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Artwork & Writings of John William Brown
Painter, Poet, Dramatist and Performer


Friday, 24 September 2010

we started looking...



we started looking we really believed for us it was so was a solitude of extended periods bloody times no ones wet fingers enjoyed yet somehow set the benchmark for beginnings of bliss for measured cruel kissing games that stunk of stairwell sex back street gropings one needed escape from and to bless├ęd overview vistas grazed by green parrots as common as sparrows like arrowheads fired through cool mists rising on warm waters’ broad sacred rivers swelling brooding shallowly embracing seeping sewage streams out of public view running off and away from the dead lands the deserts wastelands where nothing grew where no one went but madmen holies wanderering fools and entrepreneurs seeking hidden villages and unknown hills to flatten for fattened tourists’ expensive hotel views holy sites seen from cosseted rooms even we could not afford then further back in distance time back along a pitted dusty road passed the leper colony further on to the internationally condoned native arts centre that then did not exist there where we secreted ourselves away talked walked through your not yet built house as if a sacrosanct sacred place there where we shared each other the beginnings of bliss overviews solitude extended periods lost in time in rooms in fate in unmade spaces yet to be carved from those coveted native homelands our imaginary ideals our deepest needs shared only with all those empty wastelands defamed villages’ streets night smells mosquitoes’ evening’s milk-oxen moans with frangipani rathrani and peepl trees’ whispering slender silvered leaves brushing night air with memories of never having been planted all held now in our deep wanting sheltering our dreams lining the unmade gardens we would never enjoy but you would continually tend dampening grasses roses orange garland flowers our unborn children grandchildren could not wait to thread but also could not pick those unmade borders of long garden walks we only materialised as walking we lived out that dry patch nowhere land later sold off to the honest corrupt local tax collector for his ever expanding extended family draining him of success overcrowding his and unknowingly our sweet intentions while from a chin-high flat rooftop wall his four children stared down in awe with southern black faces and devouring big brown eyes as we listened for our former dreams’ to quiver only to hear our new ghost neighbour drag iron gates across our now concreted rich-poor dull earth and lock the lock but not lock out the stench of open sewers the denial of our defamed wants the thrashed street children’s wails the feral dog’s screaming broken back yet to come when our haring car turned off too fast down a half-forgot turning too sharp to stop bumping over a body sunning in late afternoon subcontinental winter sun we turning pained painful stares out the rear window no child a dog it dragged its screaming back across to shade to desert wastes the dirt track we too had once wandered but now the glory sheen of our new exotic novelty dimmed knowing as if we did not know we were back in a cruel country where no-one and nothing could be saved but then your face further back and we wandering nobly distracted by ancient embellished gates palaces tombs and other-land possibilities we could not revisit relive regain without dying dogs in-despite stench respite queen-of-the-night exhausting evening’s hopelessness all that possible probable earth we knew that world we found were finding caught-free as we were that then-now-when in which we started looking we really believed

© JWB10-13 April 2010 (words) and 13-15 April 2010 (image)
© JWB Composite computer generated collage April 2010.
© JWB Words and image:"we started looking we really believed" April 2010

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