The Poem

This poem is about the joy of music and the way it connects to our lives in a personal way. A song can just take hold of us and make everything else go away. Our poet, Sue was a brilliant musician who always lived with a song on her lips and a beat in her step.

The Picture

I worked to create a mood of joy and rhythm in this picture, much the same way a favourite song can take over our feelings and lift our spirits.

Head Radio

Kinship with strangers

late at night

starting to feel whole again

                   no explaining the feeling

thinking about old love

Got high today

listening to Neil Young

he says just “walk on”

but

“sooner or later it all gets real”

too real

sometimes.

Smoke a little more red

that’s been going around

Then, later on

encouragement

pours from a large black box

                  I got from a new friend

All

Led Zeppelins

Rise with the heat

And

“My time is gonna come”

death or prosperity…

no one serves two masters

and you got to serve somebody

So

When old DJ’s die

where do they

                  go?

By: Sue Michaud

“Sounds of Music” By: Sylvia Arthur

The Picture

Sorry this months post is so gloomy, but it’s been that kind of a month. This poem made me think about how short life is. It reminded me of the loss of loved ones, including the poet who wrote these words. How they simply fade away.

The Poem

The message I heard when I read this poem is that lives are lived; accomplishments and fortunes are made, but in the end, everything including us, will simply fade away. There are many layers of messages here, but I think the most optimistic is that our lives are part of the whole. The next generation will carry on.

Simply Fade Away

Rhythmic bass plays in my head

Should I sit back or now rejoice

Find the light in my new voice, or

Simply fade away

Philosophers so rank and file

None of them sit on the green mile

Find the peace left for a while, or

Simply fade away

Praise the sun and Holy Ghost

Cause you win if you have the most

What have we seen in all our years

We simply fade away

Generations come and go and life still has its ebb and flow

What will tomorrow really bring Armageddon or ides of spring

All that we touch and all we see is not what life will ever be

Because we are a part; not whole, the world is as time unfolds

The choice is you and it is me but God is still a mystery, to

Those who chose to make him

Rhythmic drums pound in my heart

Begin to die or live to start

What is this curse or happiness, to

Simply fade away

Demographers show data’s toll

But never all the leading roles

Think what you can or what you will, it

Simply fades away

Rich man; poor man; beggar; king

All kiss the hand and kiss the ring

Who’s in control for now will be, then

Simply fade away

By: Sue Michaud

“Waiting” By: Sylvia Arthur

I was reading through Sue’s book of poems, trying to chose next month’s post and I discovered that two of my past poem posts were incomplete. There was a second page to “Suite Street” and “Shadows”. These posts have now been updated. Hope you enjoy the finished thoughts of our poet. Sorry about that Sue.

The Poem

This poem made me think of childhood summers and all the adventures and mischief kids discover on those hot lazy days. As I read on, there is another layer to this poem; a deeper, darker story. Who is the guide and where did she go?

The Picture

I chose to illustrate the precious childhood memory that I can visualize so easily from these words. The second layer of this story is implied by the dark shadows, although I really can’t know what the story is. I don’t need to know, but I want to.

Shadows

A strange empty space where a bright, smiling face once was.

Through childlike eyes, I recall it often.

A slight figure, with medusa like hair

waiting to take me by the hand

to the forbidden cache of summer bounties

our parents so carefully hid from us in the garage.

I was much smaller, and not as skilled as my guide,

but that was no matter,

we were united in purpose and intent.

Those succulent, red orbs.

They seemed to glow in the light of the window

as we navigated our way through the locked door,

and made our entrance

into the damp, cool space…unseen.

I remember the taste of joy.

Bursting with a tangy-sweet ripeness…

the refreshment of laughter,

and the smiles of approval, at the thought of our stealth

in the shadows of that garage.

As we sat, sharing our salt shaker…

ate our fill… you

read to me aloud from the side

of the countless boxes

from the Okanagan valley.

T o m a t o e s

I thought about it for many years

every time I went to market.

One day I ate tomatoes with you, and the next day you were gone

with no explanation,

and I

myself, alone,

without a guide

to help me navigate a path

to your door. Tears and questions,

loud voices in the afternoon saying,

“Bad choices”

“Never mind, you don’t need to know”

all the while

I wanted to.

All my life

I’ve stumbled over not knowing her.

Now,

as we steal the key to that old garage

and make our way through the door

together, I am thankful for the light.

A certain Phosphorescence

drawing us

to understanding

as the years

pass.

By: Sue Michaud

“Tomato Thieves” By: Sylvia Arthur

The Poem

Often, when I read through Sue’s poems I wish she were around to tell the story behind the poem. The story I imagined was quite funny and I can almost hear Sue laughing. It was probably about a gathering of First Nations people because she used the word moccasin. I’ll bet there was a real character Sue observed somewhere that inspired Sex Games at Moccasin Square Gardens.

The Picture

In the past few posts I’ve been experimenting with acrylic paint, but this time I went back to my comfort zone with ink and watercolours. This poem made me think of an old drawing from art school. In the new version the people are portrayed as young and innocent, but someone is contemplating ideas that are not innocent at all. The graphic pattern is derived from Blackfoot teepee designs and of course, the couple is wearing moccasins.

Art School drawing of people on the street       By: Sylvia Arthur

Sex Games at Moccasin Square Gardens

He slips down close to the knee

treads lightly up,

up

waiting for a successful landing

apprehension, frustration,

eagerness

try it once,

go on

Slapped silly like a

fuller brush man calling at 5:00 a.m.

no sale.

No score.

Shakey,

but persistent

maybe successful if

persistent

sometimes persistence pays off

feelin’ lucky

Lucky is good.

Ever so,

gently, quietly,

steady, steady,

up,      up

determined to

try it again

Just gotta

do this one    thing

then I can rest,

Then I’ll know

closer,                        just about…

there.

By: Sue Michaud

“Moccasin Square Gardens”   By: Sylvia Arthur

The Poem

This poem doesn’t need a lot of interpretation. The poet tells a story of missing an old friend or lover. Sue probably wrote it about her years as a singer in a band when she played in bars.

The Picture

The picture that accompanies the poem is very narrative. It tells the same visual story as the words in the poem.

Sketch by: Sylvia Arthur

Man of My Dreams

I saw you again tonight

One brief moment

You were in the bar

Like so many times before and

We said a short hello as the band walked out the door.

So many times you cross my mind

Are you still around, or if you thought

About me and

Just happened to look where I’d be found.

Strangers to each other and yet

The best of friends

Never seemed to talk and yet

Understanding so much.

That white hair has burned a memory

That lives in this eye full

Of the view

I just had of you

As you sat so quiet

And left me wondering

When

Or where

I might ever see you again.

By: Sue Michaud

“Man of My Dreams” By: Sylvia Arthur

The Picture

The last couple of poem posts dealt with topics that were a little sad, so time to change things. This poem is about one of the happiest things in life; the love of a parent for their child. One of the most wonderful times I recall while raising my own kids was reading to them. This is my idea of a picture of perfect love.

“Wonderful” Sketch By: Sylvia Arthur

The Poem

This poem is a parent’s love song to her children. Sue loved her boys to pieces and was always very excited about their talents and accomplishments. I think her words of love and encouragement might be nice for them to hear, especially so close to their birthdays.

We Think You’re Wonderful

Chorus

We think you’re wonderful, beautiful, a miracle

We know you’re heaven sent and it’s evident

You’re not an accident

You mean so much to me

No matter where you come from or what people say

You have the ability to make your own way

Something tells me that you have a real cool sense

Of what you got to do that is of importance

You can work in a factory or in a zoo

Study real hard and know what you want to do

As long as you’re happy and doing what you want to do

It’s all about being a successful you

So try all the things you think you might like to do

And read about jobs that other people do

And talk to your neighbours, they might have a thing to say

Then you can make wise choices when you come to that day

Get an education so that you can know

The ways that your mind can think and learn and grow

And how other people may see things differently

Knowledge is a resource like a branch on a tree

Chorus

We think you’re wonderful, beautiful, a miracle

We know you’re heaven sent and it’s evident

You’re not an accident

You mean so much to me

By: Sue Michaud

“Wonderful You” By: Sylvia Arthur

The Poem

This poem seems to lament the hopelessness of life on the streets for homeless people. Our poet, Sue worked in a social services job later in her life. She had a soft spot for people who were down on their luck and needed help. She always offered to help, but some of them didn’t want any help. I think some of the disappointment expressed in this poem is about trying to help, but the effort is defeated.

The Picture

I have always felt empathy towards street people too. I find them to be interesting; real people. I wonder about their circumstances and how they got to where they are. I’m drawn to drawing them. This month I painted two pictures on cardboard, the building material of makeshift shelters; ”on the streets, in their cardboard suites”. On the street when we see them, we often look down, trying to avoid looking in their eyes. I wanted to capture the humanity of homeless people and look at them.

Suite Street

Such a cold,

cold

city

disgrace

how they live

(tortured) eyes empty

(tortured) hearts empty

fear

nothing to rely on

did they know,

no.

did I know,

no.

I am here unseen.

central

In this city

Gone…

Will anyone know I’ve ever been?

Thousands the same

one

the same?

Speaking of “believe in”

on the streets

In their cardboard suites

some live just for the words

their “agony of defeat”

my agony of defeat?

all stories, their stories

same

all for none.

no give and take

egocentricity;

ego

centre

I

city.

how could they see?

how have I?

By: Sue Michaud

Ink and acrylic painting on cardboard, “Homeless”  By: Sylvia Arthur 

Ink and acrylic painting on cardboard, “Begger”  By: Sylvia Arthur 

The Poem

The first two lines of this poem grabbed me immediately. They struck me as regretful, wishing that things could’ve been different. The words leave me wondering what the story is about and I find myself trying to interpret it. I suppose that’s because I feel inclined to tell the same story visually with my pictures. To me, Sue is telling her audience to be introspective, to take a look at yourself. She also seems wistful that she couldn’t say or do anything to make things better. (Just like Sue. Always trying to help). Then, when I read this poem again later, I got something completely different out of it. We’ll never know exactly what this poem is written about, but like a good song, the words can still be meaningful to a story in our own lives.

I’d be curious how other people interpret this poem.

The Picture

My concept for “Self Look” feels a bit sad and dark in both colour and manner because that’s the way the poem makes me feel. I wanted this picture to stimulate the imagination in the same way the poem does. The image I’ve depicted could tell many different stories. Maybe even more than I  intended. It could be a couple fighting, or maybe she’s a ghost, or his conscience… or maybe she just has to use the bathroom. The meaning doesn’t really matter. Just like the poems, it’s thinking about all the possibilities that makes this such an engaging project!

Conceptual sketches for “Self Look”

Self Look

If I could only think of words

When words could yet be said

And if those words would touch a man

Not only in his head

If I could turn a pencil

Into something razor sharp

And pure white empty paper

Somehow became your heart

If you could read intentions

As clearly as a book

And honesty

Within

Gave

Self

a second look

If all this world was perfect

And you your self

The same

Would there then be this need

for apologies or blame

By: Sue Michaud

Self Look painting by: Sylvia Arthur

The Picture

The idea behind this blog is for me to create pictures that are inspired by the poetry of my friend Sue. So, I’m looking through her collection of poems and lyrics trying to find words that speak to me and create a mental word picture. When I read the first line of this poem it instantly put an image in my mind and I drew this quick, spontaneous, sketch. I liked the happy, optimistic idea of the “cheers” and I worked out the more finished version as a mixed media painting. I think there’s another picture in these words as I read on into the poem, but I went with the first thought this time. Maybe next time I’ll dig in a little deeper.

Spontaneous sketch inspired by the phrase, “I’ll drink to that”

The Poem

I enjoy the way this poem cleverly links one cliché line to the next. It doesn’t sound quite as optimistic as it begins and it’s certainly not as optimistic as my painting. To me, this poem reads like it’s telling the story of someone’s hard luck life, kind of loser. Maybe it’s about the typical kind of guy Sue would meet after a gig in the bar; the kind of guy who always tries to make friends with the band. He talks your ear off, telling you his life story as long as he can get another drink, until closing time, when he goes home alone. “You’re my same old thing.”

Who knows? I’d be interested to know what other people get out of this poem.

Closing Time

I’ll drink to that

Some do some don’t (some will some won’t)

Just take your chances

It’s nothing personal

Honest

Two friends never left him

God and his mother

I love you

No strings attached

Some things never change

If I had it to do over again

Things were different then

You never miss the water ‘til the well runs dry

Don’t take things so seriously

Take it easy

Feed your body feed your mind

Who ever would have thought

You’re my same old thing

By: Sue Michaud

Here’s what I got out of the poem. Cheers to you Sue.

Mixed media painting, picture for the poem “Closing Time”

by: Sylvia Arthur