This page title is self explanatory; it's the little poems and jottings that pop into my head as I go about my normal mundane household chores (or not, I hate housework). Please respect my copyright on these poems. They may not be great, but they mean a lot to me.
April 9th, 2011.
I wrote this poem some time ago, and I would now like to dedicate it to Darla. She is going through a rather tough time at the moment, and so I thought that this may help. It is called:
Grow a garden in your mind, nurture it with care,
scatter seeds of perfumed plants and flowers everywhere,
In one section cultivate a stand of sighing trees,
Their brilliant autumn foliage dancing softly in the breeze.
Divide it by a chuckling brook which to a fall does flow,
and stock it full of golden fish, scales flashing in sun's glow.
Fill your woods with soothing sounds of bees and birds in flight,
of spiders spinning crystal webs and moths on wind at night.
In the center of your woodlands, make a hollow filled with leaves,
where you can lay and dream away, 'neath nature's rustling eves.
Now when your troubles multiply and problems need release,
take a trip into your garden, there to find some inner peace.
Copyright 1995 Nola Koch.
April 4th 2011.
We will shortly be leaving on our yearly excursion to the North of Western Australia, up near Broome. The fish are calling me again, plus I am suffering from painting withdrawals too. Have to pack the paints away in the caravan, ready for the trip. They'll be coming out as soon as we arrive at Barn Hill. I was waxing poetic yesterday and came up with a little ditty about fishing. It goes like this:
The warm moist air of the tropics clings and wraps itself all around,
Beads of sweat form on my skin and follow a course to the ground.
A zephyr of breeze, not enough to give ease to the undying strength of the sun,
At the boat we await a pause in the surf, to finally make our run.
There’s a lull in the waves, a moments respite and now it’s time to go.
The pusher’s push my motor starts, and my man at the bow starts to row,
We pass over the break and it’s a relief that the surf is behind us for now,
And we motor away on this wonderful day to a spot where a fish may be found.
I feel the wind in my face, the sun on my back, the salt spray rise in the air,
I hear the thumping of surf as it rolls on the beach, and the cry of a seagull somewhere.
And across the water drifts the sound that I’ve been waiting to hear,
“I’ve got one! A beauty,” scales flash, tail thumps - It’s the first bluebone of the year.
When the tide's right we land on the beach and wait in the queue for a table.
The fish in the box, a knife in the hand, we'll clean them as soon as we're able.
What a wonderful way to finish the day, a cold beer shared amongst friends.
And the stories revise; the fish grow in size round the campfire at the days end.
copyright Nola Koch 2011.
This one is about complacency and how a lot of us, myself included, tend to let life get in the way of friendship. How we tend to think about doing something rather than doing it. How we say "I must ring Jodi, or Trish or Bill", but can never find the time. We can end up very lonely people if we don't make the effort.
Letters In My Mind.
True friend, how have you been.
It's been an age since I have seen your face or heard a word.
It's absurd if you stop to think that in a wink,
you could be at my side or I at yours.
A pause. Was that the 'phone?
It only rings when I'm not home,
How could it be.
Me? I"m fine. Nothing's new.
The days go on as they tend to,
time all planned out.
I doubt that we could change this scheduled life,
unless by accident or strife.
But who wants that?
A chat. Ah. That would be nice.
The 'phone, a laugh, some free advice.
"oh she's not there?"
"Gone where? I'll try tomorrow."
That is of course if I can borrow
some of my scheduled time to spend
with my true friend.
Copyright 1995 Nola Koch.
March 10th, 2011.
Wouldn't it be wonderful to be GREAT at something. To be able to achieve GREATNESS in an area of your life that means the a lot to you.
I guess a lot of us secretly wish for this, I know I do, especially when I paint. I am my biggest critic. When people say to me "I really like that painting", I tend to think to myself "yes, but he or she doesn't know very much about art and therefore, can't see all the mistakes".
I think I have had a bit of a revelation of late - I have learned acceptance. Some of us are born for GREATNESS, with such huge talent that the daubing of paint on paper or canvas comes naturally, without effort. Others aspire to GREATNESS and constantly criticize themselves for their lack of natural ability.
This is where I was at until recently. Criticizing my work and questioning why I couldn't do better, binning a lot of paintings, which really were not deserving of the trash can and very UNHAPPY and STRESSED at the end of a painting session.
I don't know how it happened, or even exactly when it happened, but somewhere over the last few months, I have learned to accept my level of ability. I will still try to achieve a better standard with the passing of time, but I am not beating myself up anymore and am reasonably happy with my end results.
Certainly I can see the progression of my skills by comparing my first paintings with my later ones, and that is good. I hope my skills increase over time and I expect they probably will. But my days of wanting all that RIGHT NOW are over. I now come to the end of a painting session feeling as I should, relaxed, happy and uplifted and I know I am painting better because of it.
I accept that I will never be a GREAT artist, I probably won't ever be a really good artist, but what I do pleases me and that is not good, it's GREAT.
Cheers for now, Nola.