Linda Studley

Can't Put the Pen Down…

Archive for the category “Artwork”

Cover Art

falling Awake midsized

Well, I’ve edited the book, proofed the book, formatted the book, named the book (“Falling Awake and other poems” in case you missed that post), now the cover design…

I’m leaning towards one of my own paintings as a cover. I created/designed my CD covers for my first two CDs so it’s not unprecedented.  I’ve uploaded a copy of the proposed cover art and would appreciate any input, just as I have appreciated the input you’ve given me on the poems.

Thank you for coming along with me on this journey!



Entropy’s Call

Fractal Art

Fractal artwork "Entropy's Call"

Entropy’s Call

You are the day, I am the dawn
who lays her light across your lawn.
The gilding touch you cannot feel.
Ether’s fleeting ghost revealed.

You are the night I am star beams
caught in branches of your dreams.
Struggling for freedom, yet
returning nightly to your net.

You are the forest, I the river
Who murmurs deep and makes you shiver,
Till your darkness echoes long
within the passion of my song.

You are the sea, I the track
of Moon and Sun upon your back.
A crooked, coruscated skein
that leads you home and back again.

You are the mountain, I the crown,
of ice and snow that cool your brow.
Frozen symbiotic rime;
Your diamond till the end of time.

You are, I am, we are as two
until the world is made anew.
Till rivers turn and run uphill
And dreams of valour and free will

leach into cracked and rusted soil.
Till mountains melt and oceans boil.
Till sun is ice and moon enkindled.
Till all that was divine has dwindled.

Till Aurora snuffs her fire.
Till snow burns and all desire
descends to ash; entropy’s call.
I am, you are, my end, my all.

Many thanks yet again to my writing group for the input that helped me revise and polish this poem, and to my partner for inspiring it.

Oh, Child of Perfection

Child of Perfection 2

Child of Perfection 2 - Digital Photographic Art by L Studley

Oh, Child of Perfection
‘Growing up poor is not the same
as growing up deprived.’

What can I tell you, oh child of perfection?
Of the days when you were a babe in arms?
Of the large cardboard box,
rescued from the grocery store, carried home
covered inside and out with pretty mactac
Flannelette covered foam,
yellow giraffes and green bears, bought at the Sally.
Your little nest till we could afford a second hand crib. 

What can I tell you, oh, child of perfection?
Of the days when you were a tot in the stroller
I pushed along the gravel drive.
The drunken couple shoving and cursing
three feet from the back door.
Her with her shirt off, brandishing it at him,
Whipping him with it
“I don’t want this shirt you bought me” she slurs.
He hiccoughs a sheepish grin.
Neither notices as I roll your stroller
around them and into the house.
Lock the door behind us.
We eat lunch and play and laugh in the sunbeam in the living room.

Child of Perfection 1

Child of Perfection 1 - Digital Photographic Art by L Studley

What can I tell you, oh child of perfection?
Of the days when you left my side to study.
Of watching, from a distance, as you stepped into the world
Of biting my lip, holding my tongue.
Closing my eyes so yours could open.
And when you came home; reading together, laughing and playing still.

What can I tell you, oh child of perfection?
Of the day you stood apart from me.
So strong and stubborn,
Eyes wise in wonder and dreams.
Of the battle I fought between loss and pride.
Of the battle I fight between loss and pride.
Oh, what can I tell you?

What can I tell you, oh child of perfection
that you won’t soon find out for yourself?

Bamboo Soul

pen and ink drawing "Bamboo Soul" by L. Studley

pen and ink drawing "Bamboo Soul" by L. Studley

Bamboo Soul was originally a poem, then it became a song, and now it resides, apparently quite happily, in both worlds. Sometimes I speak it, sometimes I sing it.

Bamboo Soul

I’d rather have a bamboo soul
Singing in the dark
Than one of oak, hard and hid
Beneath an inch of bark.
You tell me time is a dangerous place
You tell me that I must be strong
But I’d rather live deep and now and here
Than never live at all.
I’d rather have a duck down heart
Floating free and soft
Than one of stone; dead and cold
Beneath an inch of moss.
You tell me love is a dangerous place
You tell me that I must be strong
But I’d rather be crushed and start again
Than never start at all.
I’d rather have a water will
Trickling stone to dust
Than one of iron that tears have left
Beneath an inch of rust
You tell me life is a dangerous place
You tell me that I must be strong.
But I’d rather be flesh and blood – and bruise
Than never feel at all.
With my water will
My duck down heart
And my bamboo soul
Singing in the dark.

Shelide’s Gift – The Poem

Shelide's Gift

"Shelide's Gift" pen and ink by L. Studley

Long ago when time still slept
And night was dark, too dark to breathe
Nameless terrors slunk and crept
And noxious vapours seethed.

Man stayed home to tend the fire
And wholesome creatures shunned the night
Shelide shook her wings and vowed
She would not rest till there was light.

Light enough to banish fear
And bathe the night in joy and wonder.
Light to dazzle eyes and hearts
To tear night’s veil asunder.

“How shall I do?” She asked her kin.
“With gossamer trails” they cried.
“How shall I do?” She asked the sea.
“With waves of shimmering light.”
“How shall I do?” She asked the sun.
“Like me, but not the same.”
“How shall I do?” She asked of man.
“Like sparks that leap from flame.”
Shelide spread her wings and flew.
She flew into the dark.
Weaving light from drops of hope
And the pulsing of her heart.
A thousand years and a thousand more
She spilled the Milky Way.
She wove the glittering curtains
The Northern Lights let play.
A thousand years and a thousand more
And she forged the silvery moon.
And sparked the stars from the flinty hearts
Of the creatures of the gloom.
And when the night was set ablaze
And darkness set to rout
Shelide fell to earth again
To watch the stars come out.
She rested in the coolness
By a misty, moisty pond
Looked back across her shoulders
And saw her wings were gone.
“You took so long” the creatures cried.
“You took so long” said man.
“You must be the slowest thing
Since e’re the world began!”
And Shelide cried and crept away
Tears sparkling on the leaves
Remembering her lovely wings
She bows her head and grieves.

Shelide’s Gift – The Back Story

Geoff Ford's excerpt of 'Shelide's Gift'

Geoff Ford's calligraphic artwork of an excerpt of "Shelide's Gift"

I don’t usually play favourites with my songs or my poems, but I have to admit to a soft spot for “Shelide’s Gift”. Shelide is (or at least I am told so by the translator) Gaelic for ‘snail’, and my Shelide is a mythical winged snail who brings light to Earth. I’d like to point to some high and noble origins for this poem but it actually sprang from a spirited evening of laughter and conversation with friends; a bottle or two of wine figured fairly prominently into the mix as well.
Another of the things I enjoy doing is drawing fantasy scenes. letting all those bizarre things out of my head and afixing them to the paper. I was challenged to draw a winged snail. I accepted. The hours spent over the detail of the drawing ‘Shelide’s Gift’, allowed me to muse over her story. The story turned into a poem. I don’t usually sell my original drawings, but my friend was so pleased with the drawing I couldn’t refuse her. The original now resides in a private collection in Chetwynd.
But Shelide’s notoriety didn’t end there. I am a memeber of a website for artists and photographers and I posted my drawing of Shelide there and, because I thought it might be of interest to the viewers, I posted the poem too. I was contacted by someone over in the calligraphy forum who asked if I would let them use “Shelide’s Gift” as a calligraphy challenge. The upshot of that is that I met Geoff Ford, an amazing artist and calligrapher in Australia, who created a gorgeous calligraphic painting of an excerpt of “Shelide’s Gift”. He even sent me the original with permission to reproduce it. Thanks Geoff.
So in the next post I’ll include the poem “Shelide’s Gift” and the drawing ‘Shelide’s Gift’. But the image you see here today is Geoff Ford’s creation.

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