A snippet from my mum's latest article:
We are a resourceful species and we must now more than ever use our richly diverse cultural and intellectual resources to the full whilst nurturing and sustaining them. Exploitation of these resources results in intellectual and cultural conflict or deadening sameness and desertification, much as it does in the natural environment.
[Mary Lidgate, Theatre4Business, Nov '08]
Tuesday, 11 November 2008
Emotional Journey #2
When was the last time you had a good dance? My most positive and lovely friends Fraser and Katy like to dance and I don't think that I do it enough, any more. We have to drum up the energy from somewhere!Emotional Journey #1
Quick art using Amelie's felt-tips! I use these drawings to get my head from domesticity to creativity, which is not always easy. This and the next one are inspired by my mum's article for Theatre4business on leadership, so I have called them Generating Change. Very grand, but just some fun!SeaSky: Part 4
Then they hit on the very thing
(As Murgles love to dance and sing)
A spangled stage the Murglets set,
And all their parents happy met.
"I have a story great to tell
So listen good, O listen well ..."
"Within the ground filled with their stinking grime,
Their water flowed and was poisoned with slime ..."
"Vast and sick it gurgling sighs
And grumbling coils 'neath liquid skies ..."
"Silent, waiting growing fat,
Dangerous as a plaguey rat ..."
"Gobbling up with wrathful glee,
A silent, surging, invisible sea!"
And as a the curtain finally fell
Their came a hushed and heavy still,
When breath and air were tightly held,
Then with a sudden RUSH expelled.
It picked them up in cold embrace
They felt its breath on every face,
The snag of claws upon the clothes
A monstrous wrath before them rose
Its poisoned lolling tongue uncurled,
Great fists of dust it tossed and hurled.
Slowly, puffy, the tempest calmed
To gently stroke where it had harmed,
And in that moment Murgles saw
The yellowed eyes, the slackened jaw,
And recognised this whispish beast
That stroked their hair and pricked their skin
That they breathed out and then breathed in.
That cooled them when the sun was hot,
And fanned their fires when it was not.
That carried scent of flowers and honey,
That brought the rain,
That watered the crops,
That made them life, and joy ... and money.
So do you think the Murgles did
What they had been so strongly bid?
Do you think that they were able
To save the whispish air,
And save the deep, brown bog,
And save the earth that puts food on their table?
The End
(As Murgles love to dance and sing)
A spangled stage the Murglets set,
And all their parents happy met.
"I have a story great to tell
So listen good, O listen well ..."
"Within the ground filled with their stinking grime,
Their water flowed and was poisoned with slime ..."
"Vast and sick it gurgling sighs
And grumbling coils 'neath liquid skies ..."
"Silent, waiting growing fat,
Dangerous as a plaguey rat ..."
"Gobbling up with wrathful glee,
A silent, surging, invisible sea!"
And as a the curtain finally fell
Their came a hushed and heavy still,
When breath and air were tightly held,
Then with a sudden RUSH expelled.
It picked them up in cold embrace
They felt its breath on every face,
The snag of claws upon the clothes
A monstrous wrath before them rose
Its poisoned lolling tongue uncurled,
Great fists of dust it tossed and hurled.
Slowly, puffy, the tempest calmed
To gently stroke where it had harmed,
And in that moment Murgles saw
The yellowed eyes, the slackened jaw,
And recognised this whispish beast
That stroked their hair and pricked their skin
That they breathed out and then breathed in.
That cooled them when the sun was hot,
And fanned their fires when it was not.
That carried scent of flowers and honey,
That brought the rain,
That watered the crops,
That made them life, and joy ... and money.
So do you think the Murgles did
What they had been so strongly bid?
Do you think that they were able
To save the whispish air,
And save the deep, brown bog,
And save the earth that puts food on their table?
The End
Monday, 10 November 2008
SeaSky: Part 3
And whilst this poision spread below
Another threat began to grow ...
To fuel their light, machines and heat
That kept them safe and snug and neat,
Murgles melted rocks as black as granite
That littered their beautiful little planet.
With wondrous ease they picked them up,
Chucked them into the melting cup,
Where rocks to fiery liquid run,
Bright and hot as the distant sun.
But in these magicky lifesome stones
There lived a gas that made its home
Within the chambers of this hard stuff,
'Till released by melting in a tiny puff
It phantom-like leaves its dark lair,
To hide within the whispy air.
For years and years it floated so,
Not seen or heard it steadily grew.
Silent, waiting, growing fat,
dangerous as a plaguey rat.
By instinct the Truffles were steadily led
And found the Murgles all abed,
Protected from the cool, dark night
Their homes all glowed with heat and light,
Whilst gases crept across the floors
And round their snuffling noses paused,
Then silent snuck out, out, OUT round windows and doors.
Sucking, furling it gathered there
Filling, swelling, bloating the air.
It built and rose, wave upon wave,
Smothering life that once it gave,
Gobbling up with wrathful glee,
A silent, surging, invisible sea.
This the tiny Truffles saw.
They felt the tug and heard the roar.
Knew that whilst Murgles lay abed,
This wave would crash upon their heads.
So round the houses gathered they
Outside the windows where Murgles lay,
And through the boiling, angry sky
They started up a warning cry.
In one such house all snug and curled
There lay a little Murgle girl,
Who heard the Truffles as they cried
And yawning rose to look outside.
Face to face she came with one,
Eyes ablaze in the rising sun.
Reflected in those luminous eyes
She saw the smoky, strangled skies
All across the houses and bog
She saw this choking, evil smog.
Faded colour and faded light
O it made a sorrisome sight!
In the morning bright and fair
She told her friends of the suffering air.
She told them as they gathered round her,
Of a sky so full it nearly drowned her.
The children talked and pondered long,
On the things that they were doing wrong.
What could they boys and girls arrange
To turn the tide ...
And stop the rot ...
And steer upon a sea of change?
Another threat began to grow ...
To fuel their light, machines and heat
That kept them safe and snug and neat,
Murgles melted rocks as black as granite
That littered their beautiful little planet.
With wondrous ease they picked them up,
Chucked them into the melting cup,
Where rocks to fiery liquid run,
Bright and hot as the distant sun.
But in these magicky lifesome stones
There lived a gas that made its home
Within the chambers of this hard stuff,
'Till released by melting in a tiny puff
It phantom-like leaves its dark lair,
To hide within the whispy air.
For years and years it floated so,
Not seen or heard it steadily grew.
Silent, waiting, growing fat,
dangerous as a plaguey rat.
By instinct the Truffles were steadily led
And found the Murgles all abed,
Protected from the cool, dark night
Their homes all glowed with heat and light,
Whilst gases crept across the floors
And round their snuffling noses paused,
Then silent snuck out, out, OUT round windows and doors.
Sucking, furling it gathered there
Filling, swelling, bloating the air.
It built and rose, wave upon wave,
Smothering life that once it gave,
Gobbling up with wrathful glee,
A silent, surging, invisible sea.
This the tiny Truffles saw.
They felt the tug and heard the roar.
Knew that whilst Murgles lay abed,
This wave would crash upon their heads.
So round the houses gathered they
Outside the windows where Murgles lay,
And through the boiling, angry sky
They started up a warning cry.
In one such house all snug and curled
There lay a little Murgle girl,
Who heard the Truffles as they cried
And yawning rose to look outside.
Face to face she came with one,
Eyes ablaze in the rising sun.
Reflected in those luminous eyes
She saw the smoky, strangled skies
All across the houses and bog
She saw this choking, evil smog.
Faded colour and faded light
O it made a sorrisome sight!
In the morning bright and fair
She told her friends of the suffering air.
She told them as they gathered round her,
Of a sky so full it nearly drowned her.
The children talked and pondered long,
On the things that they were doing wrong.
What could they boys and girls arrange
To turn the tide ...
And stop the rot ...
And steer upon a sea of change?
Saturday, 8 November 2008
SeaSky: Part 2
So clever brightly beasties they
Did find themselves another way,
To clean their homes all spanky clean
They made a rubbish-cube machine.
And so their filthsome rubbish turned
To ash and dust as it was burned,
Then into giant cubes encased
And shot out into distant space.
And those old pits they were covered well,
To take away the sight and smell.
But ...
Within the ground filled with their stinking grime,
Their water flowed and was poisoned with slime.
And in this filth of festering rubbish and grot
Their crops started to wither and rot.
When Murgles' work and singing stopped
The Truffles climbed to high hilltops,
The groaning earth beneath their paws
A living beast that once had roared.
Now vast and sick it gurgling sighs
And grumbling coils 'neath liquid skies.
Did find themselves another way,
To clean their homes all spanky clean
They made a rubbish-cube machine.
And so their filthsome rubbish turned
To ash and dust as it was burned,
Then into giant cubes encased
And shot out into distant space.
And those old pits they were covered well,
To take away the sight and smell.
But ...
Within the ground filled with their stinking grime,
Their water flowed and was poisoned with slime.
And in this filth of festering rubbish and grot
Their crops started to wither and rot.
When Murgles' work and singing stopped
The Truffles climbed to high hilltops,
The groaning earth beneath their paws
A living beast that once had roared.
Now vast and sick it gurgling sighs
And grumbling coils 'neath liquid skies.
Friday, 7 November 2008
Layney Wayney
Did you know that my sister is amazing? Here she is ...
Layney, did you realise that the link for your 'Living with Lions' site reads lionconservation/conervinglions? I like the idea of conerving lions rather that conserving lions, it sounds like a verb - to conerv: conerv, conerved, conerving. Ideas anyone on potential meanings to this new verb? Layne, could be the new subject for your PhD??x
SeaSky: Part 1
I wrote this pre-children and would be keen on some feedback. I am currently searching for an illustrator to collaborate with to try and get it published, but it needs some brisk editorial work, I think. You would think that, as an editor, I could do that myself, but it is not so with your own work. Too much ego involved!
Good and splendid day to you,
Settle for there's much to do.
I have a story great to tell
So listen good, o listen well,
For in the twists of this old rhyme
There lies the secret of our time.
Cast your mind like a vast net
And catch my words lest you forget.
When all your days of youth are gone
Remember well and pass this on.
On a planet of pinkish hue
And water flowed both clear and blue,
There lived some creatures blazy bright
That worked machines both day and night,
To heat the whispish air ...
And till the rich brown bog ...
And fill the dark with golden light.
Whilst in the tunnels of their soil,
In earth as cold and black as oil
Things did shuffle 'mongst the roots.
Amongst these deepest rooty holes,
As snuffly blind and soft as moles.
These small things were Truffles called,
That silent crept and unseen crawled.
In the blackness of their day
They closed their eyes and smelt their way.
They used the senses of their paws -
The life of earth beneath the claws.
But after every fall of night
They crept into the bright moonlight
And blinky opened up their eyes
To set them on the twinkling skies -
All silv'ry filmed and big as moons,
Curved and bright as polished spoons.
Under blanket of the night
They sniffed the air that all was right,
And listened for the tapping trees,
The whispering wind and tunneling bees,
The secrets of the earth laid bare,
The tides within the shifting air
That sometimes needly pulled and bit
Or stroked and gently folded them in it.
Sun and moon these creatures share,
The same soil, same plants and air.
Each night the Murgles danced and sang.
Across the stars their laughter rang.
They parties held in praise of flowers,
And liked to watch the beasts for hours.
They always tried to do their best,
And worked all day to earn their rest.
So every day the Murgles toiled
And in their heated houses boiled.
They drank a special happy brew,
And out their windows rubbish threw
For the clever collecting machine
To come chugging by and sweep in clean.
Then this machine all loaded with trash
Would dump its load with an almighty crash,
Into a giant, stinksome pit
With all festering rubbish in it.
But over weeks and months and years the rubbish pit grew and grew,
Until up their doors the ground was nothing but gunge and poo!
Good and splendid day to you,
Settle for there's much to do.
I have a story great to tell
So listen good, o listen well,
For in the twists of this old rhyme
There lies the secret of our time.
Cast your mind like a vast net
And catch my words lest you forget.
When all your days of youth are gone
Remember well and pass this on.
On a planet of pinkish hue
And water flowed both clear and blue,
There lived some creatures blazy bright
That worked machines both day and night,
To heat the whispish air ...
And till the rich brown bog ...
And fill the dark with golden light.
Whilst in the tunnels of their soil,
In earth as cold and black as oil
Things did shuffle 'mongst the roots.
Amongst these deepest rooty holes,
As snuffly blind and soft as moles.
These small things were Truffles called,
That silent crept and unseen crawled.
In the blackness of their day
They closed their eyes and smelt their way.
They used the senses of their paws -
The life of earth beneath the claws.
But after every fall of night
They crept into the bright moonlight
And blinky opened up their eyes
To set them on the twinkling skies -
All silv'ry filmed and big as moons,
Curved and bright as polished spoons.
Under blanket of the night
They sniffed the air that all was right,
And listened for the tapping trees,
The whispering wind and tunneling bees,
The secrets of the earth laid bare,
The tides within the shifting air
That sometimes needly pulled and bit
Or stroked and gently folded them in it.
Sun and moon these creatures share,
The same soil, same plants and air.
Each night the Murgles danced and sang.
Across the stars their laughter rang.
They parties held in praise of flowers,
And liked to watch the beasts for hours.
They always tried to do their best,
And worked all day to earn their rest.
So every day the Murgles toiled
And in their heated houses boiled.
They drank a special happy brew,
And out their windows rubbish threw
For the clever collecting machine
To come chugging by and sweep in clean.
Then this machine all loaded with trash
Would dump its load with an almighty crash,
Into a giant, stinksome pit
With all festering rubbish in it.
But over weeks and months and years the rubbish pit grew and grew,
Until up their doors the ground was nothing but gunge and poo!
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