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

ABOUT ME AND MY ART

Painting

Poem

Song

Painting

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

Plane Poem 3 (part 1)

Poem

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.

1.
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, 
spanning 
the whole chalk-blue sky, 

horizon to horizon.

1 am now writing a song.

2.
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, 
parachute-less, 

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!

3.
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.]

Song

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


“Rosewood” an artwork, a poem and a song by Tony Chapman.

ABOUT ME AND MY ART

Painting

Poem

Song

Painting

“Dancers kissing” by Tony Chapman (oil on Canvas)

Poem


Andromeda’s Cave – poem by Tony Chapman.
Andromeda’s Cave

1.
Unbearable sadness. 
25 years: GONE ... please God ...

2.
I pleasantly wave:
 
from the ditch 
to the chandelier,
from the hemp sacks (empty and piled high), 
to the silk,
from the gloating, uninformed ones,
to the big turquoise bird.
and the tiny scarlet bird, 
(sharing the same tree).

I happily sit at the feet of giants 
and count my blessings 
and pour them into my tiny silk bag, 
and put it in my inside pocket for safe keeping.
 
I pleasantly turn in my sleep and dream 
of heavy curtains being drawn back
to reveal a morning sun.

" Hello, Sun," I say. 

"Greetings from Andromeda’s Cave," 
  the Sun answers.




Song

“First Place” by Tony Chapman

First Place:  words and music by Tony Chapman

I'm gonna make me free, I'm gonna make me be 
What I wanted to be in the first place
I'm in the first place now

Everyone I teamed up with 
I thought would make things right
They must surely know the answer, 
help me see the light
But I stayed stuck at the beginning, 
now I’m on my feet and I'm singing

I'm gonna make me free, I'm gonna make me be 
What I wanted to be in the first place
I'm in the first place now

I tried out what the government said, 
I tried out television
I tried out what newspapers read, 
I let them cloud my vision
I tried to be a rebel without a cause, 
now I'm coming back,  through the front doors

Listen to your soul, she knows best
Someone said the mind will turn on you if its needs are not expressed

Inst:  

I listened to my parents, I listened to the teachers
I listened to my girlfriend, I listened to the preachers
A good Christian boy, I never sinned
Now I'm only going to listen to the wind

I'm gonna make me free, I'm gonna make me be 
What I wanted to be in the first place
I'm in the first place now
I'm in the first place now,  I'm in the first place now

“Amethyst” Picture, Poem and Song

Portrait (oil on canvas) by Tony Chapman

 Ireland Holiday. 
Poem by Tony Chapman - finished.
 
Ireland Holiday.
 
All good things
come
to an end.
 
Sheer:
vicious
barbed wire
rusty edges.
 
A happy time was had by all
all good things come to an end. 
 
Bare your teeth
bite the hand
that doles out good times
then takes them back.
 
Put:
the sunset:
into a black, lead-lined box.
Bury it out on the mud flats.
 
Put:
the grey stone hills
the curlew's call
the rock wall
the torn sky
the seabird‘s cry
the warm wind
the salt sea
the soft arm
the breath of life
the embrace
the laughter
that releases
dry leaves and flying bullets
 
into a black box
(lead-lined for preservation)
and bury it
far out ,
on the mud flats
deep
so it won't be found
for a million years
 
then
wander back
to the concrete jungle:
twisting of limbs
paintscraper of skins
sandpaper of bones.
 
All good things
 
come
 
to an end.
 
                              (Ireland).
 
 

Verse 4 of Love Has Caught Me …. verse 5 in next Blog

then I meet your eyes, and all the skies they no longer cave-in on me

and I touch your skin, you let me in and I’m living in exstacy

LOVE HAS CAUGHT ME

“Turquoise” Picture, Poem and Song



Picnic Poem 
by Tony Chapman. 
 

having a picnic 
high up, on a vertical wall

we sit horizontally, 
watching our hard-boiled eggs
fall

"Whoops, there goes the jam, 
and the packets of chrisps" 

trying to drink orange juice,
but it pours out of the mug
in gravity's general direction.

having a picnic under the sea
the fish swim by and smile at me
then my salad floats away,
my raw food crackers too
and a friendly octopus
drinks my orange juice

having a picnic on the cold north pole
my orange juice is frozen solid
so I make a hole 

in the ice 

to fish through ... 

“LOVE HAS CAUGHT ME” by Tony Chapman VERSE 2 … (verse 3 in next blog)


2nd verse of “Love Has Caught Me”

I’m falling so fast, nothing will last,

I’m tipping right off the edge

I’m walking on air, then I despair

I’m slipping right off the ledge

Love has caught me

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