Tuesday, 14 June 2022

Today we feature one of our regular writers who has diligently written up the poems she has developed at the Artsenta Writer's Group over the last few months. This writing traverses a range of topics from shadows, exhibitions, and Autumn to the recent Queen's Birthday. All writing is by Kate Jenkins - thanks for sharing with us Kate!

* S P A C E *

Standing under the solid stars, brightly twinkling in a black sky.  Who makes their shadows?

On a blacked-out night when sun is down and moon has ebbed, if I stand in the light of only stars will my shadow be beneath my feet or scattered broken all around?

The sounds of Earth impinge and echo, as cars pass and person-walking dogs patter by, but those diffuse light beams, millennia old, are absorbed into the neons and LEDs of 21st Century days, and extinguish.

My soul always reaches up when my head is raised to see those stars.  Broken shards of pain and doubt scatter with my broken shadows, each a cloaking contribution to night.  That black cloak falls off and light-ness lifts my breath, steaming out into the airlessness of space.

An exhibit hangs, carefully mounted
Aligned to floor, ceiling and wall
A prospect, an incoming breath
Exposed          to view
                        to critique
                        or amusement
                        to confusion
Open to comprehension and incomprehension alike
An artist stands, not too close
Ready to speak, to explain, to elucidate
Fearful             of being seen
                        of incomprehensible criticism
                        of mockery
                        or misunderstanding
Hoping for delight, or awe, or just a simple ‘that’s good’


Downed leaves, the rotten, composting, mould-ridden end of last Summer are trampled in the door on my shoes.  Brown, yellow and black they drift absent-mindedly on the wind, not staying at home but congregating in the corners and around the objects of everyday life, like teenagers out on the town for a Friday night.

My garden’s trees are nearly bare now, just a few lifeless stragglers swaying drunkenly on branches, then catching a passing zephyr they drop and mingle, onto my carefully ignored bulb patch.  Its occupants mutter together words of encouragement, sharing visions of Spring life, beauty and replication.  They are the shopkeepers, the place holders.  They will not drift away.  They cannot wait beneath this blanketing protection but drive upwards towards the Winter’ chill to exhibit, eye-catching, a glimpse of green.

Four layers – still not warm
Four layers – now heated up, as
cold morning swings into a hot afternoon
Three layers, two,
Our blasting winter sun is
not enjoyed by our Northern friends
Each island, province, city
watching for the signs of warmth
            clearing of grey skies
            the end of the rain, fog,
            and those dull dull clouds
But here we take our Holiday
            - Thanks Ma’am -
And wear our cloudless sky
like a blissful flower-trimmed hat
as we race around, enjoying
            Indian Summer, La Nina
            Global Warming
            Dunedin in Winter

Today we feature one of our regular writers who has diligently written up the poems she has developed at the Artsenta Writer's Group ove...