“Chalk”: an artwork, a poem and a song by Tony Chapman






“Moon 23” by Tony Chapman (oil on Canvas)

Plane Poem 3 (part 1)


Plane Poem 3 - I Am Now Writing a Song. 
(Written in an aeroplane, 
above the clouds, 
where the the sun always shines).
Poem by Tony Chapman - finished. 

I Am Now Writing a Song. Plane Poem 3
First Part of Poem  . .. Second part in Next blog.

I am now writing a song.

Look at it jump 
from a pink, cherry-blossom bough.,
its pink, cherub-wings fluttering, 

as it spirals, gently, to the soft green grass below, 

holding a frilly, lady's handkerchief 
to its pink cherub-lips, 
its little fingers raised daintily 
(like posh, English tea-drinkers) 

and a cartoon speech-bubble emerges
from its rose-bud mouth, 

growing larger and larger, 
filled with white space. 

The speech-bubble separates  
from My Song's cherubic lips
and rises into the sky, growing. 

These words appear, inside its perimeters: 

"Hold on to your dreams ... don't ever let go, ever!" 

and a thousand finger-cymbals tinkle, daintily 
and the speech bubble and its words expand 
and stretch across, 
the whole chalk-blue sky, 

horizon to horizon.

1 am now writing a song.

1 am now writing a song.

Look at it jump 
from the canvas-covered, wooden-framed wing 
of a high-flying 1st World War biplane, 

but instead of falling, My Song rises,
up, up, up, 
through the thin stratosphere veil, 
into the dark vacuum of outer-space. 

It heads out, all holds barred, 
toward the moon, 

cartoon jet-flames and movement-parentheses
behind it!

I'm writing, now, a song.

Look at it twist 
like a sixties disco-dancer 
under a glitter-ball, 

like a half-lemon 
twisting on a hand-juicer, 

like a rolling crocodile 
twisting off the leg of a gazelle, 

like the fairground, spiral-slide tower 
of a DNA's double helix, 
(hurtling around its curves on its raffia mat), 

like the kinks in a serial killer's synaptic paths, 

like a corkscrew proudly showing off its cork 
squeaked out of a knocked-over Cabreli wine bottle, 
whose ruby-red wine 
is spreading outwards
like a pool of blood
on a heroine-white, cashmere rug, 

like a dizzy roller coaster ride, 
where the sky and landscape 
spin around you, 
above and below, 
upside down while you remain upright

[Second part of this poem in next Blog.]


Gone to Ground written by Tony Chapman :

Gone to Ground: 
words and music by Tony Chapman (copyriqhted)

F                                                  Em(with an extra HIGH C )
Your wife wants a new couch, you want a photo room
         Eb6                                D7      
Your kids want the beach, you want your paints to bloom
C#mj7                    C                                 F   
There's a noise outside drowning your inner sound
          Ab   Eb                        Bb2                    F
Your true self has gone to ground

You've done your job too long, want to write poetry
Car needs fixing, you want to draw the trees
That puppy once so sweet is a hell hound
Your true self has gone to ground

             Gm                Am                    Bb                 C
But its not too late, never too late, even if your ninety-eight
F#                  Ebm            C             C+
You can still turn round fate, and open the gate

instrumental over verse

Duty blackmails, you drag your feet each day
Coulds, shoulds, whirlpool in your way
Where's that child so young and the joy he'd found
Your true self has gone to ground
Your true self has gone to ground

Agh…..(unaccompanied to the end) 
Your true self has gone to ground
Your true self has gone to ground

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