Thursday, April 17, 2014

The Fire Practice


Original collage illustration by Emi Hensley
The Fire Practice
India Ink, NuPastel, and Bingo Marker on Papyrus
2014
©emihensley

More work at:

Saturday, March 8, 2014

Small Town Blues





Let this journey,
One calamitous night, terminate
And reach, like the moon's beam,
That ancient brightness
Glistening across the inseparable
Hypnotic waves,
Beckoning to that other side?
Who tempts them
Far, far, away
Across the shore-less
Uninhabited coast line,
A distant fire burns
Far, far away,
They shall come to pass.


We too have sailed
by her stark cliffs,
numerous times
Without a map or co-ordinate,
Lulling through the calm of it all
While in our hearts
We knew a lighthouse
Raged far out to sea
Signaling for signs
We waited and listened for,
Hope, like blatterwrack drooping
Through the cleansed hands
And the sure oars resistance
Vibrating the azure light
And the drying shells
Detached in the whiteness
Out of sight and underfoot
Unnoticed like the truth
Measured in the lunar cycle
Of tides glanced like regrets?


Yet overhead- there is but one
Season, always painted that colour-
The Gulls decry, its estranged name
Tormenting like Lovers- this world
Far beneath where we are? moved
Or move- as the voyagers of fate
Renewing our vows on the salt
And pebbles cleansed in the vastness
Of these lonely small town coastal
Girls with their shipwrecked women
Whose boyfriends never matured
And whose husbands have gone
Like Penelope's, 30 year awaiting-
In her tidy nursing home, now,
Quite faded, but always asking
To be told the daily news
About that captain, she can
No longer hear nor see anymore.





Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Lugg's Kingdom


There is no denying it-
Lugg is my name- I am
The whistling in the brambles
The rain in the thistles drop
And the blood in a robin’s breast-
I am- the distant silhouette- you see
I am many things- infinite and vast
Like an ocean in the mind's eye
Where there is no going back
Nor no looking forward- I am here
Near this brook’s gentle stream
Partaking the common bread
With the soft peat compressed
Softly under my feet, I am
Not the Shepherd, The sheep
The lost, The lame, The excluded
The One with the mute kingdom
Of stone, Of infinity, Of solitude
Where miles shall echo, just so
Where I await not Man nor God-
For here I'm Lugg and I'm everything.





Saturday, January 11, 2014

In The Black Woods





There are dreams. In the Black woods
The berries glisten like light shimmering
It beckon us- to hold them- like us-

It is here- with the white owl who takes
Flight through us- As the hunter stirs
The dark wooden floors- with his silence

Searching the black glimmers in the trees
For signs- movements- otherness, that light-
In the Black woods, where there are dreams....

http://youtu.be/koaXXjHG9v0