Vincent wrote............
(for Van Gogh)
Under the rafters of his mind in the corners where his soul
left footprints in the dust ---------- he painted his God
and to his brother posted words of his pain:
Dear Theo,
one hundred times he wrote
Dear Theo,
three hundred times he wrote
Dear Theo,
"how i should like it if we could have breakfast together
or drink a cup of chocolate in my room"
"my head is sometimes heavy and often it burns and my
thoughts are confused"
"a little town surrounded by fields all covered with yellow
and purple flowers; exactly -- can't you see it? -- like a japanese dream"
Dear Theo,
five hundred times he wrote
"am i to suffer imprisonment or the madhouse?"
"to express hope by some star, the eagerness of a soul
by a sunset radiance"
"i am still far from being what i want to be
but with God's help i shall succeed"
And of course we share a secret he never discovered ----- he did
between the writing the pain and God ------- he painted
pictures of colour of light of dark of sunflowers and stars
Dear Theo,
seven hundred times he wrote
"i find painting hard work because of the wind, but i fasten
my easel to pegs driven into the ground and work in spite of it
it is too lovely"
"i hope that by that time i shall be less bothered by breakdowns"
"then i breakfasted on a piece of dry bread and a glass of beer"
"how rich art is; if one can only remember what one has seen
one is never without food for thought or truly lonely, never alone"
he painted pictures of life of peasants of potato eaters of himself
Dear Theo,
eight hundred times he wrote
"here where i spend my days more withdrawn into myself
than now and then seems to me desirable"
"enclosed is a little drawing, i made it last sunday the morning
when my landlady's little daughter died, she was thirteen"
he painted
Mar-04
WORD DOODLES
“The Word Doodling World of Dr. Doodle”
by Dr. W. Doodle (alias Josef Lesser)
Reflect upon the last time you strolled down a country lane
humming a happy tune,
Reflect upon the fact that a sardine can never reflect
upon the ecstasy of such an experience.
I found a post-it-note on the fridge door
“the cat food is in the blue lid ice cream container”.
In future must always read notes first.
Reflect upon the value of two pefectly painted straight lines;
Yours and Picasso’s.
The research into weapons of war
is in direct proportion
to research into human transplants.
I am puzzled
when you write that the image in the mirror
which I posted just last week ------ wasn’t me.
I took such care with all the wrapping
and assure you it was me I saw,
after all I do know me ------ or so I thought.
I allowed my mind to wander;
BiiiiiG mistake.
When found please return to:
Dr. W. Doodle.
I allowed my mind to wander;
a journey on the lotus leaf of life
floating, my mind and I
passing cloudlets of dreams,
some to mature into clouds
some into thunder, some to exit with the rain.
But always a cloudlet or two should remain.
June 04
When Peter was a little boy ...........
When Peter was a little boy his mother said;
"a clumsy boy like you will never learn to swim"
and to this very day big Peter does not swim
When Peter was a little boy his mother said;
"you missed out on co-ordination you will never kick a ball"
and to this very day big Peter does not bounce or kick a ball
When Peter was a little boy his mother said;
"your ears are out of tune with music you will never sing"
and to this very day big Peter does not sing
When Peter was a little boy his mother said;
"God steals the tongues from naughty boys like you"
and to this very day big Peter never talks with God
When Peter was a little boy his mother said;
"cold ice-cream kills the tummy with pneumonia"
and to this very day big Peter never lips the cold of strawberry cream
When Peter was a little boy his mother said;
"your father is a man you will never grow like him"
and to this very day big Peter never digs his son
into the ground never beats his wife has no need
to smash the toys to prove he is the king
and to this very day big Peter knows that soon his voice will sing
Jan-04
the one word poem
(to be read in silence)
Trust
the two word poem
(to be read to an audience)
Trust Me
the three word poem
(to be read in silence)
Why Trust Me
June 04
Froggy the Smile
She opened the door stepped outside and for the first time in days
smiled, a smile like nourishing face cream spread all over.
The postman on his bike stopped, greeted and delivered the letter,
her smile like a tiny frog jumped into his mail bag and he found
himself smiling, rare for the start of his day. Riding along the tiny
frog then hitched another lift on the head of a schoolboy running
to the bus stop who immediately smiled which he couldn’t really
understand as he had left his homework on his bed. Reaching
the stop froggy dived onto the lap of the local bank manager
who also caught the contagious grin unusual for him, so much
so that he couldn’t resist the mars bar in his briecase which he
ate with relish, an addiction normally conducted in the privacy
of his office. Then the smile slid down the handle of a pram
coming to rest on a baby’s nose, instant burst of giggles like
invisible paint coated the bus stop. An old man smiled, the first
in ten years, dormant muscles ached with stirring. Froggy was
pleased with his mornings performance and with a final encore
parachuted ever so lightly landing on the breast of a pretty
young lady who smiled up at the sky. She not only smiled,
but you know the story, she kissed our tiny friend keeping
her fingers crossed and praying.
Well why not? It worked for Mary Donaldson.
June 04
