Creativity

The Water Tower 8

The Water Tower
8

Circles within circles and wheels within wheels,
the restless gears always churning,
we both know how it feels.

Some call it a gift, some call it a calling,
but we who follow the creative way
rarely know the how and why
of who pushes whom with what,
nor when, nor where, yet still we try
to scale that ladder, to reach that sky,
and always will, until we shrivel,
give up the creative ghost, and die.

Even the water tower frowns
when I write ‘die’. Yet death will take us all.
Tombs and tombstones will crumble and fall.
Monuments, their words carved in stone,
will fall sideways, perish, and die,
their words erased by the sandpaper polish
of wind, snow, hailstones, sun, and time.

Click here for Roger’s reading on Anchor.
The Water Tower 8

The Water Tower 7

The Water Tower 7

Lifted up, so close to the stars,
and even though we cannot see them
we know they are there,
looking down as we labour here below.

Are they sentient?
Do they smile on us, or frown?
Is our fate really up there, written in their ranks?
Or is it in our own hands to raise ourselves
up from the mud, to sail this frail bone-boat,
to make something out of nothing?

Fate? Destiny? The windmill’s sails
throwing us back down, into the mud,
or lifting us up to the stars?
Which is it to be? Such questions
are too deep for you and me.

Your work is in your paint,
mine in my words,
yet paintbrush and pen are guided, both,
by the hand that holds the artist’s hand.

Click here for Roger’s reading on Anchor.
The Water Tower 7

Geoff Slater – Painter

Roger Moore – Poet

The Water Tower 5

The Water Tower 5

Does the left hand know
what the right hand is doing?

Does the pencil know
where the artist’s hand is going?

Does the artist know
the point of arrival
before he even sets out
and takes his first step
on that life-long journey?

Or does he play the music by ear,
the paint by eye,
the pencil and brush
by the deftest of touches
that follow a path set
long ago in the summer stars
and the winter nights
of longing and strife?

Only the artist knows:
and he might not be telling.

Click here for Roger’s reading on Anchor.
Water Tower 5

Geoff Slater – Painter

Roger Moore – Poet

The Water Tower 4



The Water Tower 4

The artist scales Jacob’s ladder,
per ardua ad astra,
through hardship to the stars.

He discovers a jigsaw puzzle
of shattered color and shape,
a serpent’s shed skin of paint,
battered patterns broken, stripped,
dangling, swayed by the wind
that washes and renews the world.

What world you ask?
The painter’s world. The world that dwells
within the meditating mind.
The creation that awaits the artist’s touch
in order to come alive and beckon us.
The secret, sacred world
of the artist’s hidden garden,
soon to be revealed.

Click here for Roger’s reading on Anchor.
The Water Tower 4

Geoff Slater – Painter

Roger Moore – Poet

Starless Night

Starless Night

Night without moon, without stars.
Dark sand dropped filling my mouth.
I walked the lonely bed of a dried up river.
When I stumbled in my dream,
my feet left no marks on the sand.  

Colorless was my path
through shadow and shade
where a thousand figures of darkness
danced before me,
hollow their eyes,
their mouths black caverns.
No flesh decked their bones
and no night birds called.

Footless the earth worm
sighed a sibilant song.
Mindless he drew in a net
full of sorrows, silver fish
darkling losing their sparkle.

The dusky shawl of knitted dreams
wrapped itself around my shoulders
and I picked at knots of tangled memory
that bled like fresh wounds.

Click here for Roger’s reading on Anchor.
Starless Night

The Water Tower 3

Geoff Slater – Photos
Roger Moore – Poems

The Water Tower 3

Here there is no in media res.
We must begin at the beginning:
the inspection, the realization,
the determination to ensure
that all will be restored
and the Garden of Eden rebuilt,
here, where it stood before.

The feet that hold no defeat,
the hands that will reconstruct
the image growing within the artist’s mind,
the mind that will determine
how the brush will guide,
the bright paint slither.

But first the damage must be repaired,
the surface cleaned,
fresh straw in the manger
to signify a readiness for renewal,
rebirth, and the continuing cycle.

Click here for Roger’s reading on Anchor,
The Water Tower 3

The Water Tower 2

Geoff Slater (Photos)
Roger Moore (Poems)

The Water Tower 2

Shall we begin at the beginning
at the water tower’s foot
where the itch of dried flaking skin
is unbearable?

The earth worm coiled around the tower
opens his mouth to devour his tail
and the movement of his scales
scours old paint in an effort to remove
all traces of the former painter’s footprints.

Oh, the defiance of wind, rain, snow, ice,
the hot summer sun, and the tower
sweating year after year,
erasing man’s efforts to control
time and space with created beauty.

But now is the time of endless renewal,
the sun’s return to renew
the infinite cycle of death and rebirth.

Click here for Roger’s reading on Anchor.
The Water Tower 2

The Water Tower 1

Geoff Slater (photos)
Roger Moore (poems)

The Water Tower 1

Where do we begin? At the end,
with the artist’s vision
of where he wants to go?

Or at the beginning,
even though all artists know that
their beginning is in their end
and their end is in their beginning?

Choose: for there is always choice,
a road taken, a road untaken leading
who knows where
and to what unknowable end.

Click here for Roger’s reading on Anchor
The Water Tower 1

A Moment of Joy

A Moment of Joy:

It’s always great when a friend actually reads one of my books and then writes to me to say how much he (in this case) enjoyed it. I quote: “I really enjoyed the concept of the image and writing. I’ve attached my favourite of the bunch. Audibly said “wow” when I read it.” It really makes my day (week, month, journey) worthwhile when someone reaches out and says ‘Wow!” Thank you, that certain someone. You shall remain anonymous for now, but your words will live on!

Click here for Roger’s reading on Anchor.
The Launch Pad

An Experiment Gone Wrong

An Experiment Gone Wrong

Not everything turns out the way you want it to, and some experiments are total failures. Just look at the poor snowman in these cartoons.

On the left – “I won’t believe in global warming until April or May.”

On the right – “April May be too late.”

Oh dear – all those crows and doggy dump time. How embarrassing.

As for me, I tried painting today with my paint and draw kit on my computer. What a disaster: I handle a mouse even more clumsily than I handle a paint-brush. I was going to publish the ‘first attempt’ as a warning to others. But it wouldn’t convert. So I looked for a better idea: no innovation and back to the tried and true.

Oh Moo of little faith.

This isn’t a poem, so there’ll be no sound track with this one. “Oh brothers and sisters I bid you beware – of giving your heart for a snowman to tear – especially when the sun is warming the air.”

“Do you like Kipling?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never kippled.”