Thinking About You

MAY BE SOMEDAY......

GREY DAYS!!

Grey days !

 Grey days always make me think of walks taken
Around my granny's Grasmere on the misty mornings.
I don't know why such thoughts come to me.
 Perhaps it's my constant reading of Wordsworth  shapes them.
But as I look out our windows on these gray winter mornings,
And , oh,it's really enchanting!...
The dark, misty blue, with inky black trees.
They as if beckon me to draw something!
Sometimes my thoughts precede my drawings,
And other times, the drawings precede the thoughts!
 But it all works together to transform an otherwise dull gray day
 To something evocative, romantic, enchanting, or just whimsical.
 Am I merely living in a fantasy world in my head and in my sketchbooks?
 I don't think so. I think this is a necessary element to living fully,
To drinking the juice from each and every day we're given.
 To take the ordinary, the gray, the not-so-desirable,
And transform it in some way to extraordinary, vibrant, and delightful!!

                                      -Portia Burton

TWILIGHT SONG

The tepid twilight gently bids adieu,
The mist descends of greyish hue.
A sudden hush deepens the puzzled air,
As the wind catches its breath in prayer.
Slowly and silently arrives the night,
Clad in star-studded milky moonlight.
The moonbeams reach for me, and I know
That to their beckoning I will follow.
They will lead me beyond the North Star,
Where my friendly fairies are.
I will anchor my soul on that shore,
Then the worldly worries will hurt me no more.

                         .....Portia

THE TREE OF CREATIVITY

THE TREE OF CREATIVITY

I lean out of the window, in a brief interlude of  peace,
 just to gaze up at the winter trees. .
those leafless trees, those lovely lines of their bare branches...
As if they hold wonderful shapes in the spaces between their forks!
Some vague idea begins to form in my mind.
 I start searching, thinking about these spaces and the shapes that 'inhabit' them.
 Those formless shapes take hold of my mind and won't leave. .
Next day I rise early to search further.Now the trees look different,
yet their branches are still holding those shapes for me:
The shapes  inside their lined spaces.Oh, now I see!
 All these semicircles are actually some invisible doodles in those trees,
 And they beckon me to find them out and copy on my sketck-book!
I obey them and start drawing:
That tree that sits right in the center of the pavement,
with some more off the path,as if looking askance...
Why am I drawing this? I still can't make it out.
I suddenly remember my friend Sandra. Her oval face come to my mind.
And I start drawing her face but without details like eyes and nose...
Just then I see a'balloon' in that oval shape which I've drawn!..
And next I imagine a balloon arrested in the branches of that yonder tree!!
A balloon! Oh! What fun! I then draw a line from that 'balloon' to give it a tail,
And, lo! it lifts itself off the tree , to float freely and reach for the sky!!
I make haste and start to  paint that balloon in watercolour.
 Then add more brush-strokes to have some light tones and some vibrant.
 I am still searching to give form to something 'invisible' on my sheet,
Enjoying the process of searching all the while.....
 I 'finish' the little painting and wonder what it is exactly?
 Did this drawing help me to get those imaginery shapes out of my mind?
 Or, has  this 'searching' been without any  answer? Even if it is so,That's okay.
As I  rinse the coloured water out of my bowl and clean the brushes,
 I wonder,as usual a bit frustrated with myself ,
 Why I do pose such riddles to myself and then search for their answers
through different modes of creativity?
Why do I do even different types of drawings and  paintings?
Why can't I stick with just one thing?
 Just oils or just  watercolor? Or just pastel? Just portraits? just landscapes?
 Or JUST ONE THING?
And then it hits me full force: THIS IS ME!
 This drawing-It's my tree! the tree of my imagination!
 Many more coloured balloons are perched on its branches,
 Waiting for the right breeze of 'brain-wave'to come along and nudge them free.
Each balloon is different from the other,
And each one waits to be loosened either by the brush or pencil or whatever,
 To rise gently and softly and alight on my blank sheet or canvas
In a totally different 'avatar', say, like the face of Sandra!!
I'm no longer frustrated with myself.
 Realisation dawns upon me. It's all okay to have these differing ways of creating.
I am myself the tree of creativity,and there are many more balloons there,
Perched upon the branches of ideas and waiting to be released;
Though  I can't say what each of them is going to be.

......Portia Burton

IT IS DIFFICULT.....

From her sick-bed,  she said to me:
'It is difficult to remain passive,
And not to be happy
On seeing the sky
Through the rectangle of the window,
And feeling its blue infinity,
Along with the merriment of the clouds;
And on knowing the blooming of a flower
From a sudden whiff of fragrance
That comes  on the wings of the wind,
And then to silently hum in the mind
A pleasant poem of Wordsworth,
In spite of the gloom spread all over here,
In this drab hospital,
Under the shadow of lurking death,
Which keeps waiting for one last breath.'

                         ...Portia

'I AM IN YOUR WORDS'

While I am reading my new poem,
Several days after its completion,
It strangely doesn't seem to be mine,
But a reflection of someone else.

Alarmed, I search it more deeply
And get more restless when I see
A pair of eyes different from my own
Staring intently at me, and then,..

..As if I hear my mother's voice,
 Calling me out from those lines,
 'O, why do you search for me elsewhere,
 I am in your words, can't you hear?'

                           ....Portia Burton

KEEPING THE VIGIL

This year is fading away,
The new year will come along,
But I am unable to rejoice,
And can't sing a merry song.

Around me the gloom is spread
Like a dark curtain,
And except the ticking of the clock,
Nothing else is certain.

I am holding someone's hand,
Will someone hold mine?
Oh, for an assurance
How much do I pine!

Perhaps this gloom will lift,
And my worries will be gone,
I have just to keep vigil,
And wait for the dawn.

                .......Portia