Tag Archives: #drawing

A drawing-gull

I drew a picture

of a gull,

it had flown from within my mind,

and not from Hull

(or another place

that does not rhyme)

and there it was

upon the page,

looking sad;


after an age

of standing there,

it hadn’t flown off anywhere.

Horse Drawn Vehicles

The pictures themselves

are not the best;

but, give the horses a break,

I can’t draw,

and I have hands.

Upon Writing and Artists… (No, it’s sillier than that title suggests – well, it’s me, what did you expect?)


“Oh, I turned this sort of art into an art form – even discussed it with artists on a forum; asked them ‘wherefore ‘art,’ thou?’ They just stated their opinions upon onions as still life.
I preferred the written form; have done all my life; I can’t apply myself (or paint) to a canvas with a brush or a palette knife; no, drawing or sketching for me; I haven’t the ability, you see.
I ‘paint’ my words upon a blank page:
Poetry! All the rage… once.
It’s all I can do to doodle a canoe…
That looks like a gnu!
Well, what did you expect to see
From a wordsmith like me?”

Randomly Writ


And ‘Stupid’ is with me



I ‘am’ the living embodiment

of stupidity.

I know, I shouldn’t be a boaster

Shouldn’t stick knives in toasters;

Shouldn’t set fire to lofts

Or leave spoons In microwaves;

And a stitch in time saves

The jeans that rip after I bleached them

I thought they’d be all white

I thought they”d be alright

But, they weren’t

And I wasn’t;

And so much more

That I am sure

You’ll agree

With me

That I am with ‘Stupidity!’

Life-Writing (@OxLifeWriting)


Life-Writing (inspiration courtesy of Wolfson College, Oxford – @OxLifeWriting and http://www.wolfson.ox.ac.uk)

Well, a few years back I finally found out what life-drawing was all about – pretty late on in life as it was.

Now I have just heard of life-writing!

My mind has taken the basic tenet of life-drawing (the drawing of naked models) and imposed them upon life-writing.

I am quite mystified as to how exactly this will work. I suppose that the class of students will sit around the nude model in a rough semi-circle and write various genre literary works based upon the nudity, muscle tone, physique, etc. before them.

I suppose it is slightly better for the model, too; as a slight movement of a limb or positioning should not drastically alter the ability of a writer or poet to continue with their Detective Fiction or Haibun.

I was too busy today to enquire further; but, I will seek to succeed in ‘writing’ about the naked body, where I once failed in my ‘drawing’ of one

(see Drawing a Blank at www.http://wp.me/p1MjHq-C5)

I shall pop down an example in a while (there are gaps in the writing of an ‘in depth’ study of this magnitude, you know).


(1st Attempt at L-W)

Naked Being
Oh, naked being
Laying here before
Upon the chair
Or on the floor
With flesh-tone words
I catch your hue
A ‘pointy pelvis’
Or a haunting ‘how-do-you-do?’
Your skin like silk
The colour of fresh-drawn morning milk
Bathed in the neon light
Of modern reality
Which illuminates your form
But, hinders my fight
To capture you.


Drawing Upon Experience (Upon Drawing Experiences)


Images of midges
Pictures of fixtures
Drawings of curtains
Doodles of poodles
And a sketch of a ketchup bottle;
Half-empty or three-quarters full.
A lino-cut of a limousine
Outlined in chalk
Because I’m dead keen
To capture the likenesses of
A million vermillion things…

If only I could draw
I could be a drawing king.

But, I can’t
So, I won’t
And ‘don’t’ tell me I can;
I’m a wordsmith
Not an artist
I’m a letters-based man.

Drawing a Blank

Drawing A Blank

‘Life Drawing’ had brought out the artist in me.

My ‘flesh-tone’ pencils and paints were arrayed neatly before, and my pallet was salivating with anticipation. Then, a man-mountain in a pink cotton bathrobe of Olympic swimming-pool size proportions appeared – my canvas wasn’t going to cope with that.

“We’ll do some five-minute ‘posed’ sketches, and then we’ll move on to the hour-and-a-half ‘relaxed pose’.” commented Miss Louise Lewis-Lautrec.

I ‘white-washed’ my surface and poised myself as if looking for inspiration to arrive.

For two hours I sat there, focusing upon a small red vase off to one side of his shoulder.

A voice from behind me chirped, “It’s always tricky to get the form correct, Leonardo.”

“Yes, Miss.”