“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

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






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


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

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

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.


“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


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

“Jasmin” an artwork, a poem and a song.








“Walking On Eggshells”

Walking On Egg-shells.

walking on: eggshells, cornflakes, drawing pins, 
with no sound
grasping at straws
no no-man's-land singing tonight 

only plummeting angels, who whisper fairytales 
as their feathers scatter and their golden and black, curly, flowing hair 
stretches out behind them, 
undisturbed robins, chirruping in its folds and fissures  
and sparkling, elegant strands. 

Plummeting, they all go, 
whistling, at last, no-man's land songs, 

cups, saucers and saucepans 
scattering behind them.


5th Element

“Azure Blue” Picture, Poem and Song

“Aliens 1” by Tony Chapman

 Come In Number Five.
Poem by Tony Chapman - finished.
Come In Number Five.
“Come in number five, your time is up.”
Life is an endless, showprize conveyor-belt
the same a thousand miles back as a thousand miles ahead
and all the prizes glitter
and are useless.
but my memories
are mine
and they torture
just like hope.

Love Has Caught Me … verse 3 (verse 4 in next blog )

then you turn around, I hear the sound of your footsteps as they walk to me

then I touch your hand, and no-man’s land  is no-longer surrounding me 


“Amber” Poem, Picture and Song

Hi. Tony here.

3 Surreal creations by me . .. to ease you, gently, into the new year:

Happy New Year everyone.

Drawing by Tony Chapman.

Bedtime Poem by Tony Chapman.
I'm riding the hint of a wave
as the twisting clouds expand and contract 
and the birds whirl, grey and pink
amongst its billowing whiteness, above me
Mum's overcoat is under the ground  
Dad's overcoat is there too
life is too ludicrous for words
perhaps only writing is real
now to sleep, as the night falls 
and the last-post bugle blows
and the man in the moon closes his eyes.
Now I'm 
up a hill 
blue sky
watching grey and pink birds
flying below me
looking at their feathered backs
an unusual sight.

written by Tony Chapman
Verse 1 only (verse 2 in next blog):

I   tumble and spin, want to get in

but I’m stuck out here in no-man’s land

I knock on you’re door, I want you more

but you’re slipping right through my hand


“cowboy hat number 5” by Tony Chapman.

Spark of Life song by Tony Chapman VERSE 1  …

(VERSE 2 coming soon)

when the road is broken and the path is bent
when words that were spoken didn’t say what they meant
when a rabbit is caught by an inocent eagle’s claw
the spark  of life is still there  to reach for

harmonica thoughts

I started playing harmonica at 15 yrs old. I only just found out I can tune it, replace reeds , keep it going forever it, maintain it. The number of harmonicas I threw away and bought new ones which were very often, also out tune or not in concert pitch. Now I find out I completely wrong …all because of the INTERNET!

🙂 it’s a like miracle actually. I could rarely find a harmonica that would play in tune with the piano. Now I can actually tune them!

Maze Drawings by Tony Chapman

spontaneous writing on my very own blog: hurtles, backfiring, over the crescent of the yellow hill, dazzled by sunflowers and a myriad daisies and yellow tulips and multiple suns and I’ve been brain washed to thinking what I write and draw can never be quite good enough… what do you think?

Poem by Robert Desnos

Robert Desnos

I’ve Dreamed of You So Much

I’ve dreamed of you so much that you’re losing your reality.
Is it already too late for me to embrace your living and breathing body
and to kiss that mouth which is the birthplace of that voice so dear to me?
I’ve dreamed of you so much that my arms, grown accustomed to lying crossed upon my own chest in a desperate attempt to encircle your shadow, might not be able to unfold again to embrace the contours of your body.
And coming face-to-face with the actual incarnation of what has haunted me and ruled me and dominated my life for so many days and years
might very well turn me into a shadow.
Oh equilibriums of the emotional scales!
I’ve dreamed of you so much that it might be too late for me to ever wake up again.
I sleep on my feet, body confronting all the usual phenomena of life and love, and yet when it comes to you,
the only being on the planet who matters to me now,
I can no more touch your face and lips than I can those of the next random passerby.
I’ve dreamed of you so much, have walked and talked and slept so much with your phantom presence that perhaps the only thing left for me to do now
is to become a phantom among phantoms, a shadow a hundred times more shadowy
than that shadow which moves and will go on moving,
stepping lightly and joyfully across the sundial of your life.

A la mystérieuse 1926

Maze Drawing 104 by Tony Chapman