Shelley’s Cloud

   I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,

         From the seas and the streams;

I bear light shade for the leaves when laid

         In their noonday dreams.

From my wings are shaken the dews that waken

         The sweet buds every one,

When rocked to rest on their mother’s breast,

         As she dances about the sun.

I wield the flail of the lashing hail,

         And whiten the green plains under,

And then again I dissolve it in rain,

         And laugh as I pass in thunder.

   I am the daughter of Earth and Water,

         And the nursling of the Sky;

I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;

         I change, but I cannot die.

For after the rain when with never a stain

         The pavilion of Heaven is bare,

And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams

         Build up the blue dome of air,

I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,

         And out of the caverns of rain,

Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,

         I arise and unbuild it again.


Autumn In My Backyard

Ode to Autumn

“Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;

To bend with apples and mossed cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For summer has o’er brimmed their clammy shells…”

John Keats

À L’automne

“Saison de brume et de moelleuse abondance,

Proche parente le soleil qui dore;

Conspirant avec lui à charger et à combler

De fruits des vignes qui courent le long des toits de chaume;

À courber sous les poids des pommes les arbres moussus du cottage,

À mûrir jusqu’au cœur tous les fruits;

À grossir les courges; à gonfler les coques de noisettes

D’un succulent noyau; à faire bourgeonner davantage

Et davantage encore, les derniers fleurs pour le abeilles,

Au point de leur faire croire que les jours chauds ne cesseront jamais,

Tant l’Été a rempli jusqu’au bord leurs visqueuses alvéoles…”

A Stream Of Thoughts

“A stream of thoughts” Watercolour by Thai Peck

“… How often has my spirit turned to thee! And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought – With many recognitions dim and faint, and somewhat of sad perplexity, the picture of my mind revives again: While here I stand, not only with the sense – of present pleasure, but with pleasant thoughts. That in this moment there is life and food. For future years, and so I dare to hope…” William Wordsworth

Pink Moon Rises

Oh moon, beautiful and pink, stand still for a while longer – and tell me where is my beloved?

Tell him for however long I am embracing him in my heart – and let him recall his dreaming of me.

May the memory awaken his spirit in the bright illumination of the moon far away…

Oh moonlight, don’t disappear…

A Quick Sketch

“At Mentone” Oil on canvas

Standing on the high ground, through the tea-trees branches and the colourful native bushes I could see the blue water of the bay dotted with small white sails. At the horizon where clouds formed thick clumps on the purple sky I tried so hard to find shapes of recognisable images but the strong breeze shifted them away from my point of focus. It was not a difficult sea and landscape to tackle if only the oil would dry a bit faster. I don’t know how Tom Roberts could have had the patience to come out day by day in order to capture the atmosphere and light for his paintings with the olden day art equipment. And to sit in the hot sun of the typical Australian summer putting up with flies and insects buzzing around while I could only managed with this quick sketch for half and hour.