Blog Post 23rd June 2020

I sat outside in the early morning sunshine composing my blog. The Robin redbreast instantly arrived to say hello and perched on a chair, allowing me to take some photographs. The resident community of wild birds together with a squirrel, quickly followed to feed on the crumbs of a biscuit I crumbled and spread over the patio.

BLOG POST 20th June 2020

Farming example

We travelled along the A17 through rural Lincolnshire. It never ceases to amaze me how industrious the rural English are. We travelled through many well tended fields with a great variety of crops in the process of cultivation. The variety of houses and farm buildings with small shacks and sheds attached with many farming implements on display is impressive. We crossed a bridge over the river Welland, in Boston Lincolnshire. The river was satisfyingly in full flow thanks to the generous rainfall we have recently experienced. There was quite a lot of farm traffic along the road with many small  thriving businesses alongside the farming activity and industry.

The traffic became very heavy when we reached Sutton bridge where we were held up for quite a while due to road works and a three way traffic lights system.

 We stopped for lunch at the Chestnut tea rooms, a thriving little cafe attached to a large  garden centre.There was also a farm shop that sold fresh vegetables that were obviously provided by the surrounding farms The cafe is made up of a number of extensions to a large house including a conservatory where the the food was served, taking in the beautiful rural views.

 Margaret and I recently visited the highlands of Scotland where we were overwhelmed with the panoramic views. The English rural views seem to be unique in their unruly layout and different aspect wherever one looks. There is certainly a semblance of order in the appearance of the well cultivated scenery that betrays the boundary lines of separate farms that obviously go back generations.

Bird Box

  In early spring Margaret and I decided to remove and replace an old bird box that has seen the arrival and the fledging of several families of bluetits over the years. Almost immediately we were delighted to see a pair of birds visiting the new bird box and busily flying to and fro.    

  About three weeks ago we noticed the birds had disappeared and there was a sad lack of activity. Today I gingerly opened the box to discover about 15 tiny eggs in a beautifully constructed cozy nest. I took a photo of the nest and then explored the internet to discover what to do next.

 We were advised to leave well alone, at least until early September as another pair of birds may remove the eggs and start a family. We were both impressed with this beautiful, intricately built nest. We did wonder how a tiny pair of birds would manage to bring up a family of 15. Obviously this is another example of Nature overcompensating and relying on the survival of the fittest few chicks.  

VISION OF THE FUTURE

VISION OF THE FUTURE
by John Yeo

The future is just a blink of the eye
We have not yet reached the next blink.
The blink just gone by is history
A few blinks in the past I took a breath.
When my eyes opened to a harsh brightness
Dazzling my senses as I came through
A red haze of darkness to where?

The eyes that foresee the future
mirror the magic of the past.
Eyes that once blinked attached to lives,
That built this present we inhabit.
When I sleep or my eyes are closed.
I inhabit a world of not now.
From suspended animation I wake
when I blink my way into the future.

The blind live in a magical present
built by patient sensual impression.
A future through the eye of a blind eye
Is darkness illuminated through thought.
Constructed by sensual expression,
Built by pure empathetic impression.
“Amazing Grace how sweet the sound,
I was blind but now I foresee”.
The future is just a blink of the eye.

©️ John Yeo

WHERE TO NEXT?

My response today to Doris Emmett’s Post-a-Day for May

WHERE TO NEXT?
by John Yeo

I often ponder on things that matter,
Sometimes incredibly simple ideas.
For example, it occurred to me today
Can anyone ever be completely happy?

A silly thought but very real
There is always something else in view,
the moment dictates how you feel
Overwhelming happiness is never true.

I feel very happy, although I have wishes,
If I have wishes is happiness complete?
Complete happiness would be mischievous.
There is always something, a goal to beat.

If there is a God, when I pass away,
Who asked then and there. ”Are you happy?”
I would have to think very hard, then say,
Life was good, I enjoyed the challenge.
“Where do we go from here?”

©️ John Yeo

THE MURGAL TREE

My response today to Doris Emmett’s Post-a-Day for May

THE MURGAL TREE
by John Yeo

The Murgal Tree quietly moved in the wafts of the imaginary breezes in Teresa’s mind. He had been rehearsing an important piece of information in the depths of his voluminous trunk.
‘I know I’m unique, talking trees are not accepted by the rootless ones. Teresa’s parents must learn to accept our existence or we are nothing.’

Teresa broke into his thought stream. ‘How can we go about that? No one will ever believe us.’

The tree’s branches trembled visibly as he replied. ‘I have no idea, Tess. Perhaps if we can find another sensitive mind, we will be able to convince them.’

Teresa smiled and suddenly thought, ‘What about my Uncle Peter? I swear he is the same, he has been in and out of hospitals because he hears strange words.’

‘We must try Tess! Bring him tomorrow and we will let him in on our secret. We must do something or I will disappear.’

‘Are you sure Murgy? What if he doesn’t understand?’

‘We must give it a try Tess bring him tomorrow.’

That evening Tess and her Uncle were walking in the large gardens at the back of their house.

  ‘Uncle, do you believe trees could ever talk?’

‘Anything is possible Tess, Why do you ask?’

   ‘Will you come to meet someone with me tomorrow please Uncle?’

‘Of course Tess! Who will we be meeting?’

  ‘It’s a surprise Uncle!’

  The next day, a brilliant Sun was shining from a blue sky. Birds were singing and flying to and fro in the woods as Teresa led her Uncle Peter to the lake where the Murgal tree was located.
Teresa stopped under the tree and thought loudly,

‘Hello, Murgy!’

‘Hello Tess!’ replied the tree using the power of thought.
Uncle Peter looked startled but he never said a word.

‘ Did you hear that Uncle Peter?’

‘No Tess! What do you mean? Did I hear what?’

  Teresa looked sad and disappointed.

‘What can you hear Tess?’ Asked her Uncle. ‘Please don’t say you hear voices. They will never understand. I know.’

‘OK Uncle Peter, I think we should go home now.’

A few days later Tess arrived home,
broken-hearted, in tears.
‘Someone has cut down and killed the Murgal tree,’ she wailed.

Uncle Peter looked away and looked unhappy, he said. ‘Perhaps it’s for the best Tess? Talking trees can get people into a lot of trouble. No one seems to take it seriously, I know!
It might have been cut down in that fierce storm yesterday.’

Tess never recovered from her sadness and she became known as the lady of the woods. Ever hunting and haunting the glades searching for another friend to replace the Murgal tree.
©️ John Yeo

BLOOD ON THE TRAIL

My response today to Doris Emmett’s Post-a-Day for May

BLOOD ON THE TRAIL

The sirens sounded as we fled,
Our escape was discovered quite quickly.
I knew I would have to break free
From the cruelty of false imprisonment.
Men on horseback with dogs in pursuit
We fled through the marshes in haste.
Snarling,vicious dogs on our trail
With sharp fangs that thirsted for blood.

We came to a fast-flowing stream.
I jumped in the water to confuse the hounds
I had lost touch with Ben in my haste.
Suddenly a terrifying scream resounded
An ear-piercing, soul-shattering sound
An animal-like death call that carried
And echoed for miles around.
Then silence as a throat is torn out.

Just the sound of the hounds growling,
Snarling and fighting for flesh.
I hide here frozen, petrified with fear
Pain and shock as the hunters pass.
With Ben chained, captured and beaten.
Bloodstained and shaking with fear
The hounds have a stag, half-eaten.
I make my escape and get clear.l


©️ John Yeo

Why did I not become an artist?

Why did I not become an artist?

I love adding the detail to a very fine drawing  
Then painting a picture for sensual pleasure.
I love the satisfaction of producing real art
The pure creative pleasure of building a picture
A feeling of accomplishment at the completion.
Positive reinforcement of my own interpretation
Producing a likeness,  a creation of beauty.
The application of paint in beautiful colours.
To produce a picture to match the minds eye.
The relaxation has benefits beyond measure
Blocking out mundane thought by contemplation
Of the subject, and the total intense concentration
Leading to a final interpretation. Hard to resist
The question. Why did I not become an artist?

©️ John Yeo

Shakespeare

My response today to Doris Emmett’s Post-a-Day for May

TO A DEAD PLAYWRIGHT
by John Yeo

You will never come to know me in my lifetime.
I feel I know you incredibly well.
I have read and admired much of your life’s work;
Your powerful magic will stay with me to my end.
Reinforcing my humble hopes with high aspiration.
Maturing with the years like a rare vintage wine.

The beauty of your verse and your wide comprehension
Of life, and life’s changing, ever changing situations .
Kings and Queens with their hopes and dreams
Lovers and clowns, tragedy with comedy entwined.
The language of mystical life, hopes and fears
Sowing seeds in my thought, building high inspiration.

The players weave your silken web of dreams sincere,
Teasing the groundlings and the intellectual elite.
With exquisite laughter, impossible expectations.
Poetry and plays enduring four hundred years.
Love and wit, expressed in rare language
Drama with wonder, blood, cruelty and fears.

The irresistible, controversial, William Shakespeare.

©️ John Yeo

SCI-FAE

My response today to Doris Emmett’s Post-a-Day for May

SCI-FAE
by John Yeo

  I came to consciousness in a haze of non recognition of where I was, who I was and how I had arrived here.
Everything was strangely unrealistic, unusual, unrecognisable a colourful arena in a world of kaleidoscopic strangeness. As if a disturbed artist had poured and continued to pour his paint in rivulets of colour on an ever changing landscape. An orange flare dazzled the permanent light that shone from the multi-coloured suns lighting up the distant horizon with a green fire that seemed to be all-consuming. Billows of purple steam  sounded loudly, hissing and spluttering as blue liquid stone flowed down a yellow ochre liquid bed on a river of jagged rocky liquid. There was a silent crash of electric thunder as a winged figure sped up from the bowels of the middle sky. Emerging from a point that mystically merged with the pink of a rising horizon and the disappearance of the future into the past. A point in time that was midway between now and then.
  “Welcome to the world of Sci Fae!”  Boomed a falsetto base sound, that seemed to convey communication as if a note composed of a base clef swimming in an ocean of liquid soprano had arrived together to assault the ears with pure music.
  Then a loud buzzing as an alarm sounded on the machine that lay in waiting. An information loaded gadget waiting for the button to be pressed to silence the alarm.
   I tore myself away from my dreamworld of the night, to face the familiar mundane music of snarling, honking, beeping traffic that I would certainly become a part of soon. An alarming prospect indeed.
“Morning Darling!” I mumbled as I dragged myself out of bed.

©️ John Yeo