A work that I made from and old tray -tray trouve mixed media wood, oil paint metal and other material entitled A QUIET CORNER OF REPOSE >Vidio not working yet , waiting for my technical advisor with that irritation that we all know working with computers !To LOOK AT MY VIDEO THAT MY BLOG WILL NOT SHOW ! PLEASE LOOK AT PETER SIMPSON ( FACEBOOK )

Thoughts of the day - on my seventy fourth birthday

        The problem is -- Lets say that you are interested in a certain philosophy , a certain religion .  There  will be a point in the understanding where you will not agree .Why is this ? Because the path of religion, or the path of philosophy, is an individual path, that will maybe not  always agree with other ways of understandings, even though that particular philosophy may have its attractions . Ah this is ones real freedom  ! The real freedom is to go ones way alone !And to go your  way without any auth
ority, to go ones way in perfect freedom ! And to go further -What is the real question ? There are   questions from another-who thinks they know a  question, but what is ones own REAL question ,coming from the depths of oneself  ? So the real question is to find ones authentic  question and not that of another, however revered they may be .

Wood carving of Izaak walton ,author of the book The Complete Angler made at Stafford colledge of art, when I was 16 years old

                            King

      
       The lone boy banged

        His stick against the

      Wall percussively

      Summoning the tribe.

       Yet no one came -

      Climbed  upon

      The flat sunny green

      Garage roof -

      Sat cross-legged

      As a chieftain
     
      Gazing timelessly

      And dreamily

      Over his domain

      Ruler of the land .


       I watched him ,

       Knew him and  loved him -

       He was myself .
   
                           

Footnote to the poem below The word daemonic, is aword that is not even found in all dictionaries > From what I understand of the word is, the daemon is a certain essence - of a place or of a person- the deeper essence of oneself, even ones genius- something that is neither good or evil - and thats why one cannot find it in the dictionary - too difficult . But its the driving force of our lives !Its as if all our lives we are driven by some unknown energy of which, what we think of as the personality is only a small part And that is our daemon ..

                                       Dad


             My father was how a 

             Father should be,

              Tough, inscrutable,

              Volatile,
              
              And daemonic.             

            Before he died ,he asked

             Me to plant his beloved

            Sweet peas in the green house

             ( although he probably knew,

            That he would never

            See them flower. )



          Upon my wall hangs 

          A pastel of his,

           Of a lightning stricken tree -

          Gaunt , with dead branches

          Reaching  earthwards -

          But from its ancient trunk ,

          Are burgeoning shoots and leaves -

          Birds flying high above

          In the heavens .



               Yet he, steadfast to the last -

       Shunned the vain consolation,

      Of souls immortality .