The Artist and His Muse

He is no longer an artist who has no name
His paintings adorn walls, he has his fame
Today he will commence his last and final piece
She is but a model, earning meagre fees
A young girl of beauty, just twenty years old
She is quickly posed upon a luxurious throw of gold

He, behind his easel, his canvas tightly stretched
He gazes on her face, where he sees her beauty etched
Palette in his left hand and brush in his right
Working out perspective in the ambient light
Pause a while, thinking, taking in the scene
Grateful that he had been sent such wonderful queen

Brush caressing the canvas like a gentle summer breeze
Depicting her contours with deft accomplished ease
Her deep brown hair of gleaming silken curls
Her eyes as wondrous as rarely seen black pearls
Her full lips with a warm honeysuckle smile
Her neck her shoulders, all wonders to beguile

He pauses once again, a required and thoughtful rest
Before he continues outlining her rounded alabaster breast
Her hourglass waist, her legs so elegantly slender
His brush, as if it also knew of this girls great splendour
Would glide and dance with magical unguided ease
As every contour, every curve it would lovingly tease

The time came and when his work was complete
He covered it with a pure white veil and took a seat
“Sir can I please see the fruits of your labour?”
Yes my dear, I hope that it meets with your favour
As she lifted the veil for the first expose
Her honeysuckle smile became an opening rose

But Sir have I not been your inspiration?
Is this a joke, or a cruel aberration
This canvas is blank, no oils have left your brush
Her cheeks already pink, but now a deep anger blush
Sir you will have to explain this to me
As there is nothing here for me to see

My dear sit down and I will tell you true
From the moment my eyes had gazed upon you
I knew that no artist living or long dead
Could do justice to the beauty that I saw on that golden bed
This is a creation of yours not mine
Please take this brush and in the corner sign

With my paintless brush, my mind I have trained
I am so much richer with the joy that I’ve gained
My head no longer has an empty space
For you have filled a void in this place
You have made my artistic quest complete
My gratitude I humbly lay at your feet

I now have a masterpiece that only I can see
It will now be the most precious painting to me
For this canvas and the palette of my mind
With every viewing I will surely find
The true and faithful image that today I have seen
With this, no longer will I have the need to dream

©Ray Gorringe 2009

Just Walking

Many years ago, when I was quite young
My life seemed to be lived on the run
With something new around every bend
Trying to keep up with the latest trend
Now I am much older, and wiser they say
I tend to live my life from day to day
So now I just walk, slowed down my pace
Realising life is not a winning race
I’m walking, just walking towards my end
For this could be just around the next bend
Turn left, turn right or go straight on
Not forgetting where I started from
The final destination no one really knows
The journey will have had its highs and its lows
I hope and I pray that my legs will carry me
For at this time, the end I can not see
When this end for me, does come into view
I will be content at being one of the lucky few
Assured in the knowledge that after the pain
I will be ready to start my journey all over again

To Be Or Knot To Be

Do not forget to remember
My Mother said to me
Remember what I asked
Nothing she said
Just don’t forget

On my walk to school
I had these words in my head
Could not work it out
Just did not see
Remember to forget?

Forget to remember
Do not remember
Or do not forget
Should I remember
Or should I forget?

By the time I reached my school
I had three knots in my tie
One to remember
One to forget
And one to remember to forget

At lunch I was looking at my tie
Which knot was for remember
Which Knot was for forget
So I tied another one
Just so I would not forget

When I got home that afternoon
My mother said to me
“Did you remember what I said”
Yes I think so Mother, I tied knots in my tie
And where have you left your tie? Was her reply.

Same Old Day

It’s just another same old day
In cold and damp middle England
Another day when the sun has forgotten to shine
And the rain is almost snow

The birds are not singing in the nearby trees
As if they had not bothered to wake at all
And the only sound that can be heard
Is the wind through a leafless bough

It seems the same every day
Don’t want to move at all
It’s that time, it is expected
Pleading eyes say “it has to be now”

The Dog, he needs his walk
He knows as you approach
The door to the outside world
With boots and gloves in a row

Walk for just about a mile
While the dog he does two
Jumping through hedges
To bark at a local cow

Home with his hair wet and muddy
It’s time to run the bath
Greeted at the door by the Cat
With a plaintive meow

Tomorrows just another day
In cold and damp middle England
Another day when the sun will have forgotten to shine
And the rain just maybe snow

Not Living

Peroxide blonde
With manganese eyes
Inhaling saltpetre
Through nicotine lies
Ethanol induced stupor
Alcohol Highs
Indian ink
Self mutilation cries
Amphetamine images
Coloured clouds in the skies
One last snort of cocaine
The streets to pay the price
There is no living
Before she dies

Son of a Farmer

It was yet another childless day for the village farmer and his wife, for many years they had tried, but offspring did not arrive. He was a simple soul, a subsistence farmer, every day working his small field whilst his wife stayed at home with Goats and Chickens to tend.

They longed to have a child but they were not getting any younger, but this did not quell the wife’s tears, for everyday she would look from her window to the village well and see all the mothers there with their little ones. Also every day for the last three years now there had been the sight of a young boy no older than eight who was brought to the well daily by his mother and left there until the moon appeared.

This miserable soul was deaf dumb and blind, but this day his life would change for that morning the wife said to her husband, husband you know that boy, you know that he is not wanted, maybe just maybe we can adopt this wretched child.
Her husband said wife of mine you know I love you dearly but this child will be of no use to us in our later years, he will just be another mouth to feed. Look my wife he is blind what can he see? “yes husband but he has a heart” He is deaf my wife what will he hear? “yes but he has a heart” He can not speak my wife “yes but he has a heart” What company can he be, how can he work a field. He has a heart, a heart that needs our love, I will look after him as if he were my own I will love him care for him make him welcome in our home.

The farmer then left for the field leaving just a few simple words, “I love you my wife do what you think should be done”
Later when the woman turned up at the well with her child, the farmers wife was there waiting, a deal was struck and with the exchange of a Goat this poor wretch would never again be left at the well.

When the farmer returned that night he could do nothing but smile for there he met his wife, at last with child. She was combing his hair and kissing his forehead, showing such maternal love. This sight was the image that he had imagined all his life.

Years came and year went with the same routine of life. The farmer would lead this boy, now a young man, to his field where he would sit him down upon a rock whilst seeding and harvesting was done.

Then one morning the farmer woke up with a strange sensation in his eyes and within hours he had completely lost his sight. The doctor said farmer Sir there is nothing that can be done.

The farmer turned to despair and spent every day sitting silently, unhearing at the well. While the routine of the boy, now a man carried on with daily trips to his rock for he knew the route in his heart.

Then one day the farmer whilst sitting at the well, felt a hand take his and lead him away to a familiar smell, the smell of ripening corn and the farmer knew where he was and who had led him. The farmer then moved with help through his small plot of land and he knew that it had been tended well.

From that day to this, the blind farmer and his Son tend the land together with the blind leading the blind. The future for this complete family has turned from darkness to looking bright.