
In spite of its tears,
In spite of its heartaches,
In spite of its woes -
Life is just beautiful,
So dance on your toes.

The image is from the website of the touring New Zealand Gypsy Fair.

Monday, November 27, 2006

More Snow

More snow, all last night, and all day today, it just kept falling, a clean white sound suffocating blanket of fresh snow. Few wandered out. It not being walker or cane friendly weather, I stayed in at gazed at it through the window, although briefly I did go out to walk my dog. I negotiated with extra cookies to get him to come back in. He could have played in it hours longer. The city is ill prepared for so much snow, and most stayed home. It is lovely thought, especially in the pre dawn hours, then to walk the dog is ideal, acres of virgin snow and just us and the stars out in it. The sound of the city dampened and my happy Belvedere making like a snow plough with his nose.


more snow

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Walk through the snow with me...

300walkinsnow

I thought you might like to come along

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Peace for Papa


Found a glade where
Fresh water springs
Where shady trees
stretch their arms
over the water's edge.
Found a place where
You and I can sit and talk
of times past
Times to come
And other irrelevancies
Found a quiet spot
where we can lay
down our arms
Let the battle travel
on for a spell.
From Lavengro

In Response to: A Place to Keep Our Horses

She Was But a Barn

She stood forlorn in a worn out field,
an aging, wrinkled crone.
Though unsung,
she rivaled the classic architecture of old Europe.

There were no signs or souvenirs,
no mention in a guide book.
No tourists flocked to view her—
she was but a barn.
Her history was hardly grandiose.
She was but a simple monument to the brave
but ordinary folk
who settled hereabouts.

Each winter, snow lay heavy on her roof,
each spring she sagged a little more.
How many seasons could she have stood to tell
that some humble pioneer homesteaded here?

One morning when I walked that way,
I saw the sign, new and brightly coloured,
it proclaimed development—
Eighty homes, a strip mall, and a filling station
would replace my piece of history.

With swimming eyes, I climbed the fence
and walked through the dry and crackling grass.
I entered through the double doors,
one hung precariously, the other one was down
and molding into dust.
Once inside I stood in silent homage
to what soon would be no more.
Weeds grew through the floor,
surviving despite the gloom.
Old straw had crumpled into dust
in stalls where once horses rested.
Swallows in darkened corners
would nest here no more,
nor would they make music in the rafters.
Blue sky shone through gaps while
Dust filled God beams
searched mouse tracks below.

She was alive that day, my barn, old friend.
Her timbers creaked and groaned
as I sat, my back against a crumbling stall,
and whispered my good bye.

I left that day with heavy heart.
She had been a friend so long,
watching me, each day as I walked by
in rain or shine, snow or freezing cold.
I took one last long look, then turned my back.
There was nothing I could do to help her.
She had no historic value,
Only architectural charm.
She was but a simple barn
Built by gnarled hands and sweat.

I walk that way no longer
Now that my friend has gone.

Vi Jones
©November 23, 2006

A Place to keep our horses

Thursday, November 16, 2006

seeded by Fran's freefall writing course

I slip between the veils of two worlds,
'twixt sleep and dreaming,
between memory and anticipation
drifting on the current of mist rising from the fields in the early mornings,
in the sun's rays, on a leaf being carried down the stream,
caught in an occasional eddy
where I spiral uncontrollably until,
snagged on a hook of rock, I'm cast forth once again.
I drift upwards in the smoke of an autumn bonfire,
bright sparks flowering golden against the night sky,
a flower that lasts but a few seconds, withers and dies.
On a vapour from a pot of stew I rise,
tantalising the nostrils of the gypsy bent over the fire,
sparks of light flashing off her golden earrings and from the lights in her eyes.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Dream Seeds for Gypsies

Gypsies Arriving

New Gypsies are arriving in the Gypsy Camp and

Gypsy Dream Seeds

Enchanteur brings fresh dream seeds to the Gypsy Camp for a potting session.


Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Make yourself at home...

When you arrive at the Gypsy Camp you will be greeted by your very own Gypsy tarot reader. She will give you a tarot reading which you can share with us here if you wish.

You will also be given your own caravan anywhere in the camp that you choose. What colour is your caravan? What does it look like inside? What will you do there? Use it as a writing hideaway, a studio or just sit on the steps and dream?

The Gypsies love to hear your songs and stories, so take inspiration from the free and easy Gypsy life and regale us with poems, tales, legends or art, as we gather round the campfire.

A thousand welcomes to our travellers.


Welcome, travellers, to the Gypsy Camp!

Lavengro, the Gypsy Chief (who looks a bit like Johnny Depp) and his merry band of gypsies from all over the world are putting on a big party in your honour. There will be dancing around the campfire, singing, good food and drink, but most of all, you tales, songs and art. We at the Gypsy Camp love to share your creativity, so gather round the campfire, grab a baked potato from the ashes (careful, they’re hot!) and a glass of cider from the barrel and share your songs and stories with us.

The Gypsies have also purloined a pair of barn doors (as is their wont) and laid them on the ground for a dance floor, so kick up those heels! Lavengro will want to dance with all the ladies but he particularly adores Heather and Le Enbchanteur, so you may have to get in line.

Sunday, November 12, 2006

Come for a walk with me...

NIGHTWALK
please join me.

Saturday, November 11, 2006

Happy Belated 70th Lois

Happy Birthday for this Milestone, love Monika
copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Happy Belated Birthday to Megan

Birthday Daisies for you, Megan, love Monika
copyright Imogen Crest 2006.

Digging Deep

Soul Food's Alluvial Mine, with its allusions to digging, is certainly a creative trigger for me. Ever since I read an account of Howard Carter's discovery of Tutankhamun's tomb when I was a young girl, I have been a dedicated armchair archeologist.
Most recently I have travelled to ancient Peru with Hugh Thomson's book Cochineal Red, and to the fabled city of Tell el Amarna with the witty and delightful Mary Chubb. What I love about these writer is that they do more than uncover the past - they uncover the hearts and souls of ancient people, and in many ways, they are not so different from us.
Let me share a couple of their stories with you.
Hugh Thomson attended an Andean ceremony, a gruelling high altitude walk, yet the Peruvians being a celebratory, joyful people, they even managed to create moments of delight during this ordeal with singing, music and dancing. The tales of camps and fires and boiling chocolate Mate to ward off the cold are very familiar to anyone who has been a traveler. These things are shared through the ages and across the world by all who cannot resist the magic of the campfire, the outdoor gathering.
But what particularly charmed me was the Game of the Little Houses. It seems native Peruvians know all about positive visualisation. Halfway up a mountain they make miniature houses and believe firmly that what they create there will be manifested in their lives. They literally build their dream, live their dreams, marry their dream spouse, exchange dream money - even buy dream passports and diplomas. All in the certainty that the dream will manifest.

Mary Chubb was assistant to the secretary of a London archeological society when she wangled herself a trip to Egypt in 1930 as an on site secretary to the expedition. Her witty observations of life on the dig at Tell el Amarna, and her companions, make delightful reading.
The leader of the expedition, the charismatic John Pendleton, remarked one day that the team needed to find a treasure worth 200 pounds to be able to come back the following season. There seemed little hope of that, although many beautiful things were found.
But not long after, the team uncovered an earthenware pot filled with gold and silver bars, stolen and hidden while Akenaten and Nefertiti were still alive, and for some reason, never uncovered again until that moment.
The finds were always looked over by the Cairo Museum first, and what they didn't want, the expedition was allowed to keep and take back to Britain.
The Museum director was very dismissive of the gold and silver bars. ``I do not want all the gold and silver," he sniffed. ``We will retain one half...you may keep the other."
The Bank of England paid 200 hundred pound for the treasure, ensuring the expedition's return to Tell el Amarna.

Let us never lose the courage to dream, to seek the dream, to make the dream manifest.

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Halloween

halloween06