The Journey - Meg Lewer Artist
Updated: Jun 30, 2018
Well I’ve decided to start a blog on my website and thought my musings about the journey my sold works partake and how I feel letting them go might be a good start. Like little chicks leaving the nest, hopefully they will see many things, make their new human parents happy and survive their journey…………
Oh Where, Oh Where?
Where have they gone, these paintings of mine,
In their sturdy sustainable frames.
Do they hang on a wall, where the mists settle low,
Carried there in a silver Jet plane.
Demure and secure in their dimpled clear coats
Taped tight and with infinite care,
Reverently lowered in their well padded box
The label will indicate where.
Where, where are you going my pretty one,
Will they greet you with much delight?
Or Ummm and Arrhh and shake their heads,
And post you back on an early flight.
The wisp of smoke from a chimney,
Snaking skywards with the breeze,
Washing is hanging tenaciously,
Pegged up between windswept trees.
Medieval Stones and well weathered Torre
Sheep grazing up high on a hill,
Ouzel is hiding, under white waterfall.
And morning fog, lies deathly still.
Ancient paths with time-worn tracks,
Wind across the Moors,
Eerie lights beckon you come,
Take none of those detours.
The wide dusty plains of the outback,
Where droughts burnt every blade in sight,
Or the hazy grey mountains of Irish descent,
And a croft snuggles down for the night.
An old wire fence is stretching,
Over a stoney windswept range,
Stormy clouds obscure the skies,
And rain threatens down again.
Da Vinci sees all with his spectacles,
His warnings for us to care for,
Coral leeching of The Great Barrier Reef,
Does anyone protect anymore?
The whispering ocean, caressing the sand
A heartbeat, a storm and seagull,
Swirling and whirling, tempestuous waves
And lonely ships are lost in the swell.
The flotsam and jetsam of hungry ghost nets,
Forever trawling the bottomless sea floor,
Strangled fish and turtles are tangled,
This is our Earth: and we must care for.
Have you wandered upon the Nullarbor,
To the harvest that Murphy sold,
Hilbata granite stands sentinel,
At least 15 million ions old.
The hidden gems of this ancient land,
Lie sandwiched between weathered stone.
Knobby and Potch of our opal fields
And the sapphires that lie still unknown.
What are your views as you hang on the wall,
A mountain, a chair or a tree,
Is it smokey or clean, a decorators delight,
Or a statement with no guarantee.
Do they walk past you, blind, with their busy day plans,
Do they stop and smile with delight,
Can they spy hidden treasures, that are only found,
When the shadows fall on you just right.
There is love, magic and whimsey in every work,
Where tiny ships are tossed high at sea,
Charcoal streak for the storm rolling in,
Lightening slashes the sky rackishly..
I hope you are loved, my pretty one
And you give much happiness and delight,
I will sleep sound with a hint of a smile,
And just dream about you tonight.