Tony Chapman-Art Music Writing

my subconscious is working over time. .

quite overwhelmed .. . well at least I feel that way: my subconscious is working over time. .

My flow is penny-buffeting and my Eiderdown is spread. See the little soldiers marching across the hills and valleys of its patchwork quilt spread.

If you listen carefully

you can hear a tiny drum beat a soldier boy is beating and the tiny soldiers march in time and a tiny violinist plays the Last Post, but its very hard to hear because she is so small.

A tractor appears

at the foot of the quilt and winds his tiny way up a valley at the foot-of the bed, then across my feet where pistons pump us forward, up the Creek of No Return.

And the circumspect kindness sends forth those without scruples…

The toothpaste headed ones, from the Co-Op shop on the High street of Liegh on Sea,

No breadwinners there, only pied-wagtails, wagging their tails, after insects.

No bearded ladies there

only triumphant clocks

chiming out their victory cries

and do these doodles I am scribbling amount to much in the grand scheme of things?

and do these petty scrawlings make a difference to the Planet Earth?

maybe they ARE the Planet Earth? Did you ever think of that?

Maybe I am the world.

Maybe you are the world .. .

… and beyond our sensory perception areas/zones,

there is nothing!

Writing this, eases me. Maybe it doesn’t amount to much, but in the middle of the night when my worries clamour for attention, writing these words eases me…

… when my worries try to be eased, but there is nothing I can do… to ease them, no solution I can spread out before them…

then writing these

words eases me.

.