They Cast Her in Copper

They cast her in copper,

And hid her away,

With plans to unveil it,

On her victory day.

The day came around,

And the plans were all laid.
The stalls were set out,
And the banners were made.

And one little girl,
Holding a large fair day biscuit,
Glanced around for her bullies,
And decided to risk it.

She ducked, and she weaved,
Through the thickening crowd.
The people seemed too big,
And their voices too loud

There stood the great statue,
With a ship on her shoulders,
Her teeth gritted with effort,
And her muscles like boulders.

Just like the real thing,
She'll keep the sailors alive.
Protect them and raise them,
And make sure that they thrive.

The girl looked up at first, then,

For the first time in a while,

She looked down at her tummy

And broke out in a smile.

The Soil

She takes out her glass
From her scientist's pocket,
And examines a flower
Growing out of a socket.

Squashing down her fear
Of the scary plant pot,
She peers in to find out
What kind of secrets it's got.

She imagines a seedling
Alive in her head
Looking for light, and some water,
Needing to grow, and be fed.

If it's ear-bound, the sound,
Would be the least of her woes.
At least it would smell nice,
If it grew out of her nose.

The roots of this plant,
Aren't touching the ground
She wonders if this is why
There are no others around.

With all of the other plants
That she has found,
The green part has grown up,
And the root part grew down.

Her heart is in flight
And her brain starts to boil,
What if the plants here
Were killed by the soil?

The East Wind

The wind from the west whips up sand from the bay

The tide grabs the boats, and it takes them away.

A sough from the south brings you air that is warm,

but if it hits the north wind, you're in for a storm.

It's the wind from the east that has the most range,

It gallops through barley, and makes young people go strange,

And if you're not careful, when the wind changes tack,

They'll leave with the East Wind, and never come back.

And that's the wind too, that brings us the wrecks,

With seaweed for rigging, and crabs on their decks.

And unspeakable horrors alive in the hold.

Their eyes on stalks, and their skin wet and cold.

Sometimes there are people, now nothing but bone,

Who all promised their loved ones that they'd come safely home.

We bury them on a hill, looking out to the sea,

In the hope that they look out on where their homes used to be.

The young in town wonder why the aged ones mutter,

When the flags on the rooves take on an easterly flutter.

They look to the hill, then hide their faces in their glasses,

And hold their children's hand, until the easterly passes.

The Historian's Aprentice

The Historian’s Apprentice

By the light of the candles,

And the smell of the must,

I wear out my elbows,

Shifting cobwebs and dust.

And fetching the ink, 

For the Grey Hat to scribe,

But for me to be near her,

Is enough of a bribe.

She babbles and mutters,

As she wields her straw broom.

As the long candles flicker,

Her words fill up the room.

She drawls about medicine,

And mutters in verse,

And her opinions on maths,

Come out clear and terse.

When she lectures on love,

A tear shines in her eye,

But, I’ll never have the courage,

To ask her just why.

When her broom is hung up,

And the ink put away,

And the last of the chores,

Are checked off for the day.

She looks at me then,

Through rheumy grey eyes,

As the last of the sunlight

Reflected there dies.

And I take her gnarled hand,

And I lead her back home,

Where she sleeps like a bookmark,

In a bed-sized old tome.

The White Hat

Her office space is very neat;

A desk, a bust, and an official seat.

She sits tall, erect and prim,

she'll smile at you as you walk in.

But for visitors, there is no chair;

no space to sit, just walls and air.

So, nervously, you shuffle in,

beneath her gaze, and her steady grin.

Witch Knight

I've long since done fighting

and hung up my armour.

I'm finished with knighting,

and now I'm a farmer.

But when I am needed,

and calamity threatens

I'll put on my armour,

and sharpen my weapons.

Against those such as me,

many spears have been broken.

I have limbs like a willow,

and a will that is oaken.

Sage

It's Sage! I've been working on stuff for my portfolio, and I thought I'd finally use my ever present art victim. I also grabbed the chance to practice using masks, which have made using textured brushes much more satisfying.

Colour Thumbnails

Beginning to experiment with colour. I enjoy this so much more than trying to pull a colour out of the air and find it's match in a photoshop palette.